Page 1

Chapter one

Abby

“Mom,he’srightthere!Look!” Jake’s little hand grabs mine, his fingers sticky from the cotton candy he devoured five minutes ago. His blue eyes, wide with awe, lock on Beckett Hayes as he skates past. “Did you see that move? That was sick!”

“Totally,” I murmur, but my gaze drifts more to Jake’s face than the action on the ice. His cheeks flush with excitement, and his smile stretches ear to ear. The pure joy radiating from him tugs at my heart.

The roar of the crowd echoes around us as the Irondale Ice Hawks dominate the third period. Beckett Hayes—Jake’s idol—skates effortlessly, commanding the rink like he owns it. Every pass, every shot, every calculated move seems perfectly timed.

“Mom, I think Beck’s going for a hat trick!” Jake’s voice rises with anticipation, practically bouncing off the walls of the packed arena.

“Maybe,” I reply with a smile, ruffling his hair. I might not know all the hockey lingo, but I’ve learned enough to keep up with my son’s obsession. Ever since Jake discovered hockey, life has been a whirlwind of practices, early morning ice times, and endless stats recited at the dinner table. So, I know that, according to my son, a hat trick is when one player scores three goals in a single game.

But it’s worth every second. Especially after everything we’ve been through.

“Spotty agrees!” Jake grins as he pats Spotty’s head. Our Dalmatian, Sir Lotsaspots—appropriately named by a six-year-old with a love for both knights and animals—sits dutifully by Jake’s side, his tail thumping against the floor. The arena’s pet-friendly nights are a godsend for families like ours. Jake wouldn’t dream of leaving Spotty at home, and honestly, neither would I.

“Easy, Spotty.” I chuckle as the pup tries to sneak a lick of Jake’s face. “We don’t need slobber all over the jersey.”

“Mom, he’s a good luck charm!” Jake beams and wipes his face with the sleeve of his Ice Hawks hoodie. “Right, boy?”

Spotty barks softly, as if agreeing, and Jake grins even wider.

My heart swells as I take in the moment. These little pockets of happiness remind me why I work so hard to keep life steady for Jake. Three years after losing his dad in an accident, I’m still figuring out how to navigate single motherhood. But moments like this? They make it all worth it.

CRASH!

The sound of bodies slamming into the boards jolts me out of my thoughts. The crowd erupts as Beck rips the puck away from the opposing forward and speeds toward the goal. My stomach tightens as I watch Jake practically hold his breath.

“Come on, Beck,” Jake whispers, his eyes glued to the ice. “You’ve got this.”

And then it happens. Beck winds up, his powerful shot slicing through the air.

GOAL! The arena explodes as the puck hits the back of the net.

“YES!” Jake jumps up, nearly knocking over his popcorn. “Hat trick! Hat trick!” He waves his arms wildly, and Spotty joins the celebration with a series of excited barks. Fans are throwing their hats onto the ice while wildly screaming. It’s bedlam for at least five minutes while the officials have the hats picked up and the ice brought back to some semblance of normal.

I laugh, scooping up the popcorn before it ends up everywhere. “Okay, buddy, calm down before Spotty starts doing laps around the arena.”

But it’s too late. Spotty’s wagging tail knocks over Jake’s drink, sending soda cascading onto the concrete floor.

“Oops.” Jake looks down sheepishly. “Sorry, Mom.”

I sigh but can’t help but smile. “It’s okay. I packed extra napkins.”

As I mop up the mess, I notice a few fans nearby chuckling at the commotion. One of them, a woman with a soft smile, leans over. “Your little guy’s got a lot of spirit. And that pup? Adorable.”

“Thanks,” I reply, flashing a quick smile before turning my attention back to Jake. He’s still bouncing with excitement, his eyes glued to the ice where Beck skates by, acknowledging the crowd.

And that’s when it happens.

THWACK!

A rogue puck deflects off a player’s stick and hurtles toward the stands—straight toward us.

My heart leaps into my throat. “Jake, watch out—”

But before I can react, Beck skates toward the boards, eyes locked on the puck. In a blur of motion, his gloved hand snatches it out of midair, just before it reaches our section.