Page 5 of Fated Shot

My heart stops for a moment as I notice the pair of vibrant green eyes staring right into mine, surprise painting her lightly freckled face. The arena stands still as I revel in the moment of having her complete attention. Her full, soft, pink lips curve upward in a gentle smile, radiating warmth. It’s a face I recognize immediately, pulse quickening, my body reacting the way it always does when I see her.Mia. I can’t peel my eyes away.

I’m frozen as I return her gaze, rapidly memorizing everything I can on her delicate face. She's fucking breathtaking. Locked in on her emerald eyes, I wonder how I never noticed that particular shade before. So rare, like nothing I’ve ever seen. They catch my attention even more as they start to widen, like fear is flooding in. Is she… afraid of me?

I hear the crunch before I feel it. Smashed into the boards, I’m completely knocked off balance before landing on the ice. I recover quickly, shaking off the hit, but my mind is preoccupied as I skate over to the bench.

“The hell was that, Brody? Stay sharp,” Coach shouts at me before turning his attention back to the ice.

I try my best to draw my attention back to the game. What is she doing here? Shit, she definitely saw me staring at her. Was she… worried? Worried for me? I sneak a quick glance back to where she’s sitting. Even from afar, I can’t miss her gentle gaze as it sweeps over me. I quickly clear my throat, feeling my ears flush.Shit, be fucking cool. Whipping my head forward, breaking our eye contact, I force myself to watch the play ahead.

The clock hits zero as the siren bellows out across the stadium. Flooding the ice, we all line up to congratulate Woodsy in net. I take another peek at my girl, but disappointment sinks in as I spot the empty seat where she was just a few minutes ago. My eyes frantically scan up into the crowd, and I’m just able to spot the back of her head as she climbs the stairs to leave the arena.

Fuck. I blow out a breath, feeling my body sink. I can’t imagine what I was expecting. Was she going jump the glass, rush onto the ice, and nestle into my arms?She doesn’t even know your name, Jack.It didn’t even look like she recognized me.

My girl, handed to me on a silver platter, the universe giving me one last chance to get a fucking grip and do something about this childlike crush. One more fated shot, and just like that, opportunity gone.Again.

I can’t get her out of my head.

Chapter 4

Mia

I may be delusional, but I swear he was looking atme.In all of the excitement, I couldn’t even register what was happening before I saw him get smashed into the boards. Who was that? Number eighteen? Sixteen? Crap, I didn’t even have a chance to get a good look at his jersey. I was a little too distracted by his face.

I’ve barely made it to three games since my dad became coach. It doesn’t help that Mom has always firmly upheld a no-hockey-talk rule in our house since I caught my dad swearing at the TV while watching back old tapes when I was three. I’ve thrived in the separation of Douglas Cameron—Hockey Legend turned Head Coach, and Doug Cameron—Dad. But now I’m kicking myself for not taking more of an interest in his career and not taking twenty freaking minutes to memorize the roster.

I’m not going crazy, I could see the glimmer of his blue eyes peering up from his helmet. I felt the heat of his gaze and his eyes studying me. He couldn’t see what hit him, it was like he was distracted. LikeIwas the one who distracted him. A moment where it was just us two.

I shake off the thought as I climb the rest of the stairs. To celebrate the first game of the first pre-season, the owner sprung for club seats for the player’s friends and family, a step up from the usual lower bowl chunk of reserved seats. I make my wayover to Mom, waiting just outside the security-covered door for me.

She’s effortlessly beautiful. It’s as if she’s barely aged, I swear we’re genuinely mistaken for sisters. She smiles at me happily, wearing her slightly oversized jersey, skinny jeans and black-heeled boots. Leave it to Mom to know how to accessorize sports apparel.

“Hi, babes, how was the game from down there?” she calls out to me over the hum of the crowd.

“Much better than up here. You should have joined me, I could practically smell the sweat,” I joke as she hands me my tote bag, and we make our way into the suite together.

The cameras love to pan to the family section, and practically half the screen time on the jumbotron is taken up by the wives and girlfriends of the players jumping around. I much prefer sitting close to the ice and avoiding that attention when I head to games. It’s not that most people would recognize us unless they’re die-hard fans, but I’d just rather slip under the radar most of the time.

Once we’ve grabbed some water and a snack and taken full advantage of the clean, private bathroom, we make our descent to the ice level. A few other families have already started gathering in the tunnel. We stand chatting for a few minutes as Mom happily introduces me to some of the other wives, mostly of the trainers and coaching staff, proudly beaming as she mentions I’ve just graduated from NYU and I’m staying in Toronto for the year. The fans have cleared out at this point, a few admins carry a photo backdrop and a balloon arch onto the ice as pop music starts to play, echoing through the arena.

I reach into my tote to pull out my skates, crouching down slightly to lace them up. I’m one of the first people to step onto the ice as I outstretch my hand to grab my mom’s. I skate carefully, guiding her, still in heels by the way, over to the bench.She happily takes her seat as another woman joins her, quickly sparking up a conversation as I glide away.

It feels surreal skating in an empty arena. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like being on the ice with thousands of fans screaming at you from the stands. Everything feels so different from down here, it’s pretty easy to forget how big the rink actually is. A few players trickle in, offering greetings to their families as I continue my lap. Excited squeals fill the air from some little ones who are now charging mindlessly across the ice. I used to love coming to these events when I was little.

As I round the corner behind the goalie net, the board door opens and three players hit the ice in front of me, immediately joining the flow of our skating circle. They are… massive. There is no missing them, all well over six feet, skates making their already intimidating figures look that much more menacing. They tower ahead of me, blocking my view forward as I slow my pace to keep some distance between us. I can skate, sure, my parents put me in lessons the second I could walk, but I’m also a hazard to myself. Buffer room between children and giant man-shaped trees on the ice will always do me good.

Skating past Mom, I flash her a smile. She smiles brightly back at me, stopping her conversation to reach into her purse. I take another stride forward just as I hear her call out, “Amelia…Mia! Smile!”

Turning my head to face her, my body skates right into a brick wall. “Oof.”

Wavering unsteadily, I realize the brick wall in question is actually the tallest of the players ahead of me, who has stopped in his tracks. Looking up at him is my first mistake. Stumbling onto the back edge of my blade, I’m completely knocked off center. Struggling to regain my balance, I wobble, starting to fall backward.

His eyes dart between Mom and me, the concern on his face evident as he lunges forward. Closing the distance between us in a flash, his muscular arms stretch out around me, large hands settling on my waist. Instinctively, I grab onto whatever I can, bunching up the fabric of his jersey for added balance, my fingers grazing his solid abdomen below.

All I can see is the built chest in front of me, making craning my neck a necessity for even a peek at my rescuer. You’d think my panic would dissipate once I’m stabilized, but my heartbeat only races faster as the realization sinks in. He’s staring down at me, blue, bewildered eyes blinking, and I’m instantly reminded of our moment earlier. It’s him. It’s happening again. This has to be some kind of karmic intervention or something.

I’m equally frozen, reduced to just studying his face. His clean-shaven jaw reveals chiseled features, a slightly crooked nose, and a healed scar just above his lip. Even after I’ve regained my balance, his hands stay firmly gripped on me.

Taking a breath, his perfect lips crack open like he’s about to speak. If he did say something, I certainly couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blood thundering in my ears. I’m physically unable to do anything but just stare back at him, waiting in anticipation.

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