No, her son is great. When he put on that Aspens jersey the other day, swimming in it, he wore a goofy grin the entire time we were on the ice—so proud to have my team’s colors on his back. I’ve never dated a single mom before, but it’s not scaring me away from the idea that Stella could be mine again, andhaving Aiden with us—giving me only a slight instant dad panic and all—feels like a bonus.
That is, if I can convince Stella to meet me halfway. And we sure as shit need to talk about the past. I need clarity around our breakup, but I have no plan beyond keeping myself in her orbit. I’ll offer her free hockey lessons for Aiden, maybe game tickets, and anything to keep seeing them.
“Go!” the coach yells, spurring me into action. I strip the puck from the rookie easily, experience guiding my hands, but my timing is off. I’m a beat late reading the goalie, because my brain isn’t in this rink.
“Lewis!” Sean shouts.
Stewart—the biggest asshole on our team—barrels into me along the boards before I can react. Pain explodes through my shoulder, and I hit the ice hard, cursing as the coach’s whistle shrieks.
“Where the fuck are you at, Lewis?” Coach bellows. “Because you’re not here with us.”
“Dude, what the hell?” Mason hauls me upright like I’m some rookie who got his bell rung.
“I’m fine,” I grind out, rolling my shoulder. It’s not dislocated, but it’ll bruise black and blue by morning.
His eyes narrow. “You’re not fine. You’ve been off all week.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
Coach blows the whistle again. “Are you two going to gossip like teenage girls or run the drill? Because we have a lot of work to do to be ready for the game against Portland.”
Mason backs off and drops it—for now.
I push harder for the rest of practice, almost redeeming myself by the end. But leave it to the guys in the locker room to chirp immediately because hockey players are basically overgrown boys with muscles and underdeveloped brains.
“Must be all that charity work. Captain’s going soft.”
“Or maybe,” Sean adds loudly, “there’s a woman involved.”
The room erupts.
“Lewis has a girlfriend?”
“Since when?”
“Is she another hot actress? Does she have a sister?”
“There’s nobody,” I bark, yanking my jersey off over my head as if it offended me.
Mason grins, sitting on the bench across from me. “Then why are you playing like this?”
We all know each other too damn well from season to season, getting into each other’s business under the guise of caring. We agitate each other, push buttons, cross lines—but it’s all rooted in brotherhood, forged over years of sweat, sacrifice, and chasing the same goal.
I ignore them all easily enough—until my phone buzzes with a group text from my old college teammates. We’re still close, even if we’re opponents on the ice now, playing for different teams. Giving each other crap is practically a tradition.
Cam: The odds aren’t looking good for the Aspens to beat Portland.
Eli: Why not? They’ve had a shitty start so far. Should be easy for us.
Kris: Fuck you. We’ve had a lot of injuries.
Eli: Sounds like a barn burner. Sorry. Not sorry.
Cam: We play Seattle tonight. Heard they brought up a hotshot rookie center just in time for our game.
Eli: I hadn’t heard.
