Page 19 of Fated Shot

Chapter 9

Mia

I shuffle into my apartment, my mind spinning. Sliding off my shoes, I tuck my keycard into the slot I hung this morning right next to the door.Lesson learned.My apartment is still looking pretty disastrous, with boxes littering the living room, but now, every available counter space is filled with baking sheets covered by bread towels.

My mess does nothing to distract me from what just happened. Jack Brody just asked me to dinner, and I’m pretty sure I said yes.

The pitter-patter of paws on the floor echoes as Bean emerges from behind a two stack of boxes.

“Hi, Beanie-Boy,” I call out. Crouching down to outstretch my hand, he lets out a little “brrrr” as he rubs his face against my fingers. Taking two more steps in my direction, he flops, exposing his belly.

“Look at that little tummy,” I coo as I give his fluffy pouch a little scratch. He purrs happily in response, and I scoop him up in my arms, planting a kiss on his fuzzy forehead. Oh to be a little kitty without a care in the world.

I plop him on the top of his cat tree, where he settles, looking out at the buildings. Just watching with him for a moment, I sigh, petting his soft fur like my own little stress ball.

“What the heck was I thinking, Bean?” He lets out a quiet meow before resting his head on his paws and closing his eyes.

I wanted to thank Jack for being so kind, for helping with… well, everything, and maybe apologize for bolting. Cookies are harmless, or so I thought, but as soon as I saw him walk out of the elevator, my brain was mush. Seems to be happening quite a bit recently. One look at his angelic face, and I can’t seem to formulate sentences or cohesive thoughts. It doesn’t seem to impair my nodding abilities, though, so now we’re going to dinner.

How bad can that be? Dinner is friendly, neighborly even. Nothing remotely inappropriate about two friends grabbing a bite to eat. That can’t be against any sort of rule, right? It’s not like there even are rules anyways.

“Just dinner,” I say to Bean, who opens his eyes at the sound of my voice. He blinks slowly at me before repositioning and laying his head back down.

Wait, is this a date?A knot twists in my gut at the thought. My return to the dating scene was not supposed to be with a god-like professional hockey player, especially not one from my dad’s team. I’ve been single all summer, and I haven’t exactly been putting myself out there. My experience is seriously lacking, and it doesn’t help that the only men I spent my summer chatting with were Dad and Harold, as well as the occasional text from Seb.

UGH, Seb.Just the thought of him makes my whole body tense up. I’m still fuming at his little appearance, and I’ve been dodging his messages ever since. That’s a problem for another time, though. Current task at hand: try not to throw up at the thought of tomorrow night and calm the eff down.

I stroke Bean’s head once more before deciding to get back to work. I’ve managed to pack and box all the cooled cookies and prep tomorrow’s dough by the time I get a call from Mom.

“Hey, hun. I’m just on my way to the game. I wanted to see if you changed your mind about coming?”

“No, thanks. I’m just going to take it easy tonight,” I reply. By taking it easy, I mean burying my feelings and drowning my thoughts in a carton of Ben and Jerry’s.

“Alright, babes, call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will, have fun!”

“Always, love you!”

“Love you too,” I say as I press end on the call.

I can’t remember a single home game that my mom has ever missed. Rain or shine, she’s always there supporting my dad. I used to love going to the games, too. It wasn’t until I got a bit older that I started to take a step back. It takes someone special to be a part of that world. When you step in the rink, the spotlight is always going to be on you, all the cameras and glamor, but behind the scenes, it’s a lot of variables, lack of stability, and loneliness. It never seemed to affect my mom, though. She’d always been so strong. Solo-parenting for the majority of the season, packing up our house alone, and moving us whenever it was time for a‘new adventure.’

She never let hockey impact anything within our home, wherever that may have been, like it did every other aspect of our life. Then, when it came time to step up and show face, she was always ready, standing in the crowds, cheering my dad on. It seems like such a charmed life on the surface, but there are few who know how truly challenging it can be.

I shoot a text off to my dad.

Me:Goodluck, Coach Cameron ;)

Dad:Thanks, Amelia-girl. Love, Dad

I chuckle, liking the message. Leave it to Doug Cameron to text like he’s writing an email every time.

I decided to spend the rest of the evening tackling boxes because nothing is more distracting than trying to unpack your life in six hundred and fifty square feet of space. By the time it’s dark out, I’m completely worn out. I’ve managed to make a significant dent in the main space, so I hop in the shower, settle into bed, and thankfully fall asleep before I even have time to process the day.

After waking up with my alarm, I jump right into finishing the remaining orders. It only takes a few hours to complete the batches, and while I have them all covered and cooling, my phone pings from the counter. The name spikes my heart rate more than I’d care to admit, and with a slightly shaky hand, I tap on the message.

Jack Brody:Still okay for dinner tonight?

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