Page 19 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

Maverick

Friday morning, I texted Damon to check on Gabrielle.

Hey, man. How’s your mom feeling?

While his response was almost immediate, it lacked detail.

Fine.

I knew better than to press for more information.

He was a teenage boy. Teenage boys were notoriously allergic to specifics.

Especially about anybody besides themselves or the girl they might be interested in.

And since Gabrielle was his mom, and Raina told us she had period cramps—which I didn’t believe—I’m sure Damon was doing his best to actively avoid finding out anything else about his mother’s condition.

I needed Gabrielle’s number.

After my morning exercises and stretches, I headed back to the metalwork and woodwork shops to see if they could make my private lessons a little less private, and include some eager, well-behaved island kiddos.

Both Jackson Clemmons and Carol Robbins said it was no problem at all, and they seemed to like the idea of offering after-school classes for islanders.

I was just leaving Carol Robbins’ woodwork shop when my phone buzzed with a text message. I didn’t recognize the number, but the preview text told me exactly who it was.

Hey, Maverick. It’s Jasmine Greengrass. We met last month.

I run the sports podcast— Pucktastic . I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming on while you’re laid up recovering?

Let me know your availability. I’ll work around your schedule.

It would be so great to have you on. I hope you’re healing quickly and look forward to hearing from you. -J ??

I grinned at the memory of chatting with the super-knowledgeable, down-to-earth podcaster I met at the pub the night before my injury. I hadn’t had a chance to listen to any of her episodes, but now I would make a point of it.

I replied right away so I wouldn’t forget.

Hey, Jasmine. Of course I remember you. I would love to come on your show. My schedule is pretty open right now. So let me know when you’ve got time and let’s set it up. Thank you so much for reaching out. Take care – Mav

I put the truck in gear and backed out of the metalwork parking lot.

There were so many great-sounding food places on the island, one of my other goals while here was to visit as many of them as I could.

First up, Booch and Bagels, a kombucha and bagel place in a little kiosk right outside the grocery store.

I was just getting my order of peach and ginger kombucha, and a lox and caper bagel with cream cheese and dill drizzle when another message vibrated my phone. It was a balancing act fit for a circus performer to not drop my food and get my phone out.

I sat down on a nearby bench and set down my kombucha. This time, it was a message from Damon.

Friends don’t believe I know you. Can you come prove them wrong at the school today? Lunch break is in twenty minutes.

Shit .

Here I was trying to keep my existence on the island on the down-low, and Damon was going around advertising it to everyone. Did he not hear our conversation at the dinner table last night? That we were all trying to not give the Jolene Dandys of the world fodder for their gossip train?

However, I also knew just how tedious life in a small town, and life as a teenager in a small town, could be.

And I did offer to come by that first night I had dinner at their place.

Besides, kids could be brutal and cruel, and if Damon’s volatile emotions were any indication of things, something bigger was going on at school, and maybe me showing up there would ease whatever strife he was going through.

I’ll be there.

I replied, taking a sip of my kombucha.

Damn, that was good.

I took my bagel and booch to go and headed back to my truck. I was just climbing into the cab when a whip of familiar chestnut hair out of the corner of my eye pulled my attention.

“Gabrielle?” I asked, hanging my head back out, my foot on the running board.

She didn’t turn around.

But I would know the back of that head anywhere. And I know she heard me as she loaded her groceries into the back of her SUV. The stiff set of her shoulders said as much.

“Gabrielle?” I said again, this time louder.

Still no response.

She was a few vehicles over, but I could tell she heard me again and was now actively not acknowledging me.

She did a weird, sideways walk, showing me her back, along the driver’s side of her vehicle, before sliding in behind the wheel, letting her hair fall forward to cover her face and aggressively turning on the ignition and peeling out of there.

What the hell was that about?

Did I do something to upset her? Was she mad at me?

The thought of following her definitely crossed my mind, but I promised Damon I’d go to the school. So I abandoned the notion of taking off after Gabrielle, and instead, headed in the opposite direction toward the high school.

Just as I pulled into the school parking lot, my phone buzzed again with another message from Jasmine.

(Jasmine)

Amazing! You’re the best, Mav. How about tomorrow afternoon? Would 1 p.m. PST work for you? I can send you the Zoom link.

(Me)

Can we make it 10 a.m. PST? I have a cheesemaking workshop at 1 p.m.

(Jasmine)

Cheesemaking? So cool. 10 a.m. PST it is. Thank you! Look out for the link shortly.

I added her to my contacts and sent her my email address for the Zoom link. Then, I finished my bagel and brought my kombucha with me as I climbed out of my truck and headed for the front office of San Camanez High, Home of the Dolphins.

“Hey there,” I said to the secretary behind the plexiglass window. “As a visitor, do I need to sign in or something?”

“What’s the nature of your visit?” she asked, chewing. A homemade salad in a Tupperware container sat half-eaten on the desk beside her keyboard.

“I’m a friend of Damon Campbell’s. He, uh … he invited me.”

She lifted one pale, blonde brow, but picked up the phone beside her. “I have a guest here for Damon. Yes. Thank you.” She hung up the phone. “Please sign in right there on that clipboard.”

“Thank you.” I did as I was told and waited awkwardly until footsteps echoed down a hallway nearby. Around the corner a moment later, Damon appeared. His face lit up when he saw me.

“Lunch starts in five,” he said. “Can you meet us in the parking lot?”

“Am I allowed to be here?” I asked, aware of the secretary eavesdropping.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t you be?” He shrugged a boney shoulder.

“Because I’m not family. I’m just some random guy that showed up to a high school, and now you’re asking me to meet you and a bunch of your friends in the parking lot. You do see how this could all be interpreted right?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, Mav. Trust me.”

The kid was fourteen, and even though I’m sure he wasn’t up to anything nefarious, I knew how trustworthy fourteen-year-old boys could be.

Huffing a sigh, I nodded. “Go back to class, Damon. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

His shoulder lifted again, and he disappeared.

I turned back to the secretary. “Is the principal here? I’d love to speak to them quickly.”

She picked up her phone again, murmured something into it, and nodded. “She’ll be right out.”

“Thank you.”

A minute later, a short, rounder woman with eccentric cat-eye glasses in a lime-green shade and rhinestones came around the corner, also chewing. Her hair was mostly gray, and a tight mop of curls that just covered the tops of her ears. “Hello?”

I stuck my hand out. “Hi there, I’m Maverick Roy. I’m a friend of the Campbells and … Damon asked me to come to the school to meet some of his friends. I just want to be transparent about who I am and why I’m here.”

She tilted her head to the side and shook my hand. “I’m Bea Wellington, the principal. Why does Mr. Campbell want to introduce you to his friends, exactly?”

I cleared my throat and my cheeks grew warm. “I, um …” I leaned forward a little and dropped my voice. “I’m an NHL hockey player. The Campbells were my host family for a few years when I was playing for a farm team. I’m here visiting them for a while and trying to keep a low profile.”

“Then why are you letting Damon introduce you to his friends? That seems counterintuitive.”

She didn’t know the half of it.

I nodded. “Yes, it does. However, I made him a promise. His friends don’t believe him and … well, you know how kids can be.”

Her head bobbed. She didn’t have much of a neck, though her fancy, glass bead spectacles chain was hanging around something. “I do. Thank you for letting me know, Mr. Roy. Are you going into the classroom?”

“No … Damon said to just meet him in the parking lot on their lunch break. I just didn’t want you thinking I was like a drug dealer or something talking to a bunch of teenage boys in a parking lot.” My chuckle came out more forced sounding than I intended.

Her brows hiked up. “Indeed. That is how it would look.”

“I’m sure my presence on the island will be public knowledge after this, but well … the things we do for the people we care about, hmm?”

Her gaze softened. “Indeed,” she said again.

“I have signed in. Is there anything else I should do?”

“You don’t need to sign in if you’re in the parking lot. You letting me know should be enough. Just … don’t let them get hit by cars or sell them any drugs.”

Smirking, I grabbed the pen and signed myself back out on the clipboard. “I’ll do my best on both accounts.” Then I gave Bea and the secretary a friendly nod and headed back out to my truck just as the obnoxious bell rattled the teeth in my skull.

Hopefully, it didn’t sound as terrible inside the school as it did outside. I made it to my truck and brought down the tailgate. My back was a little sore, so I’d rather sit if I could.