“Are you sure this is going to work?”
I sigh. “That’s the fifth time you’ve asked me that when I should be asking you that. She’s your kid.”
“Yeah, but you two have some sort of hockey bond or something.”
She has a point there. Sure, Macie is a ten-year-old with the attitude of a sixteen-year-old, but on some level, I understand her. I’m not really sure what that says about me, but I don’t want to get into it now.
“If she sees you excited about it, she’ll be game.”
“You think?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying my best to swallow down another sigh. “Yeah.”
We’ve been standing here for the last ten minutes, and this is the third time we’ve had this same conversation. Stevie’s nervous in a way I haven’t seen before.
But…I get it. After seeing Macie go down like she did, there was even a part of me that didn’t want her to play. I was surprised when we were standing in Doc’s office and that feeling hit me. I never wanted to see that kid in that situation again.
And I don’t mean any kid—I meant her. I didn’t want Macie hurt. I really, really didn’t.
I felt awful seeing her fall, but I looked at it as a hockey player. It was a soft tumble compared to some I’ve seen, so I wasn’t too worried. But seeing her afterward lying in that bed with Stevie looking like she was about to throw up? I fucking hated it.
So, I left. I walked away.
Only I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I needed to be sure she was okay, just like I needed to make sure she wasn’t going to give up on the game over one bad fall. It was too clear how much she loves being on the ice for me to let that happen.
I’m glad I went to see Stevie, and I’m really damn glad I gave her my mom’s number. Whatever she said to her worked because here we are, ready to pick up Macie from school and take her for her second training session.
“Your car is so extra.”
I glare over at Stevie, who is glaring at my vehicle. “Be nice to my car, dammit.”
“Or what? You’ll frown at me some more?”
“Yes.”
She rolls her eyes, but not before I see her lips tip up at the corners.
She’s such a brat. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so annoyed by someone yet still couldn’t stay away. It’s disconcerting, and if I never feel this way again, it will still be too soon.
“How much longer?” I ask, checking the time on my entirely too expensive watch.
I don’t spend my money on much because I know this career isn’t going to last forever, but after signing my extension contract with the Comets, the watch and the car were both gifts to myself.
“About five min—”
Her words are cut off by a yawn, and I glower at her.
“Stop that.”
“What?” She shrugs. “If someone hadn’t woken me up with a phone call at five in the morning, maybe I wouldn’t be yawning.”
“How’s it feel getting woken up?”
“You could have ignored my text, you know.”
“Right.” I snort. “Like you’d have let me.”
“True.” She grins, and it’s an evil grin. “Are you sure she’s going to—”
“Stevie, I swear,” I say, shoving off my car with a huff, “if you ask me one more time if she’s going to go along with this, I’m going to––”
She flinches.
Stevie fucking flinches, and it’s enough to have me stumbling back, completely caught off guard by it. When it sinks in why she flinched, so does the anger. I’m pissed, so fucking mad I can’t see straight. Not at her, though—I’m upset at what that flinch just implied.
“What was that?”
“What?”
“Why the hell…” I gnash my teeth together, chomping away the words that so desperately want to fly out of my mouth. “Why’d you flinch? Did…” I swallow. “Did someone hit you?”
She shakes her head. “It was nothing.”
I seethe at her nonchalance, at her eagerness to brush it aside.
“That’s not nothing, Stevie. Who did that to you?”
She raises her chin, meeting my heated stare. “It’s none of your business, Greer.”
It might not be any of my business, but I want it to be.
“Who.”
Not a question. A demand.
“My ex. He would grab me…leave bruises. Pin me against the wall and yell in my face. But hitting me… It was only once.” She rushes the words out quickly, like it only happening once somehow makes it okay.
“Once is enough for me to kill the man,” I say, brushing past her.
I have no clue where I’m going, no clue what I’m doing. I just know I need to do something. Why I feel so fucking protective over her and her kid is beyond me, but I’m just so damn mad right now. I––
“Jacob.”
It’s the first time she’s said my name, and I stop in my tracks when it tumbles off her lips.
I don’t go by it. I never have, not even when I was younger. The moment I knew I wanted to be a hockey player, I insisted I be called Greer. My mother is the only person to call me Jacob.
I turn back to Stevie. She’s staring at me with trepidation in her eyes.
“Where are you going?” she asks quietly.
“To commit murder.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “Stop. Please.” She waves me back to her, and I reluctantly trudge to her side, taking a spot beside her. “You don’t even know his name.”
“I would have found out.”
She grins. “I don’t doubt that.”
We sit there in silence for a moment. It’s uncomfortable in a way that only having this conversation can be uncomfortable.
I hate this for her. I hate this for Macie.
Oh shit… “Macie…”
“Never,” Stevie answers my unasked question. “Never.”
Thank fuck. I drop my head into my hands, scrubbing my face, trying to rid myself of the knowledge I never wanted to know.
I run a restless hand through my hair, then say, “I wasn’t…I wasn’t mad at you, and I wasn’t coming at you. I’m sorry if that…”
“I know,” she says, but I’m not sure she does.
If she knew, she would know that one time I caught my mother’s second husband wrapping his hand around her throat, and I came unglued. I broke my hand fighting the asshole and had to miss a lot of good fucking hockey, but it was worth it, and I’d do it all over again.
“Never,” I promise her.
“I believe you. Just…I spook easily sometimes. You seemed irritated, and you did that thing he always did when he was irritated.” She mimics me pinching my nose. “It was kind of his tell. And then you had your fists clenched. Like that.” She nods toward my fists.
And yep, they are clenched, but this time, it’s because I’m pissed as fuck at the guy who dared to lay a hand on her. He needs to be dead, just like any other fucker out there who dares to touch a woman.
I shove off my car again, this time letting my hands fall to my sides in a relaxed position. Stevie doesn’t flinch, and I’m grateful for it.
I stand in front of her, tucking my hand under her chin and lifting it up. I’m not surprised to see her blue gaze shining, but it doesn’t mean I like it.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t take my eyes off her. “Thank you. For telling me, I mean.”
She nods. “Thank you…for listening.”
“What was that?” I cup my hand around my ear. “Not sure I heard you.”
“Ugh.” Stevie tosses her head back with a groan, shoving playfully at my chest. “You’re the worst.”
“No, that’s not what you said. It was something else. Sounded like two words.”
“Fu—”
I clamp my hand over her mouth before she can finish her sentence.
“Careful,” I warn. “We’re on school property, you know.”
She glares at me, and I can feel her frown beneath my palm.
“Now, I’m going to remove my hand, and you’re going to say two words I am very much owed, got it?”
She lifts her blue eyes skyward but nods.
“Good girl.”
It’s subtle, but there’s a spark in her eyes when I say it.
Interesting.
I store that information away—for what, I don’t know—then slowly remove my hand from her mouth. When she’s no longer silenced, I stare at her, waiting for her to say something…anything. I don’t know how much time passes before I finally see her mouth move.
“Thank you.”
It’s quiet, barely audible, but it’s still somehow the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.
“You’re welcome.”
Just as the words leave my lips, the bell rings. Five seconds later, kids begin filing out of the building.
I step away from Stevie, trying hard to ignore how much I miss her heat the second I do. I resume my spot next to her against my car, then wait.
Several kids stop and stare at us—mostly my car. A few gawk at me in awe, probably recognizing me from their televisions.
One yells out a “HOLY CRAP!” then promptly gets in trouble for saying crap.
Moms do double takes and giggle. Dads look jealous.
Eventually I hear, “Mom? Greer?” Macie’s pace slows, her mouth open at the sight of us. “What are you doing here? Whose car is that?”
“It’s mine. Want to drive it?”
“Heck yes I do!”
“Greer!” Stevie reprimands me, and I hate my last name for the first time in a long time. “She’s ten.”
“Oh shit. Right.”
“You can’t say shit,” Macie points out.
“Right. My bad.”
The kid grins, her bright green and navy blue braces on display. I’m pleased to see they are still Comets colors.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, looking around at the kids who are all staring at her. Off to our right, a group of boys around Macie’s age are whispering behind their hands. I wish I knew which little shit got into the shoving match with her so I could pummel him, but then I remind myself they’re kids and that likely wouldn’t go over well.
“Hockey,” I tell her.
“Huh?”
“You have practice.”
Elation steals over her face, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came when she slides her eyes to her mother.
“I, uh, can’t.”
Stevie steps forward. “Yes, you can. I want you to play.”
Macie’s jaw drops again, her head tipping to the side. “I…I can? You do?”
Her mom nods. “Yes, I do. And we better hurry if we’re going to get practice and ice cream in before bed.”
“What? Are you kidding? I’M PLAYING HOCKEY!” She throws her hands into the air, spinning around in circles, her little backpack twirling right along with her.
She abruptly stops, then marches right up to the group of boys and says, “Suck it!” She darts to the car, but not before sticking her tongue out at them.
They glare at her, but the second they catch me shooting even sharper daggers their way, they stand up straight and run off.
Good. Little pricks.
“Come on,” I tell Macie. “You can ride shotgun. Your mom will follow us.”
“I get to ride in the fun car, not the minivan?”
“It’s not a minivan—it’s an SUV!”
“Same lame thing, Mom,” Macie grumbles, pulling her door open.
“Yeah,” I say to Stevie as I push off the car. “Same lame thing, Mom.”
She looks like she wants to hurl some not-so-nice words at me right now, but when she takes a peek around and sees we’re still being watched by just about everyone, she refrains.
“See you at the rink. And, Greer?”
“Hmm?” I ask her as I pop open my own door.
“Drive safe. You have precious cargo in that car.”
“Yeah, I know. I got my gear in the back.”
“Greer! I—”
But I don’t hear the rest. I climb in and fire up the engine, giving it a few good revs to drown out her yelling.
I look over at Macie, all buckled up and smiling brightly.
“Five bucks says we beat her there.”
Her smile widens. “You’re on.”
“Again!”
Macie drops to her knees, then maneuvers herself back to her feet.
“Again!”
She does it once more.
“Again!”
“Ugh! Seriously?” Her hands go to her hips, and she purses her lips like she just ate something sour.
“Yes, seriously.” I tap her helmet. “How do the new skates feel?”
“Good.”
“Better than those other ones?”
She nods several times. “Much better. Thank you again.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, brushing her off before she can latch on to my legs in a hug like she did earlier. “Again.”
She groans but drops to her knees, then pushes up on her skates. She looks absolutely ridiculous in the goalie gear that’s practically swallowing her, but she’s catching on quickly.
We run through it twice more before moving on to the same thing, but this time holding her stick. She struggles a bit during the fourth one but pushes through it. We take a water break when we hit five, and she skates over to the bench with ease, like it’s not just her fourth time on the ice. We’ve been skating together for a week now, and we do the same things at every practice: up-and-down drills, holding-the-stick drills, and skating. All the while, Stevie sits on the bench and reads or works on her laptop.
“Oh my gosh,” she mutters, tipping her green squirt bottle back and squeezing water into her mouth. She misses, splashing herself in the face and letting out a loud yelp when it hits her eyes instead of her tongue, but she quickly recovers as if nothing happened and takes a drink.
I tried to warn her that she wasn’t ready for the real goalie bottle, but she wouldn’t listen. She was insistent on having her own squirt bottle.
After she takes a few long pulls of water, she hits the ice again, skating around in slow circles, still getting a feel for the surface. I was right about her—she’s got fire. She’s smart, pays attention, and is not afraid to ask questions. When she’s struggling, she pushes through. When she’s doing well, she pushes herself to do even better. She has all that hockey grit that makes a great player, and she’s only ten. I’m betting she’ll have a long career playing if she’s willing to put the work in.
“How’s she doing?” Stevie steps up beside me just as I squirt water into my mouth.
“Good,” I say, dragging the back of my hand across my lips. “She’s a natural, but even naturals have to work at their skills.”
Stevie’s face lights up. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Good.” She shimmies her shoulders with happiness. “Honestly, she’s been so in love with the game for the last few years I was scared she was going to build this experience up in her head, and it wasn’t going to be what she expected, and she’d hate it and lose interest. That’s what I did when I said I wanted to learn ballet. I quit after a year.”
“All that work, and you quit?”
“Well, yeah.” She shrugs. “We had some family stuff going on, so it was rough.”
“Is everything okay now?”
Stevie lets out a sad sigh. “Yes and no. My dad passed away a few years ago from cancer, so that part isn’t good, but my other dad is finding a way to move on, so I guess that’s a good thing. He’s healing. He’s rediscovering himself. It’s…good.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. I’ve never lost a parent, so I can’t imagine how hard that is.”
“It’s not fun, that’s for sure. I was about to ask something dumb like Are your parents still married? Then I remembered I’m your date to your mother’s wedding.”
“Fourth wedding,” I correct.
“Does that bother you? Loretta being married so many times?”
“Yes, but probably not in the way many people think it would bother me. I’m bothered by it because it means she keeps giving away all the best parts of herself to douchebags who don’t deserve her. I want her to be happy more than anything, but at what cost, you know? She’s tried this so many times. What’s it going to take to make it stick?”
“The right person. Trust me when I say that’s hard as hell to find.”
My jaw tightens at the mention of her failed marriage and the ex who mistreated her. “I could still kill him, you know.”
Stevie grins up at me. “I appreciate that, but it’s not necessary.”
“Does Macie know him?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. She was only two when we left. She asks about him sometimes, but it’s best that he’s not in our lives. We think so, and so does he. He hasn’t even tried to reach out since our divorce, which I am perfectly okay with. He didn’t want Macie to begin with.”
My blood boils. How could he turn either of these girls away? I mean, not that I’m mad about it given what I know about him, but still.
“He sounds like a prick.”
“He is.” She shakes her head like she’s shaking away all thoughts of him. “Anyway, what about your father? Is he remarried?”
I laugh. “Oh yeah.”
“Uh-oh. Stepmom troubles?”
“Nah. He only married one of them, then divorced her shortly after she had her second child. The rest he’s never married.”
“But he…”
“Had kids with them. I have six siblings.”
Stevie’s eyes widen. “That’s…”
“I know,” I tell her, understanding she’s at a loss for words like a lot of people are when I tell them. “For what it’s worth, he’s a really good dad. Shitty husband for sure, but he’s a present father.”
“Well, that’s something, at least. How long was he married to your mother?”
“That’s the real kicker.” I grin. “They never got married.”
“Wait—they’ve both been married and have kids, but they never married each other?”
“Nope. Mom went on to be a serial bride, and Dad became a serial father. Match made in heaven if you ask me.” I shrug. “Oh well. At least it gives me a better understanding of love. It’s a—”
“Crock of shit?”
“Bingo.”
I wink at her, and she rolls her eyes.
“Don’t be that guy, Greer.”
“What guy?”
“The guy who gives up on love before he ever has it because he’s scared he’s going to get hurt.”
I scoff. “That’s not what it is.”
It’s not.
At least, I don’t think that’s it.
Shit. Is that my problem?
I shake my head. No, definitely not.
“How about we stop with the psychological analysis and get back to hockey?”
“Oh goody, grumpy Greer is back.” Another roll of her eyes.
“I’m not grumpy. I’m focused.”
“Sure.” She pats my shoulder. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
She pulls her phone out of her pocket, and I see that the screen is completely shattered. I’m surprised she can even do anything on it it’s so cracked.
“What happened?” I ask, nodding toward it.
“I dropped it in the truck last week.” Hmm. “How much longer is this going to be?” she asks.
I try not to let my irritation at her line of questioning show. She’s done this every practice, trying to rush things along. “Do you want her to play hockey or not?”
“I do, but I also want her to get her homework done and get to bed at a decent time. I also need to feed her dinner, you know.”
“I’ll buy dinner.”
Her mouth opens in surprise. “What?”
“Dinner—I’ll buy it.”
I don’t know why I say it. I haven’t taken them to dinner before, but I’m not ready to go home yet, either. I’m tired, yet also wired. I need the distraction, or all I’m going to be doing is going over how I let that goal in last night. It went right over my glove, and I never miss on my glove side, especially not an easy shot like that.
“Greer, no,” Stevie argues.
“Well, it’s too bad. I’m buying, so pick a place.” I point toward the ice. “We’re going to run a few more drills, and then we’ll go.”
She calls after me, but I pretend I don’t hear her, stepping onto the ice and taking off in full stride to catch up with Macie. We go over a few more things, practice her stopping and starting, and I show her how to hold her stick properly.
“All right,” I tell her just after five. “I think we’re good for the day.”
“Really? That’s it?”
I laugh. “Yeah, that’s it. But we’ll go again in a few days.”
“A few days? I have to wait days?!”
“Well, not to skate, but to do other stuff, yeah.” I point a finger at my chest. “Pro-hockey player, remember?”
“Someone likes to brag.” She skates past me in a huff. “Mom! I’m hungry!”
“Well, good. We’re going out tonight.”
“Really? Where?!”
Stevie bounces on her heels gleefully. “It’s a surprise.”
Why do I not like the sound of that?
