Page 27 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

Once we arrive, I lead her inside but bypass our usual route. She brightens slightly, like she’s shifted into work-mode. Maybe like hockey makes me less grumpy, writing makes her happier.

“Aren’t we going down to the ice?” she asks.

“Yeah, but I want to show you something first.”

She nods, expression shifting back to…grumpy. The idea that Ruby Madison could be genuinely grumpy is mind-boggling.

I don’t like it. Not one bit.

I pick up my pace, taking her through the building until we reach the rec area. It’s a big, open space that’s most often used for stretching and soccer before games.

In the corner a hockey net is set up. I grab two sticks, and I find a few pucks waiting in the goal.

Ruby gives me a questioning gaze as I hand her one of the sticks but doesn’t ask what we’re doing. She’s frowning and she’s silent. Yep, something is definitely wrong. I’ve wracked my brain the past few days for what publishing drama could mean but…I have no idea.

I drop a puck in front of her. She eyes it but still doesn’t ask or say anything.

“Do you remember how to hit a slap shot?”

She gives me a very uninspired nod and I step back to give her room.

Pride zips through me as she adjusts her grip and stance, then fires the puck into the net. The sound of it hitting the wall echoes in the space. Ruby’s eyes light up.

Silently, I toss another puck in front of her. She hits this one with a little more fire than the last.

I keep going and so does she. Toss, shoot, toss, shoot. The only noise is the puck hitting the floor and then the back of the wall. Over and Over. I don’t stop until she does.

The smile she aims my way makes my chest tighten.

“Better than throwing rocks into the lake?”

“So much better.” Her shoulders sag as she breathes heavily. “I think it’s the sound that was missing. I might need to get a setup like this in my next apartment.”

She waves the stick around, nearly hitting herself in the head with it in the process. I take it from her and lean it against the wall, then pull out a couple chairs from nearby.

She grabs her coffee and laptop then takes a seat across from me, still catching her breath. “I think I understand now why you’re obsessed with hockey.”

“Obsessed?”

“Aren’t you?”

I think about that for a second and then shrug. “Maybe. No more than the average person is with their career probably.”

“I’m not sure most people would do their job even if they weren’t getting paid.”

“Fair.” I smile at her. “Would you?”

“I would still write, for sure, but I wouldn’t publish it.”

“Why not?”

“There’s something special about the words just being for me. My favorite part of the process is the time between when I finish the book and send it off to the editor. Before anyone else has read it or offered up their feedback. That moment feels perfect and…hopeful.”

All the frustration and tension she’s been carrying slides away as she speaks, and she stares off like she’s remembering it and telling herself instead of talking to me. A second later she looks back to me and offers a sheepish smile.

“Anyway.”

I can tell she’s about to jump into asking me questions, but I want to know more, so I cut in before she has the chance.

“Is that how you felt before you found out you had to change your book from baseball to hockey?”

“No.” Her brows scrunch together. “I wrote this book a couple years ago and my agent has been shopping it around. No one wanted it at first, so I did some other things.”

“The writing slump isn’t because of hockey, then?”

“Were you worried I was hating on your favorite sport?”

My mouth lifts on one side. “Maybe.”

She grins back, shaking her head. “No, it isn’t because I had to switch the book to hockey.”

I think that’s all she’s going to say about it, but to my surprise, she adds, “I went through a messy breakup and then my next book didn’t perform like I hoped. It was a rough year.”

“Ah.” I hadn’t expected that answer, but I should have. She’s beautiful and smart, successful. She must have guys falling down to get her attention. Something a lot like jealousy swirls around in my stomach and then lodges itself in the base of my sternum.

“What about you?” she asks.

“You want to know about my scoring slump?”

She shrugs both shoulders. “Was it because of a woman?”

“No.” I shake my head definitively.

“But you do date.”

It isn’t a question, but I nod. “A little. Nothing serious.”

“What about Aidan’s mom?”

“We were together while I was playing in the minor league. She was in medical school, and I was traveling a lot so it wasn’t serious at first. We hung out a few times a month when it worked for our schedules.

Then when Beth found out she was pregnant, we tried to make it work.

” I can still remember everything about that day she told me.

I had never given a lot of thought to having kids, but as soon as I found out, I couldn’t wait to be a dad.

“Aidan’s great so you’ve obviously got the co-parenting thing down regardless of it not working out between you two and who knows...”

“She got married two years ago.”

“Oh.” Her mouth holds the “O” shape and then twists into a smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. She and I are better as friends, and Cory, her husband, is great to Aidan.”

“They live in Bozeman, right? I think that’s what Aidan said.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s convenient.”

Another unspoken question.

“She’s from here originally and moved back when a position opened up at the hospital.”

“And you just happened to get traded here too?”

I run my palms down my thighs. “I asked to be traded here when my last contract was up.”

Her brows shoot up in surprise.

“You know, I read about the trade when I first got here and the server at MVP said something about it being a big deal that you were here, but at the time I didn’t really understand it.

You led the Wildcats in goals during the playoffs the year you won the championship.

No one thought you should be traded based on your performance, so they speculated that it had to have been intrapersonal friction or contract disputes. ”

Plenty of people weighed in on the Wildcats’ decision to let me go.

There were rumors that I was mad about playing time or not getting along well with my teammates, even some that said I wanted more money, but that was all bullshit.

The truth is I did it for Aidan, but I don’t want that out there.

Sure, people would understand me wanting to move closer to family, and they’d probably even spin it to make me a hero, but it’s none of their business and I don’t need their approval.

“It’s all bullshit. My contract was up, and I wanted to be here. It was the best thing for Aidan. He’s thriving and happy. And the team is great. The organization has gone through a lot of changes the past five years, but the GM and coaches are some of the best I’ve worked with. The players too.”

She stares at me a beat. I can’t read her expression, but the intensity of it makes me squirm.

“Please don’t tell anyone. Most of my old and current teammates know the real reason, but I don’t want it to get twisted or for Aidan to overhear and get the wrong idea. I made a decision, and I stand by it.”

I don’t ever want Aidan to feel the weight of the sacrifices I’ve made for him. It’s my job to make hard choices that make his life better.

“Of course. I would never.”

I think I already knew that, but I smile at her with my appreciation.

“You have a knack for getting me to talk,” I say, feeling like I’ve overshared. “Here I am blabbering on.”

She laughs. “This is you chatty?”

I hold her smile until she looks away. She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks down at her notes.

“What about you?” I ask because I’m not ready to answer more questions and because I want to know more about her. “Why’d you and your ex break up?”

“Oh…it’s not a very interesting story.” She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“Neither is mine, but you’ve been making me answer questions about it for weeks.”

“It’s only been two weeks.” A little of her spunk returns.

I lean back and cross my arms at my waist, waiting for her to go on.

She does after a few beats. “He’s an author, like me. I met him at an event.”

I’m quiet, giving her room to keep talking, which she does, thankfully.

“He was just getting started in his career and so full of excitement and energy. It was…” She pauses, choosing her words carefully.

“Inspiring. I got wrapped up in him and his enthusiasm. We dated for about six months. We were both in the middle of writing a book, so we spent those months mostly holed up in coffee shops or one of our apartments, typing and sharing smiles over our laptops.”

A pang of jealousy twists in my gut. I don’t know why the idea bothers me so much. I guess sometime over the past two weeks, she’s gotten under my skin. I like her. She’s gorgeous, of course, but it’s more than that. I think she might be the most fascinating person I’ve ever met.

“What happened?”

“He finished his book and sold it to a publisher. It did well and then he pitched another book idea, this one slightly different than his previous two, but he sold it quickly.”

“I meant what happened between the two of you.”

Her gaze drops to her lap. “When I saw the publisher’s deal announcement, I thought it was a mistake. And then I thought maybe I was legitimately losing my mind.”

“I don’t understand. You broke up because he got a book deal?”

Her head moves side to side slowly. “I have this notebook filled with story ideas. Most of them are silly—one-liners or an interesting character or piece of dialogue. Sometimes they’re more fleshed out and I’ll pull them for my next book.”

My chest tightens as I get a good idea where this is going.

“I had this one story that had been percolating in my mind forever. It was so silly I kept dismissing it, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it either.

I would jot down scene ideas as they came to me and little bits of dialogue or scene description.

I had ten pages of an outline and rough chapters.

” She pauses and lets out a breath as if letting it sink in all over again.

“Anyway, I guess it wasn’t as silly as I thought because he received a very nice seven-figure advance to write it. ”

“He stole your book?”

She shrugs.

“That’s awful. What happened when the publisher found out?” That twisting sensation in my gut intensifies.

Her expression alone gives me my answer, or at least that the answer is nothing good.

“They didn’t believe you or you didn’t tell them?”

“How was I going to prove it?” she asks, voice wavering. “I had no way to verify when I’d written the pages or even that they were my ideas.”

I run a hand through my hair. “Fuck. That’s…awful. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

I can’t believe someone would do that. Let alone to her. What a fucking prick. God no wonder she’s had writer’s block. That would mess with anyone’s head. I suddenly feel a thousand times worse about my reaction when she showed up. She was coming off something awful and I acted like an asshole.

I stand and walk over to her. She looks up, confusion marring her brow.

I take the laptop and set it on the ground, then pull her to her feet and hug her.

She squeaks her surprise and then slowly wraps her arms around my middle.

The way she fits there is nice, my chin resting on the top of her head, and I inhale that coconut and strawberry scent. Fuck, I really like her.

“Nick?” Her voice is small.

“Yeah?”

“Are you trying to squeeze all the air out of my lungs?”

I loosen my grip. Shit. “Sorry.”

There’s a distinct possibility that I just channeled all my rage into that hug.

She laughs. “Don’t be. Actually…”

Her grip tightens around my waist for a few seconds, then releases. “That’s not a bad way to work out my frustration either.”

A laugh slips from my lips. “I’m at your service, Red.”