Off-Limits

Lena’s Pov The morning air outside the arena was cold enough to bite through my thin jacket, but my hands were sweaty anyway. I stood in front of the giant glass doors of the hockey arena, looking at my own reflection. I smoothed down my skirt and adjusted the strap of my tote bag. This was my chance. For as long as I could remember, I was just Marcus Carter’s little sister. Marcus was the big star, the guy whose picture was on posters, the one everyone wanted to talk to. Today, starting my temporary job with the hockey team’s media department, I was just Lena Carter. A person trying to make her own money, build her own life, and stand on her own two feet without hiding in my brother’s shadow. I pulled open the heavy glass door and stepped inside. The hall smelled like clean ice, floor wax, and hot coffee. People in suits and team tracksuits were rushing back and forth, carrying clipboards, talking on phones, and looking very important. A fast talking woman named Sarah, who wore a silver whistle around her neck, found me near the front desk. She handed me a plastic ID badge with my photo on it. "You must be Lena," Sarah said, barely slowing down as she motioned for me to follow her down a long, brightly lit hallway. "Welcome aboard. It's busy today. Media day is always crazy. We need you to handle the player photo schedules and make sure the guys get to the radio interviews on time. Think you can handle that?" "Yes, absolutely," I said, clipping the badge to my shirt. I felt a surge of pride. I was doing this. I was really doing it. Sarah gave me a stack of schedules and pointed toward the locker room hallway. "Great. Go down to the main rink entrance and start lining up the second line players. They need to be in front of the cameras in ten minutes." I took a deep breath and started walking down the concrete hall. Rubber mats covered the floor so the players' skates wouldn't get ruined, making my footsteps sound soft and muffled. As I rounded the corner, I heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of a hockey stick hitting the ground. I stopped. Standing near the big metal doors leading out to the ice was a tall man, adjusting his shoulder pads. He turned around, and my heart gave a sudden, strange thud in my chest. It was Ethan Cahallan. I had known Ethan for half my life. He was Marcus’s best friend. He was always around our house when we were kids, eating our cereal, watching TV on our couch, and playing video games with my brother. I had always thought of him as the quiet, serious guy who lived and breathed hockey. He was practically part of the furniture in my life. But standing there right now, in his team gear, he didn't look like the boy who used to spill milk on our kitchen table. He was broad shouldered and tall, his dark hair messy from taking off his helmet. His jaw looked sharper than it used to, and his dark eyes were intense as he looked up and caught me staring. "Lena?" he asked. His voice was deeper than I remembered, warm and steady. He lowered his hockey stick and looked at me, a genuine look of surprise crossing his face. "What are you doing here?" I swallowed hard, feeling a sudden wave of heat rush to my cheeks. Why was I feeling nervous? It was just Ethan. "I... I work here now," I said, holding up my clipboard like a shield. "Well, just for the season. In the media department. I'm helping with the schedules." Ethan walked closer, his heavy ice skates clacking against the rubber mats. Even without his skates, he towered over me, but on them, he seemed massive. Up close, I noticed the sharp line of his jaw and the quiet intensity in his dark eyes. It made my breath catch in my throat. I suddenly realized how handsome he was, a thought I had never allowed myself to have before. He was my brother's best friend. He was off-limits. Period. "You're working for the team?" Ethan asked. A soft smile touched the corner of his lips, softening his usually serious face. "Marcus didn't tell me." "Because Marcus doesn't know yet," I said quickly, looking down at my clipboard so I didn't have to look straight into his eyes. "I wanted to get this job on my own. I didn't want Marcus calling in any favors for me. I need to prove I can do things by myself." Ethan fell quiet for a moment. When I looked back up, he was watching me intently. His eyes didn't look angry or annoyed; they looked gentle, almost proud. "You've always been tough, Lena," he said softly, his voice low enough that only I could hear it over the noise of the busy hallway. "You don't need Marcus to fight your battles." A flutter flared up in my stomach. The way he said my name felt different today. It felt heavier, like there was something hidden beneath the words that I couldn't quite read. "Thanks, Ethan," I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady. "Anyway, you're on the list for photos in fifteen minutes. Don't be late, or Sarah will yell at me." He let out a small, quiet laugh. "I wouldn't want you getting into trouble on your first day. I'll be there." He gave me one last long look before turning and walking back toward the team area. I stood there for a second, watching him go, trying to calm down my beating heart. I shook my head to clear it. *Stop it, Lena,* I told myself. *Focus on the job.* The rest of the afternoon passed by in a complete blur. I ran around the arena, handed out papers, pointed players toward the photography studio, and made sure everyone stayed on track. By the time five o'clock rolled around, my feet were aching, but I had a huge smile on my face. I had survived my first day, and I had done it all by myself. I sat down on a bench near the exit and pulled my phone out of my bag. It was time to call Mrs. Gable, the older lady who had agreed to rent me a small basement apartment near the arena. I needed to tell her I was on my way to pick up the keys. I dialed the number and held the phone to my ear. It rang three times before a panicked, overwhelmed voice answered. "Hello? Lena?" "Hi, Mrs. Gable!" I said cheerfully. "I just finished my shift. I can head over to your place right now to get the keys and move my bags in." "Oh, sweetie, I am so, so sorry," Mrs. Gable stammered, her breath coming in quick gasps over the line. "There was a terrible pipe burst upstairs early this morning. Water poured straight down through the ceiling into the basement unit. The whole place is completely flooded! The walls are soaked, the floors are ruined, and the city inspector just shut off the power and water to the whole building." My smile completely froze. My stomach dropped like a heavy rock into a dark pond. "Wait... what?" I whispered, gripping the phone tighter. "Mrs. Gable, my job started today. Is there any way I can still stay there?" "Oh goodness no, child, it isn't safe," she said, sounding utterly defeated. "There is water everywhere and no electricity. The repairs are going to take at least two months. I sent your full deposit back to your bank account just ten minutes ago, but you can't live here." "I... I understand," I stammered, my head spinning. "Thank you for letting me know." "I am so sorry, Lena! Good luck!" The line went dead. I slowly lowered the phone from my ear and stared at the dark screen. The noisy arena around me suddenly felt very loud and very overwhelming. My heart began to race wildly. Hotels nearby were completely booked or way too expensive, and my paycheck wouldn't come for weeks. I was completely stuck, sitting in a cold building with my heavy suitcases, and I had nowhere to go.