Page 48

Casey

The second Dad’s name pops up on my screen, I can predict what’s coming.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m really sorry, but I need a raincheck on breakfast.”

A sad smile pulls at my lips. I got too used to our Wednesday morning breakfast dates during the off season.

That’s all over now.

He hesitates then adds sheepishly, “Any chance you could do me a favor, though?”

“You got it,” I say.

“I left my bible on the kitchen counter…” he trails off.

A laugh spills free.

“Would you like a coffee as well?”

“You’re too good to me.”

“Someone’s got to be,” I tease.

“Love you, Care Bear.”

The call cuts and I take the final turn toward the house I grew up in.

Killing the engine in the driveway, I waste no time in climbing out and finding my key.

The second I open the door, familiarity rushes over me. The scent of happiness and safety fills my nose.

I love this place. Always have, always will. I have so many fantastic memories here—my father being the main one.

As I step into the kitchen, I find the room in its usual state of chaos, and I can’t help but smile. Dad isn’t the cleanest or most organized of people, unless it comes to work.

Collecting a stray glass and mug, I dump them in the sink, doing my bit to help.

I’m twenty-three. I shouldn’t care that he’s busy and blown off our date. But the sad truth of it is that it’s the only date of any kind I’ve had in…longer than I want to admit.

A loud sigh passes my lips.

Glancing around the room, I quickly locate what I came here for.

It’s not a real bible. My father doesn’t have a single religious bone in his body, unless you count his lifetime commitment to hockey. I’m pretty sure he’s prayed to that puck a few times over the years.

His bible is his life. His calendar, his playbook…his everything.

He starts a new one immediately after the end of each season and begins filling it with notes for the next one.

By the time the season is upon us, it always looks like it does now: bursting at the seams, full of scraps of paper with plays scribbled on them, notes about players, and phone numbers. Women’s phone numbers.

I shake my head.

Dad is a good-looking man. After years of playing hockey, his body is still something to be proud of. And as the single head coach for the LA Vipers, he is hot property with all the desperate women in a fifty-mile radius.

He’s not interested, though.

He’s too focused on his job, on his team, and on me.

Don’t get me wrong, when I was a teenager, I loved that I didn’t have to share him with anything but hockey. But now that I’m older, I do wish he could find someone to enjoy life with.

I lift the bible from the counter and tuck it under my arm before heading back to my car, placing it safely on the passenger’s seat.

Walking through the arena is almost as familiar as walking into Dad’s house.

It’s my second home.

Some of my earliest memories are from here, watching Dad utterly destroying his opponents on the ice.

I loved it just as much then as I do now. Hockey isn’t just a game. It’s a lifestyle. One I can’t imagine not living.

Sucking in a deep breath, I walk toward the rink where I have no doubt I’ll find the man I’m looking for.

The scraping of skates on ice and men shouting get steadily louder, and my speed increases.

If I could, I’d spend all my days sitting in the stands watching them train. Watching Dad boss them around.

The second I turn the corner, my eyes fall on the rink, and without meaning to, they search out number fifty-five. It’s been the same since he was traded here last season.

Kodie Rivers is a hockey god.

Always has been and always will be.

I’m honored to get the chance to watch him in action.

The truth is, I’ve been watching him for years. Since he first took to the ice in college.

Even in high school, he was the best, and that allowed him to have his pick of colleges. And things have only gotten better since.

Especially for me.

When it was announced that he was coming to LA, I thought all my Christmases had come at once.

There’s just one tiny issue…

I’m the coach’s daughter.

It doesn’t matter how much I might obsess over a player; it’s never going to happen.

They wouldn’t risk losing the respect of my father. A night with me isn’t worth it.

I get it. I do. And before Kodie joined the Vipers, it never really bothered me.

I saw them all as adopted uncles, big brothers, and friends.

But now…

I used to have photos of him stuck inside my high school textbooks. I’d have had them on my bedroom wall if I didn’t think my dad would lose his shit over it.

I’ve followed Kodie’s career, his life, ever since he first stole my attention all those years ago.

And now that he’s here, I’m no less intrigued by him. If anything, I’d say my slight obsession is worse.

Managing to rip my eyes away from his form speeding across the ice, I spot Dad.

Determined to look like a woman in control of her life, I hold my head high, clutch his bible tighter to my chest and keep walking.

He’s just a hockey player. Just a man.

No big deal.

But it is a big deal. He’s Kodie fucking Rivers.

Gritting my teeth, I do my best to stuff down the excitable hormonal teenage girl who seems to pop up every time I’m anywhere near him and focus on the task at hand.

Noticing movement in his direction, Dad looks up. The second he discovers it’s me, his entire face lights up.

“Care Bear,” he mouths, making my cheeks burn red.

I’m not sure I’ll ever truly feel like an adult when I’m in my father’s company. Somehow, no matter how old I am or what I’ve managed to achieve, I still feel like a little girl.

I continue around the rink, and I’ve almost reached him when two players slam into the plexiglass beside me. A startled shriek rips from my lips as I twist around to see who it is.

My breath catches, my heart racing even faster when I lock onto a pair of mesmerizing dark brown eyes that I’d know anywhere.

I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone completely dry.

Never before have I been this girl. I’ve been surrounded by hot hockey boys all my life. Sure, I’ve crushed on a few, but none of them have caused the kind of reaction that Kodie Rivers does.

It should be illegal.

As much as I’d love for him to look excited to see me, the only expression on his face is one of irritation. I guess that’s understandable when you’ve just been body checked by a teammate.

I have no idea if he recognizes me—I pray that he does, but I can understand that I’m probably not as big a part of his life as he is mine. He gives me a curt nod of acknowledgement, and that alone is enough to cause a riot of butterflies in my stomach.

Get a fucking grip, Casey.

I force myself to look away and at the much more amused-looking man behind him.

Lincoln Storm.

Now, if there was a player who would probably throw caution to the wind and be willing to hook up with the coach’s daughter, it would be Linc.

He’s been a Viper since his rookie year. He’s a great player…in both senses of the word. He works hard and he plays harder.

The opposite of Kodie, who lives a much quieter life.

Linc smirks at me in accomplishment, and a beat before he releases Kodie, he winks. That should be the move to give me butterflies, but nope. There are none for him.

A deep growl fills the air as a shadow falls over me.

“Eyes off my daughter, Storm.” The warning in Dad’s voice makes my stomach knot. I risk glancing over and find Dad glaring daggers at one of his best players. “Drop and give me fifty,” he commands.

Knowing he’s fucked up, Linc instantly pushes back and drops to his hands on the ice.

Dad watches him for a few seconds, but once he’s happy he’s driven off any potential suitors, he turns to me with a soft smile playing on his lips.

“You’re an angel,” he says, his voice suddenly softer and calmer.

“It’s not like it’s out of my way,” I tease, looking up at him and smiling.

Sure, he has a few more wrinkles and a couple of gray hairs at his temples these days, but James Watson is still a very good-looking man. I can’t blame women for acting the way they do around him.

“Even still. Appreciate it, kiddo.”

Linc finishes his punishment and he and Kodie take off across the ice again to join the rest of the team, who are watching with amused expressions.

After taking his bible and coffee, Dad promises to make up for missing breakfast by taking me out to dinner instead.

Not wanting to take up any more of his time, I stretch up on my toes to give him a kiss on the cheek and wish him a good day, and then I walk away from the rink without looking back.

The second I pull my car door open, something flutters into the footwell. It must have fallen out of Dad’s bible.

With a frown, I reach over and retrieve an envelope. I’m about to turn back and take it to Dad when the messy, unfamiliar writing across the front steals my attention.

Coach Watson, I know you don’t want to go, but here is your ticket. Please don’t waste it.

It’s signed by the team owner.

My heart rate begins to increase as I predict what’s hiding inside.

Climbing into my car, I look around the lot nervously. It’s deserted, but it doesn’t stop me from slumping lower in my seat as I tuck my finger under the unsealed flap. My hand shakes as I pull out the single ticket inside.

My stomach twists with anticipation.

For years, the LA Vipers’ fundraising department has organized a masquerade ball in the weeks leading up to the preseason.

Getting your hands on a ticket is like finding unicorn shit.

Every single year, my dad is given one. And every single year, he donates to the cause but refuses to attend, saying that it’s not his thing.

I’ve begged for his ticket every year since I was seventeen, to no avail.

It’s not that he’s trying to keep me away from hockey. That would be really hard, considering I also work for the franchise. But it would be safe to say that he likes to keep me at arm’s length from the team.

That wouldn’t have been the case if I were a boy. Hanging out with all the hot hockey players would have been a requirement. I’m not sure it’s fair that just because I was born with a vagina, I’m barely allowed to hang out with them.

It was fine when I was little. I was welcomed in as if I were one of their own kids. But as I hit my teen years, as I grew boobs, Dad started limiting my visits.

The team has changed a lot since then. There are only a handful of veterans now who remember me as a kid. I guess that’s the issue.

I clutch the slip of paper tighter, feeling like the kid holding the golden ticket.

I shouldn’t.

Dad will kill me if he finds out I’ve taken it.

He’ll know , a little voice screams, but one look at the arena and I swallow it down.

Dad won’t know. Every year that ticket goes in the trash.

It’s a masquerade ball…what if no one finds out?

If I can secure a good enough mask and dye my hair, then no one has to know. Not Dad, not Gary, our GM, or any of the players.

For one night, I’ll just be a woman at a party.

A party that a certain number fifty-five will be attending…