Page 18 of Reach Around (Sorrowville Slammers #3)

Brogan

If you live here long enough, you learn two things: snow brings out everyone’s inner daredevil, and romance never stays private for long—not with the single moms’ group on high alert, the Mega Mites treating every hill like an NHL playoff, and Shepherd Sawyer unable to blend in even if he tried. Tonight, the sledding hill’s supposed to be empty, but “alone” is just another word for “not yet mobbed.” So when the snow glows with headlights and the kids start chanting about who’s kissing who, the parents are already texting their other half to see if anyone caught it on camera. On my sledding hills, even the moon gets a front-row seat to the drama.

Playlist Song: Ho Hey by The Lumineers

The heater in my truck is working overtime, blasting air that smells faintly like wet socks and pine-scented air freshener. Doesn’t matter. Joely’s sitting next to me, cheeks pink from the cold.

She smiles at me sideways, and I almost miss the turnoff to the hill.

“Did you really think you could convince me into sledding at night that easily?” she asks, one brow lifting.

“I was banking on the company,” I say, deadpan. “And the twinkle lights. Rumor has it, you girls love the strings upon strings of twinkle lights.”

She snorts. “Well played.”

We pull up to the old trailhead, the parking area a mess of snowbanks and tire ruts. Since it’s so late, nobody’s here. Exactly what I wanted. Just us, the star-studded sky, the strings of lights, a couple beat-up sleds, and maybe—if I’m lucky—that laugh she only gives when she’s having too much fun to hold back.

Joely eyes the hill skeptically. “You sure this isn’t some elaborate plan to break both our tailbones?”

I toss her one of the sleds. “Nah. If I wanted to break your tailbone, I’d take you ice skating and pretend I didn’t know how to stop.”

“Tempting,” she mutters, but there’s a grin on her lips as she walks up next to me.

There’s fresh powder on the hill. A full moon overhead. The only sound is the crunch of our boots on the snow and my pulse thudding like I just finished a third-period shift.

I line my sled up beside hers. “Race you?”

She scoffs. “I’m not ten.”

I smirk. “Scared?”

Her eyes narrow. “You wish. Loser buys the first round at the next karaoke night.”

“Deal,” I say, even though I already brought it. I’m not above stacking the deck.

I can’t help it—I glance at her, and the mention of karaoke night flashes me right back to those wild, secret moments in the Power Play supply closet. The taste of her still on my tongue, her breathless laugh muffled by my shoulder as the crowd belted out 90s pop anthems just a few feet away.

Sneaking away twice like a couple of high schoolers, me pretending I was going to the men’s room, her pretending she needed more napkins. Nobody ever said a word, but I swear, half the regulars know exactly why we always came back looking flushed and grinning like idiots. Karaoke nights are pure chaos—bad harmonies, too much whiskey, and her, always her, the best damn song in the bar.

We launch together, the world turning into a blur of wind and laughter. The sled bumps and skids, and I swear I hit every hidden rock on the hill, but Joely’s shrieking with glee the whole way down. When I finally tumble off at the bottom, snow up my back and my sled stuck halfway up the hill, I look over and see her—laughing, glowing, victorious.

“Guess I win,” she pants, brushing snow off her beanie.

I crawl closer, snow sticking to my jacket. “I demand a rematch.”

“You can have one—after you pay up.”

I grin and lean in, my breath misting in the cold. “What if I said I brought you night sledding just to get you down this hill so I could kiss you at the bottom?”

She blinks. Then, she leans in, her voice low. “Then I’d say… about damn time.”

And I kiss her.

Not quick. Not shy.

It’s one of those slow, sink-into-it kisses where the world stops spinning and nothing matters but the taste of her and the way her mittened hands grip my coat like she’s anchoring herself to the moment.

And then—

“WOOOOOOOO!”

My head snaps up.

No. No fucking way.

Not again.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

I break the kiss, head whipping toward the top of the hill like a deer in the headlights of a damn Shep truck.

Joely groans. “Please tell me that was the wind.”

I narrow my eyes. “That wind just catcalled us.”

A figure crests the hill, silhouetted against the moonlight. Arms out, coat flapping like a superhero cape, and a voice that’s way too familiar for my sanity.

“Hey, Joely! Looking like a snow bunny. Come get some, girl!”

I drag a hand down my face. “No. Fuck no.”

Joely laughs, her breath puffing in white clouds. “Is that—”

“Shep,” I grit out, already pushing to my feet.

“Respect,” Shep calls as he starts sliding down the hill on his feet like some deranged penguin. If he lights a flare on the way down, I will lose my shit. “I have to say, BroFetti, you picked the right girl to share a sled and a moment under the stars with. Real Disney shit happening down here.”

Joely’s cracking up, doubled over. I’m torn between launching a snowball at his head and checking my blood pressure.

“You kiss your mom with that mouth?” I snap.

“Nope. I only reserve that for the ladies who say yes,” he fires back with zero shame.

Before I can open my mouth, Joely beats me to it, hands on her hips. “Are you here alone, Shep?”

He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, not technically…”

I follow his gesture to the top of the hill. Two more figures appear. One’s got a beanie pulled down so far over his eyes I know it’s Bennett before he even opens his mouth. The other’s taller and doing that awkward wave like he’s unsure he’s invited—Heath.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I mutter.

Joely squints. “Is that...”

“Yep,” I say. “It’s the entire idiot brigade, less one brother.”

Shep grins as he flops down next to us. “We heard some of the local kids talking about convincing their moms to take them sledding tonight. And you know how I feel about single moms.”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” I groan.

“They love a strong hockey player who can carry a sled and a child,” Shep adds proudly. “It’s a service I’m happy to provide.”

As if on cue, headlights sweep across the hilltop, and the stillness shatters. A whole fleet of minivans pulls in, doors flying open, kids tumbling out in neon snowsuits, boots, and sleds spilling everywhere. It’s the Tuesday night Single Moms’ Sled Squad—fifteen kids shrieking like they’re shot out of cannons and a battalion of harried women corralling scarves, mittens, and runaway toddlers.

The hill, quiet seconds ago, suddenly feels like the inside of a Chuck E. Cheese. Joely’s eyes go wide as a pair of twin girls zip past us, giggling, and before I know it, the whole run is a free-for-all. So much for romantic moonlight and subtle flirting—now it’s survival of the fastest, and Shep’s already offering to “help” the moms carry their thermoses, grinning like a wolf who’s just found the world’s most chaotic buffet.

He waves over a kid. “Come here, little guy. You need help up the hill?”

The kid frowns. “I’m ten, not a baby.”

“My bad, little bro,” Shep says, unfazed.

I shake my head. “Sorry, man. He’s not used to kids. Or people. Or being sober.”

Shep pats his coat. “Only sober until it’s cocoa time, baby.”

Just then, one of the kids jogs over, eyes wide. “Coach Foster, right?”

I scratch the back of my neck. “I mean… I helped one day.”

The kid looks from me to Joely. “Is this your girlfriend?”

I glance at her. She’s biting her lip, cheeks flushed—but maybe that’s from the cold.

“She’s a girl,” I say slowly, “and she’s my friend.”

The kid grins. “So that makes her your girlfriend.”

Bennett yells from the top of the hill, “Now do the k-i-s-s-i-n-g one! Her name’s Joely!”

Joely smirks. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Before I can shut it down, the pack of little terrors swarms around us—sticky gloves, leaky noses, and enough energy to power the whole town. One ringleader, a pint-sized menace in a Paw Patrol hat, points at us with a sled. “We saw you holding hands!”

Another kid pipes up, voice high and gleeful: “Joely and Brogan sitting in a tree—K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

The whole herd joins in, stomping their boots and getting louder with each round:

“First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Joely with a baby carriage!”

Joely’s face goes scarlet. “Wow, okay, that escalated fast.”

One particularly sassy girl adds, “If you kiss her, I’m telling my mom. She says kissing gives you cooties and babies.”

One of the single moms, coffee in hand, gives us a sideways look and calls, “Alright, give ‘em a little space, you guys!” But she’s smiling, and I know she’ll be retelling this story all over town tomorrow.

Shep howls, egging them on. “Don’t forget, Coach Foster’s already got baby arms—just look at those muscles!”

Bennett, never missing a chance to stir the pot, hollers down, “Hey Joely, you want me to officiate? I’ve got an internet certificate!”

Heath cracks up so hard he nearly tips over backwards on his sled.

Meanwhile, the kids are still circling, now remixing the song into absolute anarchy:

“Joely and Brogan up a tree—K-I-S-S-I-N-G! Second verse, same as the first, a little bit louder and a whole lot worse!”

Joely groans, “I’m moving to Roseau.”

I grin, even as I want to throttle Bennett. “Sorry, JoJo. Once the Sorrowville gremlins get started, you’re doomed.”

And the kids just keep chanting, snow flying, snot dribbling, and every single parent pretending not to notice as they snap pictures to post in the town Facebook group.

Shep elbows me. “You know, you two really do make a cute couple.”

I groan and reach for Joely’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go get cocoa before Shep gets arrested. The concession stand is open until nine.”

I hold Joely’s hand tighter than I probably should as we trudge toward the small wooden hut, snow crunching under our boots. My grip’s more about self-preservation than romance right now—I need to remind myself she’s real and here with me and not just some fever dream conjured by winter air and hormones.

Also, I’m half-convinced if I let go, Shep will swoop in with a thermos of spiked cocoa and a marriage proposal.

“You good?” Joely asks, glancing at me sideways.

“Define good,” I mutter. “My romantic moment got bulldozed by the cast of Jackass on Ice .”

She laughs, and damn, it’s worth it. Her smile warms me more than the fire pit we pass. “They’re not that bad.”

“They are that bad , Jo. They’re my bad. My genetics are in question every time Bennett opens his mouth.”

We reach the tiny concession shack and order two hot cocoas—real ones, no Shep-style flask assist. Joely’s sipping hers when I lean against the wall and nudge her with my shoulder.

“So,” I say, “about that kiss…”

Her brow lifts. “What about it?”

“It was good.”

She smirks. “Just good?”

I take a slow drink of cocoa, letting the sugar melt the embarrassment from my tongue. “Fine. It was great. Epic, even.”

“Better,” she says, and bumps my hip with hers.

I glance toward the hill. Shep’s lying in the snow making what I think is a snow angel but looks more like he lost a wrestling match with gravity. Bennett’s carrying two sleds, yelling at a kid to stop crying because, “Bruises build character.” Heath is inexplicably eating a corndog. Where the hell he got a corndog, I have no idea.

“I just wanted one night, you know?” I say quietly. “Just one moment that was about you and me.”

Joely steps in closer, her coat brushing mine. “It still is. We just have to share it… with the dysfunctional Slammer circus.”

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and lean in. “Thanks for putting up with all this.”

She rests her head against me. “Brogan, I was born and raised in this chaos. I don’t put up with it. I thrive in it.”

A little voice cuts through our cozy moment.

“Hey, Coach Foster!”

I turn. It’s the same kid from earlier, dragging a friend behind him.

“You guys gonna kiss again?” he asks.

Joely freezes against me. I stare down at the kid like he just asked me to solve quantum physics.

The friend pipes up. “We saw you smoochin’ on the hill. We voted. It was gross , but she’s pretty, so it’s okay.”

Joely chokes on her cocoa. I clear my throat.

“We’ll, uh… keep that in mind,” I manage.

The kids run off giggling, and Joely’s cheeks are redder than her mittens.

I lean closer. “Well, at least the reviews are in.”

“And?”

“Mixed,” I deadpan. “But promising.”

We head back to the hill, cocoa in hand, just in time to see Shep holding a sled triumphantly above his head like he’s just won gold in Olympic Douchebaggery.

“Who’s ready for round two?” he shouts.

“Put the sled down before you pull a muscle,” I yell back.

Bennett walks past us, muttering, “Too late. He’s already pulled something in his brain.”

Joely giggles beside me, and I swear I want to bottle that sound. Hell, I’d give up goals if it meant hearing her laugh like that every damn day.

We reach the bottom of the hill again, where kids and parents are regrouping. A few little ones from the Mega Mites spot me and start waving, shouting things like, “Coach Foster!” and “Show us your moves!”

Joely nudges me. “Looks like you’re famous.”

“Not for my hockey skills, apparently.”

Bennett, standing nearby, doesn’t miss a beat. He deadpans, “Yeah, kids—watch close. Maybe you’ll learn how to trip over your own feet and miss an open net just like BroFetti.”

“Bennett,” I growl, “you wanna maybe not incite a riot?”

“Don’t look at me,” he says, unbothered. “You’re the one who brought your secret girlfriend to a public sledding event full of children and my dumbass teammates.”

Shep slides up—literally. He skids to a stop at my feet like a deranged penguin. “Somebody say secret girlfriend ? Because that’s giving main character energy.”

“I swear to God—”

Shep grins and plops into the snow like it’s a La-Z-Boy. “Relax, lover boy. I think it’s cute.”

Joely’s standing beside me, frozen. Not from the cold. From the attention. Her eyes dart to mine, unsure. A little wide. A little terrified.

I take her hand again, loud and clear. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. But her voice cracks a little.

“Hey,” I say, stepping closer, my breath visible in the frigid air. “Forget them. This is still our night.”

A soft smile tugs at her lips. “Then let’s make it count.”

We head up the hill together, kids still giggling behind us. Bennett’s yelling something about sledding being a metaphor for emotional commitment. Shep’s asking if someone can pull him up like a sled dog.

This town. These people. This girl.

Yeah.

Let’s make it count.

The cocoa is lukewarm now, but Joely’s hand in mine is anything but. We walk side by side down the snowy trail that leads back to the parking lot, leaving the chaos of Bennett, Shep, and a band of hyped-up kids behind us.

Before we hit the truck, I tug her close and press a quick, secret kiss to her temple—just to prove this moment is ours, not theirs. She squeezes my hand in answer, and suddenly, the world’s a lot quieter.

“I still can’t believe they followed us.” She shakes her head.

I groan. “They’re like raccoons. You feed them one time and suddenly you’re running a wildlife preserve.”

She laughs again, and yeah, that sound? It’s got me wrecked. I don’t even try to hide how I’m watching her now—her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes soft and glinting with humor under the streetlamp glow. This thing between us is getting bigger by the second, snowballing out of control, and I don’t even want to stop it.

“Wanna come back to my place?” I ask, my voice low.

Her eyebrows lift. “What, more hot cocoa?”

“Sure. That. And maybe a bonfire.” I pause. “And definitely less Bennett.”

She tips her head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm. That’s tempting.”

“Come on,” I nudge her. “Bonfire. Quiet. Just us.”

That gets her. She nods, and I unlock the truck. She climbs in, and I jog around, brushing snow off the windshield with my sleeve.

When we pull up to the Foster place, everything’s dark and quiet. I flick the headlights off and park by the back gate. I grab the lighter and the bundle of firewood I stacked earlier, praying no one’s touched it.

“I’ll get it going. You warm up inside.”

She gives me a look. “You sure you know how?”

“I’m not Shep.”

“Good point.”

I get the fire started in record time—thank you, YouTube tutorials and coasters I stole from the bar for kindling. By the time Joely comes back outside, wrapped in one of my hoodies and carrying a blanket, the flames are crackling and licking at the sky.

She settles next to me on the log bench, and we sit for a moment, saying nothing.

It’s peaceful.

Intimate.

Joely leans in, nudging me with her elbow, a wicked glint in her eye. “Look at us—finally alone. It’s almost suspicious.”

I grin, about to lean in for another kiss—

Then, from out of the shadows behind the shed, I hear the unmistakable crunch of boots.

“Woooooo!”

I practically levitate. “No. No. Fuck no.”

Joely’s already laughing. “Is that…?”

“Shep,” I growl.

Sure enough, he comes strutting out, dragging a cooler and wearing a stupid grin.

“Brought s’mores!” he announces, like Santa Claus if Santa was a chaos goblin wearing a Slammer’s jersey.

“Where are the others?” I ask, dreading the answer.

As if summoned by my worst fears, Bennett and Heath round the corner carrying extra lawn chairs and what looks like half the kitchen from the Power Play.

“Figured we’d crash your little romantic fire,” Bennett says, deadpan. “You finally did something useful.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You guys are unbelievable.”

Joely just snuggles closer, whispering, “Well… at least the fire’s warm.”

I sigh. “I was really hoping for some alone time.”

Bennett tosses down a chair. “You want alone time? Go to Joely’s.”

I mutter under my breath, “Next time, we will.”

“Next time?” Joely echoes, nudging me with a smirk.

And shit, I guess I really do want a next time.

And a next-next time.

And every damn time after that.

Hell, give me a hundred more interruptions, a thousand Sorrowville disasters—as long as she’s next to me for every single one.