Page 3

Chapter One

Fourteen months later …

Adeline

Coming home might not have been such a good idea. Coming home on the night of a Chicago Rebels win and choosing to stop at the Empty Net definitely ranked as one of my less inspired ones.

Despite my misgivings, I pushed my way through the heaving bodies at the team’s regular hangout, a task made easier since I’d already dropped my backpack at home, said hi to my mom and great-gran, and spent a few minutes fussing over my baby sis, Tilly, who had grown into a strapping four-year-old while I wasn’t looking. I had one person I needed to see.

My dad, Theo Kershaw.

With that mop of dark, wavy hair, the veteran Rebels defenseman and captain was easy enough to spot, holding court in the middle of the bar.

I held back for a few seconds, watching him joking around, commanding the room as well as he did the defensive line during a game.

Someone must have made a crack at him because he turned and issued a withering retort complete with a crazy-ass nickname.

The man was famous for his creative monikers.

The crowd guffawed, completely on his side.

“Your pop’s in good form, I see.” Rosie, my bestie and world travel companion for the last year, placed a hand on my shoulder. “You sure you’re okay here?”

No, I wasn’t. I’d had a scare a couple of months ago and crowds didn’t help, but I needed to get over myself. With an injection of titanium into my spine, I adopted a cheery pose which wouldn’t fool my friend for a second but might be enough to fool me and the rest of this crowd.

“I’m fine. If I could only get the Theo Kershaw’s attention.”

At my raised voice, Dad finally figured it out. His handsome face lit up like a goal light, and he practically shoved his teammate Dash Carter out of the way to get to me.

“Twinkle!”

Knowing what was good for them, Rebels goaltender Noah Boden stepped out of his path along with Peyton Bell, one of the newer forwards. My dad threw his arms around me and lifted me off the ground.

“My girl’s home!”

“Hi, Dad.” I giggled into his chest and held on tight, tighter than I’d intended. He was a big guy, broad-shouldered, wide-chested, huge-hearted. The best man I knew.

“I thought you weren’t coming in until tomorrow.” He shook his head, either at my sketchy timekeeping or his mental confusion. “Does your mom know you’re back?”

“Already been. Rosie said hi to her dads, too.”

His apple-green eyes went wide as he pulled my friend into a hug. “Rosie! Sorry, I was blinded by my daughter’s beauty.”

“That’s okay, Mr. K. Story of my life on this trip.”

I barely repressed an eye roll at that blatant untruth. From Brindisi to Bucharest, Rosie was the star, which suited me just fine. Ever the wallflower, I liked the comfort of the shadows.

Except that one time the shadows bit back.

“Let’s get you a drink, Twinkle.”

“It’s okay, Dad. I don’t need anything. I just wanted to say hi. I didn’t mean to pull you away from your adoring public.”

“Come over here then so I can take a good look at you.” Tucking a hand under my elbow, he steered me to a spot near the jukebox, which I imagined was for show because everyone used Spotify now. Rosie was already chatting with Giselle DuPre and her boyfriend, Mark, so I wasn’t abandoning her.

“Why are you home two months early?”

I didn’t expect he’d go so hard to start. My dad might play the goof on TV, but he was sharper than a skate blade.

“No particular reason,” I lied. “We were just ready to get back.”

We had planned to spend an extra month in Spain, but then I made the mistake of getting mugged outside a bar on Santorini. It spooked me, and while I refused to let Rosie tell anyone, especially our nosey families, I figured it was a good reason to wrap things up.

Another one? Hockey season had started, and as this was likely my dad’s last year in the pros, I wanted to support him in every way I could.

“You look like you got a lot of sun. You’re healthy, right?

No problems? I’ve been so worried about you.

” Another hug, even tighter this time. My family tended to think of me as a delicate flower.

My travels were supposed to instill their confidence in me as I set out to conquer the world.

Unfortunately, the world had other ideas.

“I’m fine, Dad. You don’t have to worry.”

“It’s my job. So what’s the plan? You’re going to stick around for a while?” The hope in his voice warmed me through. My absence had been hard on him.

“For a spell. Can’t miss the old man’s final season.”

“Less of the old, cheeky monkey. Okay, I’m going to get you a drink because this is a celebration. My best girl’s home! What’s your tipple these days? Something exotic with lemongrass or lychee, I suppose.”

I chuckled. “A cider would be fine, whatever’s on tap. Oh, is Hatch here?”

My brother, Hatch, had been recently acquired to play on the Rebels, a move that pretty much determined my dad’s trajectory this year.

One of his dreams was to play on the same team as his eldest son.

If he could hold on for another year until my younger brother Conor made his debut, the Kershaws would be Gordie Howe-ing it to the max.

“Yeah, he’s here somewhere. Hey, man?” My father’s attention snagged on some poor unfortunate as they tried to walk by. “Keep my girl company, will ya?”

“Sure, T.”

My entire body went stiff. Dad was already halfway to the bar while his spot was filled with the bulk of one of his teammates.

Lars Nyquist.

He hadn’t changed. Scratch that. He had become more handsome, which should have been impossible. A year should have dimmed those baby blues, grimmed that sensuous mouth, trimmed all that beauty. Justice was clearly on a smoke break.

The less said about the last time I saw him, the better. Thankfully, my crush had waned to barely negligible. These days, I was a new woman, well-traveled and unhindered by teenage hormones.

But when faced with this absurdity—six-two, broad as an ox, all copper-tinged jaw scruff and blues the sparkle of Lake Michigan on a clear summer day—any girl might question her willpower.

“Good to see you,” he said, rubbing his beard. Rubbing it in, more like.

“You, too!” Far too enthusiastic, so I pitched my next words lower. “Congrats on the win tonight.”

“Yep. Your dad was on fire. Hard to believe he’s serious about retirement.”

I found it hard to fathom as well. He was the second oldest player in the league, and the oldest was currently on what seemed like permanent IR, so my dad was the oldest active player. When he became a father again four years ago, we all thought that would be the clincher. So long hockey.

Mom knew better. She understood that hockey meant the world to him, and once done, he might crash into the void left by its absence.

“Yeah. And you two make a good team.”

He nodded.

And that was that.

We lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Throwing a desperate glance over my shoulder, I willed my father to return, but when I turned back, Lars was looking at me like he had something to say. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to hear it. Leave it in the past.

So I glared at him, hoping that would discourage any trips down memory ditch, and prayed that he had the decency to forget all about it.

Lars

When I first landed on the Rebels, I thought being partnered with a veteran like Kershaw would be weird. That that our post-game cellies would be muted by this ancient in our midst. That he might cramp my style.

Fuck, was I wrong.

Theo Kershaw was Teammate with a capital T.

The guy knew every bar and bartender in every city we played, and they all loved him, even when he was responsible for shutting out their team.

He was player, coach, mentor, counselor, and priest, and once he retired, there would be a huge hole to fill, not just on the Rebels but in hockey.

Over the last year, he’d been there for me in more ways than one. After the initial dread of dinners at the Kershaws, I’d come to enjoy them. To see them as the highlight of my week. When my father died, Theo had been the rock I didn’t know I needed.

My growing closeness to the family was made easier by Adeline’s absence.

That was probably a shitty thing to think, but I couldn’t have become a regular at the Kershaw table if I had to sit across from his daughter.

Without her presence, I could listen dispassionately when Theo talked about her.

How much he missed her. About the flea-ridden hostels she was staying in, the no-name airline she was flying, the salmonella magnets she was eating in.

He would try sending her money to graduate her travel experience from one-star to three, but she would refuse because she wanted to make her own way.

I admired that. Growing up the daughter of a rich, famous pro-athlete might make a kid privileged. Not Adeline. Not any of the Kershaw kids. (Except for Tilly, who at age four, was entitled to a little privilege.)

Theo talked about Adeline so much that I had actually started looking forward to her return, if only so he would shut up about her.

I’d seen the photo dumps before every practice, watched the reels he sent anyone who’d listen, and heard all about the adventures of Addy and Rosie, like it was the latest YA graphic novel.

In a way, I felt I knew her better than any of the fuckers here, save her dad. So it was disconcerting to find that she didn’t like me.

One bit.

I barely knew her, yet here she was, scowling away at me like I’d done something to piss her off. When she wasn’t giving wistful looks over her shoulder toward her dad, she would stare at me with his eyes, a deep mossy green that now reflected suspicion where his shone nothing but goodwill.

So she was embarrassed about our previous interaction. I resolved to be the adult here and make it easy for her.

“Good trip, then?”