Page 9

CHAPTER 9

Naomi

There’s no reason to hide in my car at the next hockey practice, so I find myself following Liam inside, nervous energy zinging through me. It’s been two weeks since the last class because the Appies had an away game last Saturday. Liam told me about it (because of course he did), but I’d already looked at their schedule. Even if I didn’t admit that to him.

Why was I checking their schedule? Because I was trying to think of reasons why Camden didn’t text or call. For two weeks.

I guess the number of games they played in since I last saw him is a good excuse. (Why are there so many hockey games?) But it’s not like he wouldn’t have a spare moment in that busy schedule for a simple text.

Not that he said he would. But after our talk on the walkway above the rink, I thought he would.

He didn’t.

Which is … fine.

I didn’t text him either. Instead, I quietly obsessed. Looking at the Appies schedule and pretty much scouring their entire site. Checking his socials for the first time in months. No sign of a girlfriend, for the record. Only a few random hockey pictures with no captions, which made me a little too satisfied.

I thought about our conversation on the catwalk. And his scent. And the way it felt to have him sling me like a sack of Naomi over his shoulder. I thought about the moment a kiss hung in the air between us, both regretting and applauding my decision to not give in.

I also thought about him buying Liam gear, working with him one-on-one.

I thought about our breakup, what I said to him and then what Camden said afterward to me, all against the backdrop of our conversation at the Summit. I set them all out to examine like some tech genius might do with a dismantled computer. But I’m not a tech genius, so I couldn’t make sense of things and put them back together. I’ve just got a messy table full of parts and pieces and no clue how things fit together.

Though I came close to messaging him, I wasn’t going to be the first one to crack in what feels like a weird game of silent phone chicken.

Which means that now I’m walking into the Summit feeling all the nerves.

I’m immediately met with hockey parents, and I have a new reason to wish I’d stayed in the car. The hallway outside the rink is crowded with kids and hockey gear and moms who look a lot more put together than I feel.

Most are wearing activewear, like me, but the difference is that theirs are all brand name and clearly worn to look hot. By comparison, my compression pants are neither for activity nor for looks, just comfort, and there’s a hole in the right calf. I also didn’t realize makeup was required for watching my kid play hockey.

The other thing they all have that I don’t? The know-how to put on hockey gear.

“I got it, Mom,” Liam says, pushing my hands away.

“But all the other moms are helping their kids,” I whisper through gritted teeth.

I don’t add that the other parents also seem to know what they’re doing with the tape and the weird fabric tubes I’m trying to help Liam secure in place on his legs.

Hockey socks , Liam called them. Which is dumb because they’re not socks. More like leg warmers. Except they’re made of a thin fabric that will provide no warmth.

Hockey stupid is more like it.

I feel like a massive imposter, clearly the only person who doesn’t know what they’re doing here. (Or why hockey socks are called hockey socks or hockey pants are actually padded shorts, not pants.) It’s like a sign hanging above my head pointing out my hockey ineptitude. Or maybe they’re judging me because, for the past two practices, they were all in here helping their kids while my son was totally alone.

“Camden showed me how to do it,” Liam says, taking the roll of tape from my hands and wrapping it around the hockey sock. Doesn’t look any different than what I was doing. “See?”

I don’t, actually. But I nod. “Can I do anything ?” I ask.

The mom directly to our right is adjusting her daughter’s helmet. Granted, the little girl is younger than Liam and needs more help, but I don’t feel like I’m doing enough.

When was the last time I felt so out of place? Probably back in middle school. The feeling is rusty yet familiar and wholly unpleasant.

“Just go sit down,” Liam says. “I’m fine. Coach Cam and I usually work down at the visitor’s end.”

I nod like I know which side of the rink that is. “Okay. Well, um, break a leg.”

Both the mom and daughter next to us whip their heads my way.

“Mom,” Liam hisses.

“Sorry. Wrong activity. That’s what you say with theater. Uh, have fun? Skate well? Don’t punch anyone in the face? Or do punch them?” Liam looks like he’s about to melt through the floor. I hold up both hands. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

We’re both relieved when I make my way up into the stands. But now I’m faced with finding where Liam wanted me to sit. I thought all the parents were in the hallway, but there are already a lot of seats claimed in here. There seem to be two main groups of parents: hot moms who are here to be seen and men who look like former hockey players, with their beards, athletic builds, and leftover swagger.

Both sets seem to have one thing in common, from the snatches of conversations I catch, and that’s a sense that their child will be going pro.

Then there’s me—mom who didn’t even want her kid to play hockey and wants to avoid attention of any kind. Hence the baseball cap, loose-fitting top, and pants with a hole. At the last minute, and after a pointed look from Liam, I traded my bedroom slippers for Birkenstocks with thick socks. By his sigh, this was only a mildly better choice.

“What? I need socks. It’s winter,” I told him as we pulled out of the driveway.

“So maybe wear closed-toe shoes,” Liam said, suddenly sounding more adult than I felt.

Whatever, kid . I don’t want to come across like I’m trying to get Camden’s attention. Not when I have no idea what he’s thinking.

I am here to watch my kid. Period. Full stop. If I can just fly under the radar and avoid attention?—

“Naomi!” a familiar voice calls. “Liam and I usually work down here.”

So much for that plan.

Camden stands on the other side of the glass, gesturing toward the far end of the rink. It’s not easy to hear him with the big echoing space and the barrier, but I heard him loud and clear. So do a number of other parents, both male and female. I’m not imagining the stares now that an actual player just called me by name. Awesome .

Camden isn’t fully geared up with all the pads Liam has on under the new Appies jersey Parker gave him last week when he hurt his arm. Other than a helmet and a long-sleeve athletic shirt with the Appies logo, Camden has on hockey pants (a.k.a. shorts) and hockey socks (a.k.a. not socks). He looks good on skates. His movements are lithe and smooth, natural in a way that makes me think he probably prefers being on skates to walking.

I’ve seen Camden shirtless on a beach, and that was a good look for him. But this is somehow better. Much better.

I force my gaze away, though I’ve already been staring too long as I make my way toward the far end of the rink with Camden slowly skating backward on the other side of the glass. It’s kind of adorable but also makes me something of a spectacle.

I’m now more confused than I was the last two weeks while wondering if he was going to reach out.

“Hey, Naomi!” Camden’s teammate with the big smile and messy mop of blond hair zips by, waving a gloved hand. Eli, I think?

I would respond, but he’s already gone, dropping orange cones and adjusting long black pads to differentiate areas on the ice. I have to pass by a woman already seated with her phone out. She glares, her spidery lash extensions giving her a more sinister look. I half expect for her to draw a line across her neck or maybe tackle me right here in the stands.

“Excuse me,” I say in the politest voice I can muster. She shifts her legs slightly, but it’s still a challenge to get by, and I almost faceplant. Based on her little smirk, this was probably her intention.

Women’s solidarity is a very real thing. But so is the existence of mean girls at every stage of life.

“You okay?” Camden calls.

“Yep. All good.”

Thankfully, no one is sitting down at this end of the ice, and when Camden stops, I plop into one of the seats right by the glass. Kids of all ages start spilling out onto the ice, going to various stations around the rink. I do a double take when I see Liam skating toward us.

He’s not good , but before he started, I don’t think he could stand up on a pair of skates. Now, with a choppy stride, he makes his way over to Camden, pausing to wave at me and almost wiping out in the process. His grin is huge, and I yank out my phone to snap a picture.

He shakes his head, smile disappearing, and if it weren’t for the plexiglass and the general din of dozens of kids now shouting and laughing, I bet I could hear him groaning, Mom .

Too bad, kid. A mom’s gotta do what a mom’s gotta do . In this case, what this mom’s got to do is to record some pictures for posterity. Or frames on the wall, if I ever remember to print the photos I take on my phone.

I’m quickly able to forget my self-conscious feelings and the fact that anyone else is in the building. My sole focus is on Liam and Camden. They run through a series of drills focused on basic skating skills like stopping, making turns, and the proper skating stance. It has to be so boring for Camden, who has the equivalent of a double doctorate in all these things. But even without being able to hear their conversation, I can sense his patience with Liam.

Every few minutes, Camden smiles at Liam, gives his shoulder a squeeze, or taps his helmet for a job well done.

Each time, Liam looks so pleased with himself. Then he smiles up at me, checking to make sure I’m watching.

And each time, a tangle of feelings swells in my chest. Mama pride because of my amazing kid doing hard things. Listening. Learning. Falling and getting back up.

But also, my attraction to Camden is growing almost primal. Because I’m not just seeing a man I like for me ; I’m seeing a man who is really great with my son. I saw glimpses of it this summer, which is one of the things that made me panic.

Being good with Liam doesn’t necessarily mean Camden would be a great dad. Or even that he wants to be. But it means something . Something really big.

Despite not having a dad in the picture, Liam has always had Jake’s steady presence. My dad has been involved, and though he’s busy running his pirate-themed bar, he’s never too busy for his grandson. More recently, Liam has had Hunter and Benedict, who married Merritt and Sadie, respectively, and are around a lot. It’s like getting two sudden bonus uncles.

But this is different. He’s a man giving time to Liam not because he’s family or family adjacent. Camden is doing this either because he cares about Liam or … about me.

Maybe both?

Don’t mind me over here, the emotional land mine of a human being, set to explode at the slightest provocation.

Which is why I jump when suddenly, two bodies are climbing into the chairs on either side of me, coming down from the row above.

“Holy Moses!” I grip the armrests.

Parker smiles at me. “Sorry if we scared you.”

“It’s okay.” My heart is still wildly beating in my chest from being startled. I’m not sure if my reaction is so strong because I’ve been so focused on watching Liam that I pretty much forgot about my surroundings or because I feel suddenly caught because of the thoughts I was thinking about Camden.

“This is Greyson.” Parker gestures to the woman on my right. “She just started working for us, handling merch.”

Greyson has long blond curls, and her energy matches Parker’s. If I put these two in the same room with Eloise, their combined positive energy would blow the roof off a building.

“You can call me Grey if you want, but I’ll answer to either.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Parker leans forward to look at Greyson, pointing toward the rink. “That’s Liam, working with Camden. He’s Naomi’s son.”

“That’s nice that Camden is giving him one-on-one help,” Greyson says. “I didn’t think he was even signed up to help with this.”

“He wasn’t,” Parker says, shooting me a sly look.

“Really?” I glance back out, where Camden is showing Liam how to stop, sending a spray of ice in the air. Liam tries and falls down, but he gets right back up and tries again.

“Nope. Camden changed his mind when he saw Liam in the group,” Parker says. “And I know this because I was helping the first week. Saw it with my own eyes. Some kids were picking on Liam?—”

“ What?! ”

Parker shifts, putting a hand on my knee like she can sense I’m about to jump out of my seat and give some kids—and their parents—a few choice words.

“Camden handled it,” Parker says gently. “I guess Liam didn’t tell you that either?”

“No. He did not.”

I work to steady my breathing. Liam is fine. Right now, he’s doing some kind of exercise involving exaggerated steps from side to side. His face is a mask of pure concentration. Cam glances over at me, like he feels the force of my attention. At my expression, he frowns, but then focuses back on Liam, who’s asking him a question.

“Sorry. I might have overreacted.”

“Don’t apologize—you’re just worried about your son. He’s in good hands here,” Parker says. “We don’t tolerate that kind of behavior. The one jerky kid was not invited to continue in the program.” She looks smug about it.

“Really? What about the other?”

Parker nods toward the ice, where Liam is taking a water break by the benches. Another kid who looks a little older is talking to him. Both are smiling. Camden stands a little way off, watching.

“ That’s the other kid,” Parker says. “I think Camden made quite the impression, and now he’s been checking in on Liam.”

“Aw,” Greyson says. “That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah,” I say, swallowing around a sudden massive lump in my throat as I watch Camden watching the boys. “It is.”

“I think it’s good for Camden, too. He’s been down this year.”

I know she’s not making a pointed or passive aggressive comment, but guilt still squeezes around me.

“He’s been especially distracted and distant the past few weeks. Logan mentioned it, and I was getting worried. Camden doesn’t seem to realize this, but he has a quiet way of impacting the team. If he’s off, they’re off too.”

Interesting. But I can see it. Last summer, I did the lion’s share and a half of talking. Even when he isn’t saying things, Camden has a presence about him, a quiet way of making an impact. I could definitely see that having an impact on a team.

Parker turns to me with a smile. “So, with you in the mix, things seem to be looking up.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say, but Parker only smiles.

“Did you meet my brother yet?” Greyson asks, and I’m glad for the subject change. “The guys call him Van.”

“I’m not sure. Maybe?”

“You’d probably remember,” says Grey. “It’s hard to miss his mouth. His figurative mouth. Not like he has a weird clown mouth or anything. He just says a lot of things that are ill-advised.”

I laugh. “Okay, I think I did meet him last week. Was he with Camden while they were stitching up Liam?” I ask Parker.

“Yup,” she says. “He’s a founding member of the Dream Team.”

I raise my eyebrows. “The Dream Team?”

“It was a nickname the core group of guys on the team got in the press. They really leaned into it. Now they have a group chat named after it and everything. They think I don’t know they named it that, but sometimes Logan lets me peek. Only when it’s not, like, private stuff,” Parker adds quickly.

“Is Cam one of the Dream Team?” Somehow, I can’t imagine him being part of a group chat.

Overall, this is a kind of culture shock, seeing Camden now in his more natural home environment after knowing only the vacation version of him: Vacation Camden. Not that he seems like two different people, but more like I’m seeing the person he is in different settings.

“Yep. He’s not as into the group chat as the other guys,” Parker says, which tracks. “Poor Dominik keeps hanging around, hoping for an invite. One of these days, he’ll wear them down.”

“Is Dominik out there?” I ask.

Parker points toward a guy at the far end, helping a mixed group of guys and a few girls. He has chiseled features, and I can just catch a glimpse of white-blond hair peeking out of his helmet.

“Is he still single?” Grey sounds hopeful.

Parker laughs. “Yes. But he’s a little young for you. And do you think your brother would let him get anywhere near you?”

Greyson’s look turns mischievous. “What Van doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Also considering my brother secretly married the coach’s daughter, I’m not sure he gets to have an opinion on anything.”

Now, there’s an interesting tidbit. But I don’t get to ask about it because they’re still going.

“But Van will still give you his opinion,” Parker says. “Just like my brother did about Logan. You have a brother, right, Naomi? I think I heard he’s a lawyer?”

I have to wonder what else she’s heard. “Yep. And he’s stupidly overprotective.”

Greyson extends her fist out in front of us. “Stupid brothers club?”

The three of us bump fists. “Stupid brothers club,” I agree. But only because it’s clear all three of us love our stupid, overprotective brothers.

I wonder what Jake is going to say about me reconnecting with Camden. Even if it’s not anything to speak of, I think even having him involved with Liam is something Jake will have Strongly Worded Thoughts about.

I glance back out over the ice where Camden has Liam picking up speed and then balancing on one skate. He’s coming our way, wobbling and weaving, his face tight with concentration. Camden skates next to him, clearly encouraging him through the exercise. Liam stops by smacking right into the glass near us. With a big smile, he waves. All three of us wave back. When Liam turns back around, he eats it again.

Parker winces. “He’ll get it. Just takes a little while.”

“Do either of you skate?” I ask.

“I do,” Parker says, which somehow doesn’t surprise me at all. “I did figure skating for years because my dad wouldn’t let me play hockey.”

“I don’t skate. I wonder if Dominik would teach me?” Grey says with a sigh. “How young did you say he is?”

“I didn’t. But he’s nineteen, I think?”

“Hm,” Grey says. “I’ll round up. Because that only makes us three years apart, but the idea of dating a teenager sounds really yucky.”

“Probably. I can help set that up if you’d like,” Parker offers. “Just don’t tell Van I helped. I love playing matchmaker.”

“You do, don’t you?” I give her a look, thinking of the way she scooped up Liam for a Summit tour and left me alone with Camden last week.

She ignores the question. “Hey, want to go out with us this week? Grey and I are planning to have dinner with some of the ladies.”

“She means the WAGs,” Grey says. “Wives and girlfriends of the players.”

Parker rolls her eyes. “Ugh. I hate that term. It’s too close to hags . Also, it’s defining women in terms of men, which I don’t like.”

“Don’t get started with ALL,” Greyson says. “None of us like it.”

“ALL?” I ask.

“Appies Leading Ladies,” Parker says. “I keep trying, but it just won’t happen.”

“Like fetch?” I ask, and Parker laughs.

“Exactly like fetch.”

Grey looks between us. “Fetch like … a dog?”

“Oh, you sweet, dear baby,” Parker says.

“I’m barely younger than you,” Grey points out.

“But the gap in your Mean Girls knowledge is like a whole chasm between us.”

“ Mean Girls the musical?” Grey asks.

Parker and I both groan, which makes me laugh. “Maybe we’ll watch the best—a.k.a. the original— Mean Girls after our dinner,” Parker says. “For educational purposes. You’ll come, Naomi? Please?”

“I’ll need to figure out what to do with Liam,” I say. Technically, I can leave him alone at home. He’s ten. But I haven’t done so here yet. Somehow, it feels totally different doing so on Oakley Island. Not like Harvest Hollow is some hotbed of crime or anything. But still.

“I bet Camden would hang out with him,” Parker suggests.

She’s probably right, but the idea makes my stomach squirm. Not because I don’t feel comfortable leaving Liam alone with Camden. Or, at least, not because I don’t feel like Liam would be safe . More like … Liam would get ideas. More ideas than the ones already sprouting in his head.

“Text me the details and I’ll see if I can make it,” I say.

As I watch Camden giving Liam tips on his stance, I’m already stockpiling a list of excuses. Hanging out with Parker and Greyson would be fun. They’re easy to talk to, and I can see real friend potential. But I have a feeling hanging out with a bunch of women who are dating or married to hockey players may not be the best thing to help me not want to date a hockey player.

And that’s what I want, right? To not want to date Camden?

Watching him patiently help Liam back to his feet has me questioning my reasons for trying to keep distance between us.

“I know!” Parker says, bouncing in her seat. “We’ll come over and do a housewarming party. Everyone can bring something. That way you don’t need a babysitter.”

“Ooh! That sounds fun,” Greyson says. “I love shopping for house stuff! What’s your style? What do you need?”

“Um, I don’t actually?—”

“Just let us know which night is best for you,” Parker says, and there is no room for argument in her tone. She and Greyson stare expectantly at me while on the ice, Liam is throwing his arms around Camden, celebrating some success I missed while trying to come up with a reason I’m busy every night next week or why I’m trying to avoid hanging out with potential new friends.

Camden looks up, and his eyes lock with mine over Liam’s head. A tremor moves through me as his gaze sears right to my heart. Liam turns with as big a smile as I’ve ever seen, Camden’s arm still casually draped over my son’s shoulders.

I can practically feel the breeze stirring my hair as I wave my white flag. “Tuesday night,” I say meekly. “That will work.”

“Perfect. Their next game is Monday, so we’ll have Tuesday night off,” Parker says. “Ooh—do you want to come to the game? I can get you tickets.”

“I … no. Maybe next time.” Liam would love it, but I need to have some safe, non-hockey space in my life. Especially since I still don’t know what the deal is with Camden, and now this dinner has been foisted upon me. At this point, trying to say no to Parker seems like an exercise in futility.

“I’ll text you,” Parker says.

“Add her to the group chat,” Greyson says.

“I don’t have to be an official WAG to get in the group chat?” I ask dryly.

“Eh. It’s not a WAG chat.” Parker gives me a quick grin, which might be characterized as evil. “And anyway, I don’t think you’ll be unofficial for long. See ya!”

I’m about to argue or maybe demand she tell me why she thinks that when Parker and Greyson dart away. The kids are clearing the ice with Liam somewhere in the crowd of kids in helmets and skates. I scan to find him but get distracted when I see Camden standing on the other side of the glass in front of me. He waves me toward a different exit area of the rink. I don’t understand why until I get closer. There’s no plexiglass between us now, and I’m able to lean over a railing and talk to him.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Liam’s fine,” he says, clearly reading that my son is my primary concern.

Then he puts his hand over mine on the railing. I go completely still—a rabbit caught in a very tempting snare.

His hand is warm, his fingers curling around my hand in a way that’s both comforting and possessive. “I was hoping to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay.” I sound as breathy as a teenager getting her first phone call from a boy. Then I remember how I stared at my phone for two weeks, watching it not light up. “You still have my number. There was plenty of time to talk to me over the last two weeks.”

“I was thinking,” he says.

I wait.

He swallows, suddenly looking nervous. “Thinking about you .”

“I also was thinking.” I don’t clarify that I was thinking about him. Or that in addition to thinking, I was hoping. And … disappointing—which, in this case, is a verb.

“I would really like to have a conversation in person.”

My lips twitch. “Like the one we’re having now?” I’m not sure why I can’t just be easy, but I’m relieved when Camden chuckles.

“Preferably one where we’re across a dinner table. Alone.”

“Like … a date?”

He nods, and his face is so earnest that I want to climb over this railing and give him a hug. “Yes. Would you like to go on a date with me, Naomi?”

“For the purpose of talking?” I ask.

“At least talking.”

His eyes flare with a sudden heat that makes my knees feel wobbly. When his thumb grazes the back of my hand, a whisper of a touch, I have to lean more of my weight on the railing to stay upright.

“Okay. Yes.”

“I have a game tomorrow and another Monday night. Tuesday I have plans.”

“So do I,” I tell him, wanting to stay as vague as he is about what those plans are.

“What about a Wednesday lunch?”

“I think that’s fine. I can check my calendar and text you. Assuming your phone still works.”

“May I text you?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You already bought my kid a whole set of new hockey gear without asking. Which I’m going to pay you back for, by the way. Now you’re asking permission to text me?”

“No,” Camden says firmly, giving my hand a squeeze. “You’re not going to pay me back. Or stop me from doing anything I can for you and Liam. Also, asking to text is more of a formality. I’m going to call or text you.”

“Is that so?”

He drops my hand, making me immediately ravenous for more of his touch. Producing his phone from somewhere, Camden taps the screen a few times. I feel mine buzz in the pocket on my thigh and slip it out to see he’s texted me one word: Hi .

When I look up, I’m grinning, but he’s frowning down at his phone. “I need to get home.” Worry practically radiates off of him, a stark change from his earnest intensity from seconds ago.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

He looks like there’s something he wants to say, but he only shakes his head. “I’ll be in touch.”

And then he disappears down the hallway, leaving me torn between being excited about our date and wondering what kind of emergency would make a man who, as far as I know, lives alone, have to rush home.