Chapter 6 "Are you nervous or something?" I say to the kid I'm working with. Well, he's not a kid. He's now an official NHL member that I get the annoyance of working with. But Corey is nineteen years old, so he might as well be a child. "No," he answers quickly. "Why?" "Oh, nothing," I utter. "You just look like you may piss yourself, and you're moving sloppily." His eyes narrow, and he shoots me a hasty scowl. "No, I'm not," he grumbles. "This is just ... it's a lot. All of this." "So ... you didn't want to become a professional hockey player?" I toss back. "You didn't dedicate your entire life to this moment?" Corey looks puzzled and then maybe a little embarrassed. "I did," he says, keeping his voice low. "Sorry." "Don't say sorry to me. I'm not your coach or your boss." I look him over, seeing he's still clearly nervous. "Get a drink of water and calm the fuck down." That's the best pep talk I can give him. If he wants more, he should go over to Logan or maybe Ryder. Shit, even Walker on a good day. But me? I'm not cut out for that shit. In my eyes, he should be thankful he's here. Rub a little salt on whatever wound he's got, grow some fucking bigger balls, and call it a day. He sighs, turning away from me, and heads to get a drink. He's not doing bad; he just needs to settle, which takes time. He's fresh from high school, but now, he's here to play with the big dogs, and he's coming up short. He landed on our team a few weeks ago. He's a goalie, like me. There's been talk that he's the next big thing, but the trouble with shit like that being said is, a lot of times, it's all hype. But since I'm going to be working one-on-one a lot with this kid, I really hope that's not the truth in this case. This may be my last season as a Shark. I'm not getting any younger. I've got fourteen years on this guy, and in NHL years, that practically makes me a dinosaur. I may only be thirty-three, but I feel more like sixty some days. I don't bounce back from tough games nearly as fast as I did even a few years ago. This dude is here to take my spot. And what's crazy is, I'm going to train him, which is like me giving him my keys to the kingdom. I just can't decide if that's good or bad because, to be honest, some mornings, I wake up wanting ten more years of playing time, and others, I wake up and wish I could quit, move to the Bahamas, and just go fishing all day, every day instead. Preferably alone. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The one thing that keeps me coming back-aside from a contract-is knowing that this ... hockey, it's all I have. Without it, I don't know what I'll even do. I don't have a wife or kids because I've never really cared about all of that. A lot of retired players move on to be sports broadcasters, but I don't even like to talk that much, so that's a no for me. I keep hoping, one day, it'll be clear-what I should do. Try to hang on for longer if they renew my contract or leave now while my body is still in halfway decent shape. Walker James skates toward me, his shaggy hair poking out of the bottom of his helmet. "How's that situation going?" he asks, jerking his chin toward where Corey skates around, appearing deep in thought. "He seems to be on the struggle bus." "That's an understatement," I utter, drawing in a breath. "He's a kid. He's nineteen." "So, what, you're thinking he's overrated?" he asks, looking from Corey to me, seeming genuinely curious. "No," I say honestly because he isn't. He just sucks today. "I think he was a little fish in a tiny-ass puddle, and now it's time to swim with the sharks in the fucking Atlantic Ocean," I say point-blank. "He's used to using half of his talent and still coming out on top. It's not going to be like that here." "Well, lucky for him, he's got time to settle in and learn the ropes from the best." He swats my arm. "Don't be trying to train him too good though. Don't need you thinking you can retire or anything." "Well, I am getting to be quite ancient, you know," I say flatly before calling to Corey. "All right, break's over. Get the fuck back to work." His eyes widen, and he quickly puts his water bottle down and starts toward me. "You're such an ass sometimes," Walker says but smirks before skating away from me backward. "I love it." "Yeah, yeah. Fuck yourself," I grumble. I love hockey, and I love this group of men like brothers even though I'd never tell them that. But being in the arena just doesn't feel like it used to. I feel like I'm going through the motions and nothing more. I used to eat, breathe, sleep hockey because I wanted to. Now, I do it because it's all I have. The older I get, the more I keep thinking about shit, like farms and horses because that's what I grew up with. And before I moved to Maine, I was excited to get away from all of that, but now ... I find myself missing it. Or maybe it's just missing my family. I don't really know. I don't know what the hell I'm going through, but I hope it stops soon. I stand here, outside of the New England Bay Sharks arena, with three boxes stacked in my arms and all three kids by my side. Each of them holds a box, too, and I feel like I'm going to get in trouble because I know I shouldn't be here. These are professional athletes who are rarely seen in Portland because they are so high profile. Lucky for me, Smith Sawyer comes in weekly and cleans us out of doughnuts. When he stopped in a few days ago, I told him that I really wanted to give Logan and Tripp some baked goods to thank them for changing my tire, and he pulled some strings to get us access to be back here when they got out of practice today. But I felt weird about only giving them treats, so we brought enough for the whole team. "I can't believe we get to be here!" Cane says, eyes widening. "What if Kolt Kolburne walks out here? What if he walks right by me, so close that I can touch him?" "He probably doesn't have to come to practice. He's injured, remember?" Cash says matter-of-factly. "I mean, I'd still come to every practice, but he's rich. Maybe he doesn't have to." Suddenly, he seems excited. "I hope I get to meet Walker James." He pulls at his jersey. "I even wore this for him to sign." Until his dad died, Cane loved to play hockey. But then he stopped. It was something he and his dad did together. And up until the past year, he didn't want to watch it either. But then something pretty amazing happened. Cash got more and more interested, and Cane came to all of his games, cheered him on, and started watching the Bay Sharks play on TV when Cash was watching them. It went from Cane and his dad's thing to his and Cash's thing. Cane took his first skating lesson at age four, joined a team when he was five, and then lost his dad at age seven and hasn't played since. Cash was the opposite. He took interest three years ago, and at first, his big brother kept trying to change his mind and push him toward other sports. Eventually, he supported Cash's passion though. He just doesn't want to play himself anymore. When the door opens, Aviana whispers beside me, "Here they come!" She bounces up and down excitedly. A bunch of players file out, most of whom I'm not familiar with. Luckily, Sawyer Smith is close behind them, and when he sees us, he flashes us a grin. "You made it," he says, strutting over. His tattooed arms are on full display, and his dirty-blond hair is wet from his shower. "Be prepared to be attacked like a carcass by a bunch of vultures. These boys are hungry, and they rarely eat sweets. They're about to turn into cavemen." I chuckle nervously, clenching the box with my fingers. Smith is an attractive man, but a bit too young for me. Still, he's fun to look at. Logan Sterns, Tripp Talmage, and Walker James all walk out close behind, and Smith nudges Tripp before jerking his chin toward us. "I told you that your day would get better soon because you had a surprise coming." He points toward me ... or maybe my boxes. Yeah. Definitely the boxes. Tripp's eyes narrow as he checks over what's in my hands before his lip turns up the slightest. My heart races, but I know it's because I'm surrounded by attractive, professional hockey players and not just because of Tripp and his grumpy grin. I attempt to look relaxed, smiling and trying my best to play it cool. "We were so grateful that you and Logan changed my tire so we wanted to bring you some goodies from the bakery." I pause, nodding toward all of the boxes. "There's enough for the whole team." "Sweet!" Ryder Cambridge says, being the first to strut over. "I love me some pastries." He winks, but more in a joking way than anything else. "Though I'll have to run an extra few miles-or five-tomorrow. But that's okay." He looks thoughtfully from my kids to me before pointing toward a bench that sits against the building. "Set the boxes there, if you want. That way, you don't have to hold them while the scavengers come through." Before I answer, Logan is lifting the boxes from our arms. Looking at Aviana, he winks. "Trust me, this will be safer. Those men aren't supposed to be eating sweets. They're about to act like they've never seen a doughnut before. Things could get dangerous." He's right because within seconds of him setting them down on the bench, the team is over there, forming a line. Logan reaches in, grabbing a doughnut and holding it up. "Geesh, I change the tire, and y'all act like trash pandas in a garbage can out back of a restaurant." He watches his teammates, shaking his head. "Goddamn." "You didn't have to do this," Tripp says, still standing beside us. "But thank you. You made the team's day." Suddenly, I'm a thirty-three-year-old woman who is shy, feeling like I'm a freshman in high school and a senior is giving me a flirtatious grin. Maybe it's because I've ignored the stare of every man for so long, or perhaps it's just because of the circumstances-that I'm surrounded by professional athletes. Whichever it is, my cheeks are on fire. And when I feel Tripp's eyes still on me, I think I may actually melt into a puddle. "It was the least we could do," I say, pushing through my bashfulness and turning to my kids because ... security blankets. "Right, guys?" "Yep!" Aviana says before the boys can answer. "Even though ... you're not really getting anything out of it. I don't think there will be much left after your whole team is finished." She frowns. "Want me to go grab you something before it's all taken? They seem really hungry." I can't even tell you the expression Tripp is wearing when she asks him that because I don't know his different expressions. But what I do know is, the broody exterior he seems to wear so well cracks the slightest bit, and he smiles at her. "Sure. How about a glazed doughnut? You got any of those?" Her head bobs eagerly, eyes widening. "My mom makes the best doughnuts, and the glazed ones are her specialty." "I don't know about that," I murmur, tucking my hair behind my ear. My daughter means well, but my cheeks only heat more because I hate being the center of attention. Actually, that is an understatement. I hate it so much that it gives me hives. I've always been this way, but now it's even worse because for so long, I've buried myself in my kids' activities and taking care of them, and in doing so, it means I never have to be the center of attention-ever. Now, here I am, standing in front of what Sports Illustrated has called the most eligible bachelor, with his eyes on me while my daughter brags about my doughnut-making skills. Geesh. Tripp's grin only seems to grow when he takes in my discomfort. I've seen him in plenty of pictures on the internet and on TV, but he usually wears a scowl or an emotionless look. This smile though ... it's something else. Logan returns and starts chatting to Cane off to the side when Ave runs off. I look away from Tripp, uncomfortable with how his stare makes my skin prickle or how I feel it literally everywhere. Luckily, he turns his attention to Cash. "How's hockey been going?" Cash's eyes light up, and I'm not even sure if it's because Tripp is talking to him or if it's from the mention of hockey. "It's going well. We haven't had any games yet though." "First one is in a few days though," I remind him, knowing how excited and nervous he is about it. "And you guys are going to do great." I can't tell if I've just embarrassed him or if he's happy for the support. Either way, Cash is too polite to tell me. "Thanks, Mom," he answers softly before turning his attention back to Tripp. "Yeah, I think it's going to go okay. I hope." "What position are you playing?" Tripp asks just as Aviana returns with his glazed doughnut, passing it to him, along with a napkin. "Thank you," Tripp says sweetly. "Looks real good." She skips away. One look at Cash's face, and I know he's nervous to answer. He glances over at where his brother is now talking to Logan and a few other Bay Sharks, including the infamous Kolt Kolburne, and keeps his voice low. Until this moment, I guess I didn't know why he didn't want to try this goalie thing. But seeing him make sure his brother isn't close by before answering, I know it's because he doesn't want to hurt Cane's feelings. Because, in the short time Cane played, goalie was his jam. "My new coach is having me try goalie for now," he utters. "Normally, I'm a center. Or a wing." Right away, I'm sure that Tripp picked up on Cash's hesitance because it was clear as day, and he tilts his head to the side subtly. "I mean ... I may be a little partial, but goalie is a pretty good position if you ask me." He stops. "You don't seem that thrilled about it though?" His shoulders sag a little, and he shrugs. "It's just not where I usually play, but I don't want to tell Coach that." I watch a teensy smile tug on Tripp's lips. "That makes you a great player. You're going where your coach puts you without throwing a fit. Sometimes, that's what it takes to have a good team." Cash is quiet for a few seconds, but nods his head once. "Yeah, I guess," he says, his eyes looking at his brother. "It was Cane's favorite position, but it's not mine." At the same time I figure it all out, realization flashes in Tripp's eyes, and he tenses. "Yeah, that's gotta be tough." That's all he says, but I'm sure it's because it's what he can muster up. I might not know Tripp that well, but it's pretty obvious he's not a man who is going to have long-drawn-out conversations. He's quiet, and he keeps to himself. As some of the players start to exit, all calling out a thank-you to us, some even doing it while they take a bite of whatever pastry they chose, Cane makes his way back over toward us. "Well, we'd better get going," I say, keeping my eyes focused on my kids because, frankly, I'm afraid to look directly at Tripp, worried my stomach will do more flips that it has no business doing. He brings the doughnut to his mouth and takes a bite. Once he chews and swallows, he holds it up and looks at me. This time, I can't avoid his stare. Though I wish I could because my skin tingles and I hate it. "Thanks again for bringing all the baked goods." He takes another bite. "Best doughnut I've ever tasted," he drawls smoothly. Something about the way the word tasted rolls from his lips makes my heart skip a beat and between my legs prickle. And the way his eyes smolder while he looks at me has me swallowing-hard. He's a famous hockey player, so obviously, he has charisma. Hell, whether he's grumpy or not, I have no doubt that women throw themselves at him. This crazy pull I feel toward him, I know he isn't feeling it back. I'm a widowed mother of three. I don't take the time to do my hair, and I hardly ever apply makeup because I'm always running my kids around. And my leg hair? Well, it's fall in Maine. Let's just say, it's keeping me warm right now. He isn't looking at me like that on purpose. It's probably a game to him-to toy with women with his sexy eyes and slight grin. Yet even though I know all this, his presence still makes my palms sweaty. Cane holds his hand out, wanting a handshake, and quickly, Tripp holds his out too. "Nice to see you again, man. Good luck in basketball and baseball this year." "Thanks," Cane gushes, releasing his hand, and Tripp moves to Cash. "If you love the game the way I can see you do ... you'll find a home anywhere on the ice." He says the words like a secret message because that's exactly what they are. "Good luck, man." "Thanks," Cash says hesitantly. "And thank you for that amazing doughnut," Tripp says, smiling at Aviana. "You were right. They are your mom's specialty." He takes a step back, sweeping his gaze to all of us. "Y'all have a good day. Careful not to run any nails over." "No promises there," I utter, breathing out a small laugh. "Come on, guys. Let's go." As I head toward the bench to clean up the boxes we got-which are all, in fact, empty-Tripp walks beside me. "I got this." It's three drawled-out words. Yet ... my heart beats faster as his deep voice utters them. "Are you sure?" I look at all of the empty, almost-torn-apart boxes. "This made a bit of a mess." "You were nice enough to bring them, darlin'. I'll pick them up." The word darling comes out slow and low. I know my kids didn't hear him, but my face heats, and my scalp prickles. Forcing out something-anything I can-I nod quickly before heading toward my kids, needing to get away from this man. "All right, if you insist. Have a great rest of your day." I take Aviana's hand and start toward my car as fast as I can without making it too obvious that I want to get the hell away from him. I haven't felt my heart race like this in five years. I'm not going to allow it to start happening now. Especially not for a professional athlete who plays girls like a fiddle, I'm sure. I'm not naive, and his charming smile and brooding good looks won't work on me. I won't let them. I have too many responsibilities for that.