Page 63 of Fated Shot

Chapter 26

Mia

I’m two batches deep and covered in flour when I get a call from an unknown number. Spam calls are the last thing I want to deal with right now.

I ignore it, continuing with the lemon shortbread dough I’ve been meticulously kneading. The same number appears on my screen again a minute later.Odd.I quickly wipe my hands clean on my apron as I press the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hey, Mia?” A young sounding, uncertain voice asks.

“Yes?”

“It’s um, Penn. Sorry, Penn Brooks, uh, from the Tundra?” He sounds very nervous.

“Ohh, hi,” I reply, unable to contain the confusion in my tone.

“I think you should come down to the rink. Brody is—uh, sorry, Jack seems… well, I think maybe you should come talk to him.”

I’m not sure what to think, but my brain wants to go straight to panic, which is basically my default setting. I don’t even bother to question how he got my number or why he chose to call me.

“Is he hurt?” I ask breathlessly.

There’s a pause. “No, uhh… I think you should maybe just hear it from him.”

I don’t hesitate. I’m already running to grab my keys as I let out an “I’m on my way” before hanging up the phone and racing out the door.

By the time I bust through the rink doors, I’ve broken probably five traffic laws, but I can’t help the panic radiating through me. The parking lot was desolate. The ice is freshly glazed, not a single carve on its surface and the whole arena is empty. I usually find the smells of the rink soothing, letting fresh ice mixed with a hint of rubber waft over me, but it’s just irritating right now. Nothing more than a distraction from my mission as I frantically scan around me for any sight of him. Any sight of my dad. Any sight ofanyone. Could Penn have been more cryptic?

I pull out my phone, dialing Jack’s number. After a few unanswered rings, I lower it from my ear, listening to a faint ringtone playing in the distance. Running toward the sound, I race down the corridor toward the dressing room. Naked hockey players be damned, I barge in, relieved to find onlymyhockey player’s stuff in his cubby.

The empty room is deathly quiet, save for the faint sound of running water shutting off from behind a white door with steam seeping through. Stepping toward it, I push the swinging door open. Empty shower stalls line the wall, and when I look to the very end of the room, I finally spot him.

Wet hair, damp body, with a towel wrapped around his toned waist is Jack Brody in all his glory.

“Mia,” he calls out with so much relief in his voice that it shatters the part of my heart that’s been aching for him. His whole expression lights as he stares at me, but slowly, I can see the realization and sadness creeping back in, clouding his expression.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, all heartache in his tone.

The sight of him alone is enough for me to forget everything else. I can’t even think straight, I just know I need him. Running over, I land straight in his chest as his arms instinctively wrap around me. It feels so natural, a perfect fit, like we belong exactly like this. His tense muscles cling to me as if afraid I’m going to break away at any moment.

When we finally peel apart from each other, he opens his mouth ever so slightly before closing it again with a quiet sigh. His tired eyes are a deeper blue than usual, like the ocean after a storm. When my hand reaches up to stroke his tense jaw, his gaze hits me with an overwhelming rush of sadness.

I’m so tired of fighting this. I want this. I wanthim.

“I think your dad knows,” he says, a wave of guilt on his expression, looking as though he’s trying to read my reaction.

“That’s okay,” I say calmly.

“And I punched your ex.”Wait, what?

“Are—are you okay?” I ask, scanning his body for any signs of a tussle as my hand brushes down his stomach.

There’s a tiny pull at the corner of his mouth, the slightest lightening of his grim expression. “He didn’t even land a hit on me.”

I hug him tightly again, and he braces my head against his bare chest. It feels like he missed me as much as I missed him.

“I know you need your space, and I want to give you whatever you need, but do you think we can just talk for a bit?” he asks gently, the sound muffled by his face tucked in my hair.

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