Page 4 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

NICK

“Dad?” I call as I step into the house from the garage. It’s silent, but the lights are on in the living room and the smell of fresh coffee hangs in the air.

When I don’t get an answer, I peek in to see if he’s asleep in my favorite recliner. The one I bought even though he told me it was too big for the room and that he now sits in more than I do.

There’s no sign of him as I drop my duffel bag on the floor of the entryway and cross through to the kitchen.

Exhaustion from a week of conditioning camp and the red-eye flight home hits me hard.

I’m pouring a cup of coffee when I finally hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

I turn with my mug in hand as he appears in the doorway.

He has on headphones, the over the ear, noise-cancelling ones we got him for Christmas last year.

Aidan picked them out so they’re bright red—my son’s favorite color—and the sight of my un-tech savvy dad wearing them still brings a smile to my lips even six months later.

His eyes widen when he spots me and his steps falter. He recovers quickly, pulling the headphones down around his neck.

“Son. What are you doing here?” he asks with a smile that falls almost as fast as it forms. “You aren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow.”

“I took an earlier flight.” Amusement threatens to lift one corner of my mouth, but I’m too tired. “Good to see you too.”

“Sorry. You surprised me. Welcome home. How was Texas?”

“Tiring.” Four days of grueling workouts with one of the best sports trainers in the business will do that.

“And the shoulder?” he asks.

Instinctively I tighten the muscles on my right arm.

It’s been months since I broke my collarbone and dislocated my shoulder in a season-ending injury.

Surgery, plus rehab was not how I planned to spend the first half of the summer but at least I’ll be ready come October. Physically, I feel stronger than ever.

“Good. It didn’t give me any issues.”

“That’s great news.” Genuine relief is apparent in his expression.

I guess I wasn’t the only one worried I wouldn’t come back from it. At this point in my career, every injury has me, and I guess my dad too, questioning how much longer my body will hold out.

“How’s everything here?”

“Great. Is Aidan coming back early too?” His brows draw down and his lips purse as he waits for my answer. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s bummed out at the prospect of seeing his grandson. Which makes fuck all sense.

“No. Just me. He’s staying at his mom’s until tomorrow.”

“Good. Good.”

I narrow my gaze to study him closer. He’s back to acting strange, but I can’t quite put my finger on why.

My dad and son are tight. Arguably closer than I am with either of them.

All of Dad’s overbearing and frustrating mannerisms soften around Aidan, and my son is more like the sweet kid he was before his preteen attitude took over.

“Well, you probably want to get unpacked,” he says in a happy tone that feels fake as hell.

“I thought we could grill tonight. Chicken, veggies, maybe we could do kebabs.” Sitting on the back deck with a beer in hand sounds perfect right now.

“Sure. That’d be nice or you could head into town and enjoy a night out before Aidan gets back.” His reply is so predictable I’m embarrassed I didn’t see it coming.

“We can go out to eat if you prefer.” I dodge the blatant attempt to get me out of the house like I’m a forty-year-old single man still living with his parents. I’m thirty-one, my dad lives with me, and I happen to like being unattached.

“You don’t need your old man cramping your style. I have leftovers in the fridge. Go. Have fun.” He brushes past me, missing the eye roll I throw in his direction.

“It’s about two hours too early for dinner.”

“Get drinks first,” he offers, upbeat, like it’s the best idea he’s ever had. “What’s Travis up to? I’m sure he’s game for a night out.”

My teammate Travis is always up for a night out so it’s a good guess.

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” I cross my arms over my chest. “More than usual.”

“I’m not.” He doesn’t quite meet my eye, but he waves off the idea with one hand. “I only want to make sure you’re having some fun. You’ve spent all summer training instead of letting loose.”

It’s an argument we’ve had many times before.

He picks up a dust rag and a bottle of multipurpose cleaner. “Anyway, go or don’t. I’ll be down at the cabin if you need anything.”

“You’re moving into the cabin?” My voice climbs with surprise. Six months ago, my father had a heart attack. He was already staying with me and Aidan, on and off, but that scare was the catalyst for him to move from my childhood home in Kansas City to live with me and Aidan.

My house is plenty big enough for all three of us, but I worried he might like to have his own place.

When the small cabin next door went up for sale a week later, I took it as a sign.

It needed work so it took some time for it to be renovated, but in the nearly three months since it’s been ready, Dad has refused to move out there.

He claims he likes hearing me and Aidan moving around the house (even as he’s started wearing noise-cancelling headphones most of the time to drown us out).

It’s become a sore subject and neither of us has mentioned it in weeks.

There are a lot of things we don’t talk about. The Galaxy family motto is to keep your emotions to yourself—good and bad. I’d forgotten how much it annoyed me. Partly because it reminds me I’m just as bad about holding things in, and partly because I can now recognize when he’s doing it.

To say it’s taken some adjusting to him being here is an understatement.

I thought I knew what I was getting into since before he moved in he was already visiting us a lot, especially during the hockey season.

He’d fly in and stay for a week or two at a time so someone would always be here with Aidan on my weeks.

I was grateful to have him around. Still am.

Not just because I want to keep an eye on him and make sure he’s doing everything he can for his health or because it’s convenient to have someone I trust around here while I’m gone, but because I want Aidan to grow up with family nearby.

It’s a tough life being traded from team to team, uprooting his life repeatedly and taking him away from friends and routine.

Moonshot is the third team I’ve played for since I joined the league, the same year Aidan was born.

Three years in Chicago, then four in Minnesota.

Moonshot is finally our chance to build a home and a life.

I signed a contract that will keep us here for seven more years.

Assuming I can get a couple of one-year extensions, Aidan can finish out high school here and I can play out the rest of my career in Montana.

“No,” he says, igniting a twinge of annoyance in me with that one word. “I, uh, just don’t want it to get dusty in there after all the work you put in to making the place so nice.”

I bite back my first retort, “What the hell does it matter if no one is going to live there?” and instead say, “Larry and Pam clean it every other week.”

As if he didn’t hear me, he continues on, adding Windex and paper towels to the cleaning supplies in his hands.

Exhaustion washes over me. The only thing I want to do is shower and sit outside on the patio with a beer. Instead, I push off the counter. “I’ll give you a hand.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

“You’ve been looking forward to cleaning the cabin?” I ask instead of outright calling bullshit.

“A little fresh air. A new audiobook. When you get to be my age, it’s all about embracing the little things.”

“You’re sixty-two.”

“Exactly.”

I shake my head, prepared to give up this fight. What do I care if he wants to clean the place? Maybe he’ll start to feel at home there the more he’s in it. It’s a nice cabin. Closer to the water than my house, with a wraparound porch and a great view of the sunrise over the lake every morning.

Dad heads for the back door, but before he pushes it open, there’s a knock on the front door. I wait to see if it happens again. Few people come by and even fewer knock instead of walking right in.

“Are you expecting someone?”

He looks from me to the door and back. His mouth hangs open and his expression morphs to something that looks a lot like dread.

“Dad?” I ask again at the same time whoever’s outside finds the doorbell. They ring it three times in rapid succession.

He smiles, then quickly drops all the cleaning supplies onto the counter. “I got it. It’s probably a solicitor or that little girl down the street selling cookies.”

Something is definitely off. He’s acting…weird. Not a novelty for my dad, but stranger than usual.

Dad crosses to the front door quickly, then glances back at me. There’s a hesitation before he pulls it open. I can’t see the woman on the other side, but her voice is loud and bubbly as she says, “Hi. I’m Ruby Madison. Are you Mike?”

There’s something familiar about that cheery voice that has my mind spinning to place it.

“That’s right.” Dad extends a hand.

I take a step closer and that’s when I spot the bright yellow backpack resting on the ground next to the woman.

What are the odds that two people I’ve run into today have the same overstuffed, bright yellow bag?

My guess is not good. Confirmed when Dad steps back, opening his stance, and the woman from the airport walks past him.

She comes to a stop in the middle of the entryway.

A tentative smile curves her lips as she looks me over.

“You,” she says, not exactly accusatory but not overly friendly either. You’d think I walked into her house unannounced instead of the other way around.

“You,” I repeat, hands finding my hips. I look past her to my dad who is carefully avoiding my gaze.