Page 16 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

RUBY

The next morning, I walk up the path to the house with my laptop and notebooks in tow. I slept incredible. Nothing like a near-death experience to lull you to sleep.

And I woke up excited. I texted Molly to let her know the change in plans, as well as Olivia. Now it’s time to get to work.

Nick is already in the driveway. A little boy with the same messy dark hair walks down the front steps with a large duffel bag over one shoulder.

The kid’s steps slow when he sees me approaching.

“Who’s the chick?” he asks.

Nick steps forward and takes his bag, tossing it into the bed of his truck. “Don’t call girls chicks. And that’s Ruby. She’s coming with us to the rink today.”

Nick tips his head to the kid while looking at me. “This is my son, Aidan.”

“Hi, Aidan.” I lift a hand in a small wave.

“Hello.” He opens the rear right-side door of the truck and gets in. Not rude, just unphased by my presence.

“Sorry about that,” Nick says more quietly to me.

“It’s fine. He looks just like you,” I tell him. And acts like him. A little grumpy around the edges.

In reply I get a small huff. He’s freshly shaved this morning. His chin dimple is prominent and there are small wrinkles on either side of his mouth where the other two dimples would be if he smiled.

Nick’s truck smells like coffee. As I buckle into the passenger seat, I glance longingly at the to-go mug in the console. Coffee is my favorite meal of the day. Hopefully I can get some at the rink.

The three of us ride in silence for several minutes. I gave a lot of thought to the whole Nick has a son thing last night when he casually dropped it, but seeing Aidan has me thinking about it again.

“Are you married?” Something I probably should have considered sooner. Is there a Mrs. Grumpy Galaxy?

“What?” His brows furrow as he asks in a are you stupid? tone. “No.”

“My parents aren’t married,” Aidan says from the back seat. “My mom lives in Bozeman.”

Nick glances in the rearview mirror and frowns.

“Oh. Cool,” I say when no other words come to my mind. “Girlfriend?”

Aidan snorts. “Pop wishes.”

“All right. Pipe down back there.”

I curl my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing. Maybe Aidan isn’t so much like his dad after all.

“You aren’t exactly reeling in the ladies either,” Nick says to his son, and I think I detect a bit of an edge.

“I could have a girlfriend if I wanted one,” is Aidan’s reply.

“Me too,” Nick says.

And I don’t doubt it. There’s no way he has a problem attracting women…at least until he glowers at them. No, not even then.

At the rink, Aidan runs ahead of us, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and looking like it weighs more than him, into the building.

Nick and I are slower. He waits for me at the front of the truck, coffee in hand. He hasn’t so much as had a sip of it and the smell is killing me.

The parking lot is filled with cars and trucks. Parents dropping off their kids, all with big bulky bags like Aidan’s. Some of the smaller kids have someone walking them inside.

“Hey, Coach Nick,” a little girl calls to him, blond braids bouncing as she passes us by.

“Morning, Aubrey.”

She walks as fast as her little legs will carry her.

“There are more girls than I expected. Is hockey a coed sport in high school too?”

“No, but at this level it makes sense. I’m guessing you didn’t play as a kid?”

“I wouldn’t really be seeking expert advice if I had, now would I?”

“I did a summer of basketball, and I don’t remember shit about that, so maybe.” He holds the door open for me. As I step inside, the chill of the ice hits me. In all my preparations this morning, I forgot to dress in multiple layers. At least I’m in jeans, but a tube top was not the best choice.

I suck in a breath. “Wow. You’d think it would have created a core memory yesterday, considering I only got warm after taking a very hot shower.”

He notices me rubbing my arms and his jaw works back and forth, probably silently judging me for being so unprepared.

“I’ll survive.” I force out, not letting my teeth chatter. “Is there coffee around here somewhere?”

“No.” His brow knits. “There’s a small café but it doesn’t open until ten.”

“Oh, okay.” Ten o’clock. I can survive until then. Probably.

He looks down at his mug and then holds it out to me.

I stare at it like a poisoned apple.

“Take it,” he says.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. I’m fine.” My mouth is salivating as the smell wafts closer to me.

I wave both hands dramatically in front of me again.

Nope. Not taking this man’s coffee no matter how badly I want it.

He’s agreed to help me and let me stay at the cabin but I’m still not certain he wouldn’t also poison me.

He keeps it held out a moment longer, then nods and takes it back. He still doesn’t drink it. What is he waiting for?! I swallow down all the saliva collecting in my mouth, then force a smile and head toward the parent section.

“Where are you going?” Nick calls after me.

I point, as if it isn’t obvious.

He motions with his head for me to walk toward him. “Come with me.”

He has me sit on a bench next to the ice, in front of the plexiglass. I’m so close to the ice it feels like the cold is radiating off it.

Nick changes into his skates and grabs his hockey stick. The kids are still filing into the rink, getting dressed and slowly entering the ice.

“Do you have more questions for me?” he asks. “I probably have five minutes before we start.”

“Yeah,” I answer then stifle a yawn. I stayed up late, showering to get warm (and because I felt disgusting after the motel), then reading over our notes from yesterday and brainstorming follow-up questions.

I’m a weird mixture of cold and tired that has my brain moving slowly.

I scan the list of questions. “Let me think where to start.”

He nods. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch the kids when he’s gone. They’re cute.

I recognize a few from yesterday and note they look more comfortable.

When I spot Aidan, I’m astonished all over again by the resemblance.

Even the way he skates is similar to his dad.

Same athletic presence and easy movements, like they were born with skates on their feet.

Nick comes back a minute later with a sweatshirt in one hand and a coffee cup in another. He holds them both out to me.

“Here,” he says, voice gruff. “So you don’t get hypothermia.”

My heart does a funny little flutter thing in my chest. I stare at him, more than a little shocked.

“Concerned about me?” I ask as I take the sweatshirt.

The material is soft and smells faintly of his laundry detergent.

It’s big and baggy, but as I pull it over my head, my body warms instantly, like I’m being wrapped in a big Nick hug.

Or what I might imagine his hugs are like.

Which to be honest, now that I really try to picture it, I struggle with the visual.

He has a kid so he must like hugging someone, at least occasionally.

His response is only a slight uptick of his lips—his version of a smile, I’m learning. I take the coffee next. I’m nearly giddy as I wrap my hands around the cup and take a tentative sip.

It’s a little stronger than I usually take mine, but it tastes heavenly right now.

“Thank you.” I don’t know what to make of this nice, accommodating version of Nick. I’ve had glimpses of it before, but something seems to have shifted since last night.

“You’re welcome.” He gives me a curt nod, then looks away.

The ice fills as more kids arrive. Travis waves to me from the other side, then skates by.

“Ruby. You’re back!” He’s about the same height as Nick with similar dark brown hair, but everything else about them is different.

Travis is unfiltered enthusiasm. He smiles with his entire face.

His lips pull wide and his eyes crinkle at the side.

Even the way he faces me, angling his body to give me his full attention, is friendly and inviting.

“I am a glutton for punishment.”

His easy grin moves from me to Nick.

“Interesting night?” he asks his friend.

Nick sighs heavily, then levels him with a glare that’s not very convincing, thanks to the way he fights a smile.

Travis skates off as quickly as he came. Nick turns back to me.

“I thought we’d have more time this morning,” he says.

“It’s okay.” I knew it would be a long shot that he’d answer all my questions, but I was hoping to get a few more in.

“Most evenings I’m busy with Aidan.”

“I get it,” I say, realizing he’s letting me down easy. He might even feel bad about it.

“We could come to the rink earlier tomorrow. He’ll never turn down some extra ice time.”

Earlier. Yikes.

“Whatever works for you. As long as I have coffee, I’ll be fine.”

He chuckles. A deep, rich sound that I feel deep down in the pit of my stomach. His dimples are on full display and dear lord, the man is doing the world a favor by being so grumpy all the time. Women would be lining up around the block if he flashed that smile around all day long.

“Does the cabin have a coffee pot?” he asks, then looks contemplative like he’s trying to remember.

“I didn’t see one, but I don’t mind buying one. I need to get some groceries anyway.”

He leans on a hockey stick, casually, staring at me with a hint of that killer smile still lingering on his face. I wonder how the heck he stays upright so easily out there on the ice. Then I remember I can ask.

“When did you start skating?”

His body language switches immediately, as if he just remembered this is an interview and I broke our rule of no personal questions. He really seems to have an issue with answering questions about himself, and I can’t help but wonder why.

“This isn’t for the book. I’m just curious. You look so comfortable out there.”

“I was four,” he says finally.

“Were you good at it right away?” I bet he was.

“I don’t really remember, but I’ve been doing it so long it feels as easy as walking or riding a bike.”