Page 2 of Fate on the Ice

Reid just so happened to fall in love with one of those women. With his Lorelai. Head over fucking heels in love with her. She is his life. I never would have imagined that something like that, love, could happen so fast.

That it would consume him.

That it would make him bigger and better than he ever was.

But it did for them. And last week, we all finalized the papers for the four of us who were left over, buying him out of the house. He bought a small starter home with Lorelai. A three-bedroom, two-bathroom, fifteen-hundred-square-foot new build.

It’s a practical place.

Which I like because, unlike some of my teammates, I am all about what is practical. Calm, unwavering, realistic. Those are the words that are often used to describe me and words that I would use to describe myself as well.

Honestly, I thought I would have been the first one to fall, but there haven’t been any women who have caught my eye for more than a passing glance and maybe one night. So, I’m single while my teammates, Thomas and Reid, have fallen.

“Yeah, we probably will. Can’t imagine the girls would let us get away without having one. Especially with a win this big. Admit it, you miss it.”

He laughs, shaking his head a couple of times. “A houseful of guys or a quiet home with just me and my woman? Man, I don’t miss a single fucking second.”

I burst out laughing as I tug on my jeans. “I have to confess that I’m jealous,” I state. “Quiet, a woman, space. Can’t say that I don’t blame you.”

He gives me a wink. “It’ll happen for you, too. It’ll hit you and consume you. It’ll be the best moment of your whole life,” Reid says.

I know he’s not wrong. The funny thing is, all I’ve ever wanted in life are two things: The game and a family.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

A simple life where I play and come home to a houseful of kids and a woman who loves me. I try not to be jealous of Reid, but I want everything he has, and I only have half of it.

GRACE

Chewing on my bottom lip, I stare at the office door in front of me. There are two words in bold on a plaque next to the door. I know what they’re going to say, and yet, I read them anyway and wonder what the hell I’m going to say to the man inside.

Coach Burns.

God.

He’s going to kill me.

He’s going to kill me dead.

I’m a disappointment. I’m a fraud and stupid. At least that’s what my mother said to me. I can only imagine he’ll say the same and worse. He’s always been the hardest on me out of the two.

Lifting my hand, I ball my fist to knock. I don’t get the chance, though. The door flies open. A man moves toward me, and I stumble backward, falling flat on my ass when I do. I’m sprawled out on the floor as I look up at him. He dips his chin, his eyes widening as he looks down at me.

I cannot breathe.

And not because he’s knocked the air out of me, but because he’s absolute perfection. Like stunning. Tall and muscular. His jeans fit like a second skin. Like they were sewn and created just for his body and nobody else’s. And he’s tall, so tall. He’s gorgeous. Breathtakingly gorgeous.

“Sorry about that. You okay?” he asks, extending his arm, his hand palm up and waiting for me. His voice is like deep honey, sliding slowly through me.

Lifting my arm, I place my fingers in his, although I do it automatically, instinctually, not thinking about a single move. His hand is warm, his fingers strong as they curl around mine. He tugs me up from the floor until I’m on my feet.

“I’m okay,” I whisper.

He releases my hand, gives me a wink, then brushes past me and heads toward the hallway. I want to follow him for more reasons than the fact that he’s hot. I also don’t want to face the man inside of that office.

I ball my fingers into a fist again and knock on the doorframe. I hear his gruff voice growl and take that as my cue to enter. I move into the room, and my eyes find him behind his desk and stay focused.

He doesn’t look up. My father’s head is dipped, and his attention is on whatever he’s writing. I wait for him to look up, but he doesn’t. He is focused as if he doesn’t have time for whoever is standing across from him, or maybe he doesn’t care. Probably the latter, if I know my father at all.

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