Page 24 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie (Second Chance Hockey Players #2)

Chapter sixteen

Blake

W hack.

The puck zips past me before I can even react.

“Dude, what the hell?” Ryan’s voice cuts through the rink, sharp and frustrated.

I blink, my heart pounding. My stick feels like a lead pipe in my hands, and my gloves are slick with sweat. How did I miss that? That was easy. I shake my head, trying to snap out of it. Focus, Blake. Focus.

Coach blows the whistle, his glare practically drilling holes through me. I get back into position, crouched at the post, but my mind..., God, my mind’s nowhere near here.

Five days. It’s been five days since I kissed Whitney. Five days of her avoiding my eyes, and keeping things strictly business, like it didn’t happen. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it.

Doesn’t stop me from replaying it, though.

God. Every time I replay it, my chest tightens like someone’s got their hands around my ribs.

The way she gasped against my mouth. The way her fingers curled into my shirt before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to hold on.

The way I can still feel it if I close my eyes too long.

Another shot comes flying. I see it this time - I do, but my reaction’s half a beat slow, and the puck clatters into the net behind me.

Coach waves his hands, ending the practice.

“Seriously?” Thomas groans. “What is going on with you, man?”

I yank off my helmet, rubbing a hand through my hair. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Ryan skates up beside me. “You’ve missed, like, every shot today. Did you forget how to play goalie overnight or...?”

Mario smirks. “I bet it’s a girl.”

I shoot him a glare. “Shut up.”

“Oh, it is a girl,” Thomas grins, eyes lighting up like he’s just struck gold. “Who is she? C’mon, spill.”

“Drop it,” I mutter, grabbing my water bottle. I chug half of it, but the tightness in my chest doesn’t ease.

"Blake, buddy," Thomas slings an arm around me. "If you need to cry, we’re here for you. No judgment."

I shove him off.

Liam laughs. "Okay, but real talk - are you in love? Wait…," he widens his eyes in realization. “Is it…, is it…?”

Yes, he knows…

A groan rips out of me. "Oh, for God’s sake, can we just…"

"Team huddle!" Thomas cuts me off, clapping his hands. "Bring it in, boys!"

"What? No…"

Too late. They swarm, dragging me to the center of the rink. Thomas spreads his arms like some motivational speaker, the rest forming a circle around me.

Oh God, please…, no…!

Thomas starts singing the high school musical song “Get your head in the game…,” and then spreads his arms dramatically.

“You gotta, you gotta, get your head in the game…”

“You gotta get your, get your, get your, get your head in the game,” the guys all join in , clapping.

My jaw drops. “No. No, you guys are not…”

“…, gotta get your head in the game!” They chant, voices echoing off the walls.

I groan, dragging a hand down my embarrassed face. This can’t be real life. “Are you five?”

Thomas points at me. “Your line, Blake!”

I turn to Liam, desperate. “You’re seriously part of this?”

He shrugs, deadpan. “We’re a motivating and uplifting team.” Then he smirks. “Plus..., this is hilarious.”

They’re all staring at me now. Expectant. Ridiculous grins everywhere. I open my mouth, about to just say it to shut them up…

“All right…! Enough of the Disney musical!" Coach’s voice cuts through the rink. “Get off the ice - all of you! Blake - office. Now.”

A chorus of oohs follows me as I skate off.

“Saved by the bell,” Mario calls.

“Shut up, Mario!”

I pull off my gloves and push into the Coach's office, chest still tight. He’s hunched over some papers, pen scratching away. He doesn't even look up.

“Close the door.”

I do. The click echoes in the small room. I stand there, shifting on my feet, helmet tucked under my arm.

Silence. Just the scribble of his pen.

Then - without glancing up - he goes, “just talk to her.”

I freeze. My stomach flips. “I..., what?”

Coach sighs, sets the pen down, and leans back in his chair. Finally, look at me. “Boy, I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive. I know a distracted player when I see one, - and I sure know when it’s about a girl.”

My face burns. “It’s... I.., there’s nothing to…”

“Cut the crap.” His voice is firm but not harsh. “Whatever happened? Sort it out. Fast. Playoffs are next week, and I need this version of you,” -he points at me, - “gone.”

I swallow hard. “Yeah. Okay.”

He lets out a long breath. “You kids... I swear, I should be charging extra for all this relationship counseling. Mario was in here yesterday asking if he should text some girl first or wait.”

I blink. “Wait… Mario? No way.”

Coach rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Like I’ve got time for teenage soap operas.” He grabs his pen again. “Bottom line - figure out what’s in your head. Or better yet, get it out. Got it?”

I nod, tension easing just a fraction. “Got it.”

He waves me toward the door. “Go.”

A laugh slips out as I step into the hall. God help me..., my team’s insane. And my head? Still a mess.

But Coach is right. I need to figure this out.

****

“Yeah, mom, I’m fine,” I murmur into the phone, leaning against the kitchen counter. My fingers drum lightly on the granite surface, eyes flicking to the clock. 9:15 pm. “No, seriously..., you don’t have to worry about me.”

Pause. Her voice crackles through the speaker, soft and concerned.

“Yeah..., yeah, they’re fine,” I say, glancing toward the hallway where the kids’ bedrooms are. “They went to bed a while ago. You’ll talk to them tomorrow.”

Another pause. Her words tighten my chest.

“I love you too,” I reply, softer now. “And don’t forget to take your medication, okay? Promise me.”

She sighs but agrees, and I end the call, setting my phone on the counter with a quiet clunk. For a beat, I just stand there, letting the quiet settle over me. The house feels too quiet sometimes. Like everything slows down when the kids are asleep, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Grabbing the book that I’d left on the couch earlier, I flop down and try to focus on the words. But they blur. Figures. My brain’s been fried all day.

“Hey.”

The soft voice makes me glance up. Whitney stands at the edge of the living room, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, her oversized sweatshirt swallowing her frame.

Why does my heart always do this stupid flip thing when I see her?

“Hey,” I echo, closing the book.

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, eyes flicking to the phone still on the counter. “Was that your mom?”

“Yeah.” I nod, shifting to make room as she moves to sit beside me. Not too close, but close enough. Her familiar scent floats over - lavender - it’s distracting.

“How is she?” She asks, curling her legs beneath her.

“She’s good,” I say, managing a small smile. “Recovering well. Complains Ruth nags too much, though.”

Which is no surprise… My sister is the queen of nagging.

I lean back against the couch, letting the silence settle between us. Not awkward. Not really. Just..., weighted.

I clear my throat, fingers rubbing at the back of my neck. Just say it, Blake.

“Uh..., listen.” I glance at her, nerves knotting in my stomach. “I…, I gotta apologize. For... what happened at the wedding. The kiss.”

Her gaze shifts to me, lips parting slightly.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” I continue, words tumbling out.

“I don’t know what I was thinking...! I just - at that moment, it felt like the right thing to do.

But..., maybe it wasn’t.” I let out a breath, running a hand through my hair.

“I wasn’t trying to confuse things. Or make things weird between us.

Just..,. I don’t know. Guess I got caught up. ”

Whitney watches me, unreadable. Then she exhales. “Blake…, I get why you did it. You don’t need to apologize…, I mean, you do need to apologize…, I don’t know, I just felt…, kind of…, caught off guard, I guess.”

I nod slowly, my chest tightening. “Yeah. I get that.”

She leans back against the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. “It’s not that it was bad or anything,” she lets out a breathy, almost nervous laugh.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” she continues, voice quieter now. “And I guess I didn’t know how to react after. So, I just…, avoided it.”

I nod, exhaling. “Yeah. I noticed.”

She exhales, shaking her head. “It’s just…,”she stops, brows furrowing. “God...”

“I never meant to make things harder for you," I say, my voice lower now. "I know we’ve got a good thing going here. Given what happened with… us. I don’t want to mess that up."

She doesn’t say anything for a while, and I just pick up my book again. The silence between us settles for a long time, until….

“What was it like?” she asks quietly.

I glance at her. “What?”

“After she left. What was it like taking care of the kids, alone?”

My stomach tightens. I lean back against the couch and stare at the ceiling like the answer’s written there. My mind went back to it all, my fingers idly running over the edge of the book in my lap.

“It was hard,” I admit. My voice is rough, quieter than I meant it to be. “Really hard.”

I rub my hands over my thighs, trying to shake the weight pressing down on my chest. “I mean, I wasn’t completely alone.

My mom helped when she could. My sisters, Keith, even your parents sometimes.

God, your mom used to drop off baby food like she thought that I’d forget to feed them. ” I let out a breath.

Whitney lets out a soft laugh.

“But at the end of the day, it was still just me. And there were moments…” I pause, swallowing against the lump in my throat.

“I didn’t know what I was doing half the time.” A humorless laugh escapes me. “Hell, sometimes I still don’t. I’d put them to bed and just sit there, wondering if I was screwing them up. Wondering if she was ever going to come back for them or if I’ll ever be enough.” My voice turns rough.

Whitney is quiet for a long time; her gaze fixed on the floor. Then, softly, she says, “You were enough, Blake. Still enough for them.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “That’s nice to say, but…!”

“You are.” Her voice is firm now, with no hesitation. A small, sad smile tugs at her lips. “I remember when we were younger, you always said you wanted to be the kind of dad you never had.”

I huff out a quiet laugh. “Guess I didn’t have much of a blueprint to work with.”

Her gaze softens. “Maybe not. But look at them, Blake. I’ve seen you with them.

They’re happy. They love you. And yeah, maybe it wasn’t easy, maybe you were struggling, but you still showed up.

You gave them love. That’s what matters.

You raised the two most amazing, fun-to-be-with, and well-mannered kids I’ve known. ”

Something tightens in my chest. I drop my head back against the couch, exhaling.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The only sound is the soft hum of the heater kicking in, filling the silence between us.

Then, quietly, Whitney says, “Do you ever think about her?”

I turn my head, meeting her gaze. “Not in the way you think,” I answer honestly.

Whitney nods, but there’s something guarded in her eyes.

I study her for a second before speaking again. “Do you?”

Her brows pull together. “Do I what?”

“Think about us.” The words are out before I can stop them. My heart stumbles in my chest, but I don’t look away.

Whitney blinks, her lips parting slightly like she wasn’t expecting that. “Blake…”

I shake my head. “Never mind. You don’t have to…”

She nods and looks away. After a beat, exhales and turns back to me, eyes searching mine. “Blake…!” She hesitates. “When you kissed me…”

I brace myself. “Yeah?”

She swallows. “I didn’t hate it.”

My heart knocks against my ribs. Her gaze drops to my mouth, just for a split second - but I catch it. And darn if that doesn’t undo me.

I should not…

But my body moves before my brain can argue. I lean in.

My gaze flickers to her lips. “Tell me to stop.”

She doesn’t.

Instead, she tilts her chin up ever so slightly - an invitation, a challenge, maybe both. And that’s all it takes.

I lean in, and when our lips meet, it’s slow and aching, full of every unspoken word we never dared to say. Her fingers tighten in mine; I deepen the kiss. Just a little. Enough to feel her sigh into me.

It’s stupid. Reckless. It feels so good.

And terrifying.

When we pull apart, it’s slow - like neither of us wants to fully let go. Her eyes flutter open, dazed. Mine probably look the same.

“Blake...,” she starts, voice barely above a whisper.

Yeah. I don’t know what to say either.

Because somewhere in the back of my mind, I know kissing her was probably a bad idea.

I just don’t regret it.

Not one bit.