Page 49 of Over the Moon

Weeze

I chuckled like a goddamn schoolgirl. And why? Because she liked watching me skate. Hell, most females liked watching hockey players on the ice. It didn’t mean anything, and she’d made that clear.

I grabbed my keys and climbed into my truck, driving the short distance to the ice rink.

When I pulled up, I hopped out of my truck and jogged up the walkway. When I opened the door, my hands fisted at my sides.

Brett Lewis was standing there, talking to Eloise. He had his arm up resting on the wall above her, almost like he was caging her in.

The conversation looked intense.

And Eloise didn’t look uncomfortable at all.

Brett fucking Lewis of all people.

Maybe she liked that fucker. Even though she knew I couldn’t stand the dude.

It felt like a punch to the gut, which made no sense, because she owed me nothing.

We were friends.

Professional friends.

And as much as I teased her about it, flirting and going back and forth with her—she’d just showed me her hand.

She did not see me that way.

Because if she did, she wouldn’t be getting cozy with my nemesis.

It was time to pull my head out of my ass.

Eloise Gable did not want me.

Not the way that I wanted her.

Maybe it was time I got the message.

twelve

. . .

Eloise

“Take it easy, Chadwick,”I called out from the bleachers where I sat watching him.

He was clearly in a mood because he barely acknowledged me when he walked into the ice rink, nor had he given me the time of day since we made our way to the ice.

I’d been surprised to see Brett here when I arrived. I didn’t realize Moe, the man who ran this place, was his grandfather.

Brett had appeared a little down, and he ended up telling me that his father wasn’t doing well.

I may not be a fan of Brett Lewis, but I empathized with what he was going through. Watching someone you love battle cancer was painful and emotional and exhausting.

I lived it, and it had shaped my life in a huge way.

Losing my mother at a young age was traumatic and devastating, but watching her suffer—that had stayed with me

“Oh, are you one of Clark’s coaches?” a woman sitting a few seats away asked, and I turned to look at her. She was sitting with a friend and they appeared to be in their mid-twenties, both very attractive, and they were clearly here to watch Clark.

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