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I feel a hand on my arm and turn to find Steph behind me, she hands me a sticky note with numbers scribbled onto it. “Here’s my number if you need anything, girl. My Declan is really talented… so if you’d ever like to get the boys together to skate, I’m sure he’d be happy to show Noah a few things.”

I smile and thank her, trying to keep my face even. I may not know much about hockey, but it doesn’t seem to me like Declan is any better than the other boys. Actually, Mom and Dad always made it sound like Noah’s skills were advanced for his age, which was why they spent the money to let him take a special power skating class last year.

But I’m new to this whole thing, what do I know?

CHAPTER 5

MITCH

The evening after my first youth-hockey coaching gig, which was a complete and utter disaster, my doorbell rings. My building’s doorman wouldn’t let just anyone up, so I’m assuming it’s Bruce. He’s really my only friend, anyway.

Normally, I’d be annoyed at him stopping by uninvited, but I’m antsy from sitting here all day. And I’ve already declined two phone calls from the Wisconsin Correctional Institution. AKA dear old Dad. He hasn’t acted like a father for a long time, and there’s nothing he can do to mend that bond now. He chose drugs and alcohol over me a long, long time ago.

Muttering curses under my breath, I toss the blanket off of my legs and pause an old John Wayne movie I’ve watched half a dozen times in my lifetime. Old westerns are a reminder of a time in my life that was safe, after my granddad took me in. It was always just the two of us, spending every evening after homework—or hockey practice—watching those old movies. I never even met my grandma, since she died in childbirth with my dad. But my granddad spoke fondly of her. I think the lonely old coot was kind of glad when he got custody of me and didn’t have to be alone all the time.

I used to wonder what it would be like if my dad would’ve been more like John Wayne. A tough cowboy who’d lock up all the bad guys and make the world a better place. But no such luck. Instead, he was the bad guy.

Now these movies are just memories of my short time with Granddad before he passed. Before I was alone… again.

Hoisting myself up off of my luxury sofa, I pad across the marble floors of my penthouse apartment and open my front door. I find Bruce standing there smiling, as usual. He’s dressed casual but nice in dark jeans and a brown leather jacket. “Get dressed,” he says before shoving his way inside. “You look like a homeless man.”

Looking down, I see my stained sweats, tee with a hole in it, and moccasin slippers. I’m sure my unkempt beard and too-long hair don't look any better. My person is a severe contrast to my modern and immaculate penthouse. “Why?”

“You’re coming to the team party with me. You’re my date.” He smirks, sticking his hands in his pockets.

I stare at him and his eyes shift toward the hallway behind us, like he’s silently pleading with me to go to my room and put on something decent.

“Last I knew, you were into leggy brunettes, Bruce. Female ones.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, but I think you need me tonight more than some random puck bunny.”

I cringe, hating the term used for women who throw themselves at pro hockey players. Bruce huffs out another laugh at my shudder. “Come on, Mitch. The whole team is on your side, man. We’re here for you. And everyone wants you to come to the party.”

I cross my arms, he and I both know that’s a lie. “What if I already have other plans?”

Bruce glances behind me where my large sofa is a mess of pillows and blankets, and the artistic coffee table some designer told me would change my life is covered in take-out containers and a half-empty pizza box. Just to add insult to injury, the T.V. is paused on the movie True Grit, making it obvious I’ve been on a John Wayne movie marathon.

Bruce turns his attention back on me, quirking an eyebrow.

“What? This is a classic.”

“Go. Change. Now.” He crosses his arms.

I sigh. “I need a shower.”

He brings his arm up and looks at his fancy watch. “You have fifteen minutes to shower and get dressed.”

“Fine.” I trudge down the hallway to my master bedroom.

“And don’t use that tone with me, young man!” Bruce yells after me.

Then I hear the movie begin to play and I hear Tom Chaney say, “Don’t provoke me. There’s a rattle snake down there in that pit, and I’m gonna throw you in it.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I’m in the passenger seat of Bruce’s old Chevy. Don’t ask me why he refuses to give up the old clunker. Goalies are weird.

I adjust the collar of my winter coat and shift to look at Bruce. “So, where’s the team party, anyway?”