Page 4 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie (Second Chance Hockey Players #2)

Chapter three

Whitney

T he road curves like a ribbon unraveling ahead of me. Wind whips through my open window, cold and sharp, but I don’t roll it up. I let it sting my cheeks, tangle my hair - anything to keep me grounded as I drive through the familiar streets of Autumn Cove.

I exhale slowly, watching as the familiar town stretches out before me.

Even in the early spring chill, the streets are alive with color and movement.

Storefronts are draped in pastel banners, bouquets of fresh flowers line the sidewalks, and families move in and out of shops, their arms full of decorations.

The Bloomtide Festival is coming up, and as always, the town is buzzing with energy.

It’s beautiful. Just as I remember it.

A group of kids races past, their laughter ringing through the crisp air. At a corner bakery, an elderly couple sits outside, steaming mugs of coffee in hand. The scent of cinnamon and sugar drifts through the air.

For a second, warmth spreads through me. Nostalgia. A soft, bittersweet ache. A part of me misses this. A part of me misses everything if I’m being honest. I grip the steering wheel with one hand, the other resting on the open window.

After about thirty minutes, I pull up in front of a three-story house that looks exactly the same as it did when I left.

Painted in a soft cream color and nestled between towering oak trees whose bare branches sway gently in the breeze.

The wraparound porch, once my favorite spot for lazy summer afternoons, still has the same two rocking chairs that creaked under my weight when I was a kid.

A porch swing hangs to the right, swaying slightly in the wind.

Mom’s touch is everywhere - potted plants lined neatly along the steps, a fresh wreath on the door, a welcome mat that reads Home is where the coffee is.

I cut the engine and sit for a second, fingers drumming against the wheel.

Okay. Here we go.

I exhale and step out, grabbing my bag from the passenger seat. My boots crunch against the gravel as I make my way up the steps.

The porch light flickers slightly, just like it always has.

No matter how many times Dad fixed it, it never stopped doing that - one of those little imperfections that made the house feel like home.

The flower beds lining the porch are freshly mulched, filled with the beginnings of tulips and daffodils - mom’s doing, no doubt.

I hesitate for just a second before opening the door. Inside, the warmth of home instantly surrounds me. The faint scent of cinnamon and something sweet lingers in the air, mixed with the underlying scent of furniture polish.

Laughter filters in from the living room.

I hesitate, fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. Then, drawing in a breath, I move forward, rounding the corner.

"Hello, everyone," I say, my voice coming out smoother than I expected.

Conversation stops.

For a beat, everyone just stares. Then mom rises from her spot on the couch, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Well, look who finally decided to show up," she says, crossing the room and pulling me into a warm hug.

I sink into it, just for a second, before pulling back.

"It's good to see my youngest daughter again," she says, cupping my face for a moment before letting me go.

I manage a smile, my lips tight, but it’s real enough. “It’s good to see you too, mom.”

Mom looks exactly the same as when I saw her early last year – like she never aged a bit - deep brown hair swept up in a loose bun, warm hazel eyes that always seem to know too much, and the same soft, floral perfume she’s worn for years.

I glance past her to my siblings.

Edward, the eldest, pushes up from the recliner, his six-foot frame still as effortlessly intimidating as ever.

He’s always been the responsible one, the guy who has his life together.

Sharp blue eyes, neatly trimmed beard, looking every bit the lawyer, he is.

He’s the spitting image of our dad, tall, broad shoulders, and even down to the beard style.

His sharp features soften into a smirk as he steps forward and pulls me into a half-hug. "Didn’t think we’d actually see you before the wedding. Thought you’d come up with something to postpone," he teases.

I roll my eyes. "Glad to disappoint you, then."

Janet, the second eldest, is next. Her blonde hair is tied in a sleek ponytail, her makeup flawless, as usual. "About time," she says, pulling me in tightly before stepping back to give me a once-over. "You look good."

"So do you," I say, meaning it.

Janet is a doctor, running her own clinic in the city. A perfectionist to the core and the queen of comparisons. As much as she can be a joy to be around, she can also be quite a big pain. She likes to carry herself with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing at all times.

Rosa, my closest sibling in age, is the last one to hug me. She doesn’t say anything at first, just squeezes me tight before stepping back with a grin. "Don’t disappear on us this time," she murmurs.

I give a small smile but say nothing.

Rosa runs a small fashion business on the side but spends most of her time working in the family’s bakery and textile business.

All of them have successful careers, as they like to say. A doctor, a business owner, a fashion designer. And me?

"Whitney."

I turn to see Laura, Keith’s fiancée, smiling at me from the couch. Her dark curls frame her face, and there’s an undeniable warmth in her expression. She’s effortlessly elegant, the kind of person who looks like she belongs in a lifestyle magazine.

"Hey, Laura," I say, offering a small smile. "It’s good to see you again."

"You too," she says. "Welcome home."

Home.

I swallow.

After a moment, I sink into the nearest armchair, resting my bag beside me. "Where are Dad and Keith?" I ask.

Mom settles back onto the couch. "They went out to run some errands. Should be back soon."

I nod, leaning back. A comfortable silence hangs for a moment before Janet pipes up, glancing over at me with a raised brow.

"How was your flight?"

"Long," I answer, stretching a little. "You know how it is. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to those cramped seats."

Rosa chuckles from the armchair opposite. "I think at this point, we can all agree that airports are one of the worst places on earth." She glances at Janet with a grin. "Except for maybe your clinic, with all the emergency calls you get."

Janet smirks, lifting a brow. "Hey, someone's got to keep the chaos in check."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Honestly, if I didn’t have to deal with travel, I think I’d enjoy being a hermit."

Rosa leans forward, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "How’s life in the big city? How have you been, Whitney?"

I shrug lightly. "I’ve been good. Keeping busy."

Rosa smirks. "Busy taking pictures and making videos?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, Rosa. That’s literally my job."

Mom gives me a look, the kind that says, Behave, to which I shrug.

Janet leans forward. "So, are you back for good or just visiting?"

"Just visiting," I say quickly.

"Figures," Rosa mutters under her breath, but before I can respond, the sound of the front door opening and closing cuts through the conversation, followed by the heavy thud of boots against the hardwood floor.

I don’t even have to look - I know who it is.

Dad.

Without thinking, I spring up from the couch and rush into his arms.

“Hey, my Houston,” he says, his voice warm and deep as he wraps me up in a tight hug. “How are you doing?”

I grin against his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent.

“I’m fine, Dad.” Then I pull back to stare at his face.

The sight of him - strong build, salt-and-pepper hair, and the familiar twinkle in his eyes - triggers something deep inside me.

Giving him a playful glare, I continue, “But you really need to stop calling me Houston.”

He grins. "No chance. You’re named after the greatest, and I’m not letting that go."

I shake my head, but I am smiling.

"All right, all right," a familiar voice cuts in. "Dad, let her go so she can hug her favorite brother."

I glance over to see Keith leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, an easy smirk on his face.

His dark hair is neatly combed back, sharp eyes scanning me like he’s assessing. But then his grin softens, and he steps forward, pulling me into a quick hug.

Keith and I have always been close. Out of all my siblings, he was the one I confided in the most, the one who always had my back. Although he’s the third born, he’s the one who has taken over the family’s business.

"Welcome back, troublemaker," he murmurs.

I huff a laugh against his shoulder. "I’ve missed you."

"And I, you," he replies.

As we pull away, Keith throws an arm over my shoulders, giving me a small squeeze before walking over to the couch. He sits next to Laura, pressing a quick peck to her lips before pulling her close.

I smile at them, but Keith - being Keith - sticks his tongue out at me. I roll my eyes and shake my head. Some things never change.

Dad exhales, a slow, content sigh as he leans back in his seat. "It’s really great to have you here, Houston."

I smile at him, warmth creeping into my chest despite myself. "It’s good to be here."

Keith props his elbow on the armrest, turning toward me. "So, how long will you be staying?"

Before I can answer, Mom jumps in. "She’ll be staying for a while, right, Whitney?"

I glance at her, then at my juice, and simply nod before taking a sip. "I’d be delighted to help with the wedding in any way," I add, setting my juice down, and leaning back into the couch.

Laura’s face lights up. “Really?”

I smile at her. “Of course. I’d be delighted to help in any way I can.”