Page 11 of Wake Me Up (New England Bay Sharks #5)

B efore the game starts, I take my phone out and snap a picture of Cash standing in front of the goal.

I know he’s nervous, but he’s going to do great—I’m sure of it.

He’s naturally athletic, and he works so hard to be the best he can be, always.

A combination that will help him succeed in whatever he does.

Aviana went with my parents to my nephew’s swim meet.

Cane is sitting with some of his friends, and I try my best not to look over every few minutes to see if they are all behaving, though it’s hard.

In my eyes, he’s still a little boy, but I know that isn’t true anymore, and I need to give him a little more independence than I do.

“Looks like he’s a natural, standing down there,” a deep voice says from behind me, forcing my head to whip around.

My eyes lock with none other than Tripp Talmage as he stands next to me with his hat pulled low, wearing a simple gray sweatshirt. The corner of his lip turns up the slightest bit, exposing a set of dimples that I’m guessing don’t come out to play often because he’s always so serious.

He jerks his chin toward the spot beside me. “Is this seat taken?”

For a moment, I just stare at him because out of all the people I thought I might see tonight, he’s certainly not one of them. I don’t know if I should be creeped out or flattered that he’s here, but I can’t get past the shock enough to figure out which it is.

“Uh … no. It’s … not,” I say, wondering what Cane might think if he sees Tripp sitting next to me. Even with his hat pulled low, I know my son would recognize him.

“Don’t sound so excited at the idea of sitting beside me,” he mutters teasingly before taking a seat. “I can put one seat between us, if it makes you feel better.”

My body tenses as my heart speeds up when his shoulder brushes against mine, and even though I try to ignore the yummy scent of him, it’s hard.

“No, no,” I say, trying to give a relaxed smile before settling into my seat again.

“You’re fine here.” I frown, biting my bottom lip.

“Though I am curious … why are you here? And how did you know to come here anyway?” I stop, my eyes widening.

“Not that you’re here to see me or Cash.

I just meant, you know, how’d you know there was this game tonight? ”

Tell me you are a widow who hasn’t talked to an attractive man in five years without telling me you’re a widow who hasn’t talked to an attractive man in five years.

Lord, I’m a mess.

My heart is beating so loudly that I’m afraid he may actually hear it. He makes me nervous, which isn’t something I’m used to. The only person who has ever had the ability to do this was my husband when we were teenagers. And now, he’s obviously gone.

“When I worked with him at that clinic, he was telling me about his team, so I looked it up and saw his schedule. He’s a good kid. I wanted to see him play.” There’s a short pause. “I hope that’s okay. I understand if you think I’m a creep, but I swear, I’m not a stalker.”

I get the feeling this is the most he’s talked …

maybe ever, and I glance at him from the corner of my eye.

It’s so bizarre that the goalie for the New England Bay Sharks just came to my son’s game.

I mean, I’ve always known that Cash is a helluva athlete.

As his mom, it’s my job to think he’s amazing; still, I knew he was great.

But I didn’t expect him, at this young of an age, to snag the interest of someone like Tripp.

I guess that goes to show that I should never underestimate my son.

Realizing that I’m not responding and probably coming off as a bitch, I turn my body toward him slightly.

“Cash will be over the moon that you came to watch him.” I smile.

“Thank you, Tripp. I’m sure you are so busy with your own hockey schedule, but this is really kind of you.

” Suddenly, an article I saw online comes to mind, and I can’t stop the chuckle that escapes my lips. “Sorry.” I cringe.

“What’s so funny?” he asks dryly.

“Nothing,” I say, trying to fight back laughter. “Well, it’s just … sort of funny to me that the one Bay Shark I thought was a jerk turned out to likely be the nicest. ”

He simply stares at me. “You thought I was an asshole?”

“I said jerk,” I answer. “And … kind of. I read an article about you that basically said you’re cold.” I shrug. “If it makes you feel any better, I read a similar one about Kolt Kolburne. And he looks even more unapproachable than you do.”

“I’m a ray of sunshine,” he deadpans. “Just gotta get to know me better, darlin’.”

I think I almost choke on my own tongue, and then I feel like my face my melt off from blushing. But I inhale quickly and smile at him. “Game’s starting.”

Swallowing, I turn my attention to the rink and begin chewing my bottom lip. I don’t know what’s making me more nervous—the fact that it’s my son’s very first time playing goalie in an actual game or the man sitting beside me, invading my space, who just called me darlin’ .

All I know is, I can hardly breathe right now.

This kid has major talent.

Cash has so much potential, and the craziest thing is, this is his first time ever playing goalie in an actual game.

The only reason I know that though is because he told me the other day.

I sensed the hesitation from him to play the position, and when he glanced at his older brother, I knew it had something to do with him.

But if he truly wants to be a goalie, I’d love to help him to become the best one he can be.

And … maybe I want to see more of his mother too.

Probably in more ways than one.

Cane came over to us to get money from his mom for the concessions a bit ago, but I made him promise to stay cool and not tell his friends I was here.

With my ball cap pulled low on my head, I’ve been lucky enough to not be recognized, and I’m thankful there’s hardly anyone at this game right now because if there was, I would have been seen right when I walked in.

I don’t want to sound like a prick, but being a Shark sometimes comes with a lot of fans.

And in times like this, I don’t want to have that happen. This is Cash’s day, not mine.

Leaning in a little closer, I murmur to Freya, “You can relax, you know.” When I inhale, a sweet smell hits my nose, and I think my mouth waters.

She’s been a ball of nerves since the game started. Her hands have been tucked under her chin while she chews on her bottom lip aggressively.

“He’s doing great.”

She lets out a long breath, along with a laugh, rocking forward slightly. “I’m just so nervous for him. It’s a lot of pressure.” Stopping, she smacks her forehead lightly with her palm. “What am I even saying? You know how much pressure it is. Times a billion!”

I do understand the pressure—she’s right about that.

And I’d like to say the pressure you feel goes away, the longer you play, but truth be told, the more hype I got over the years, the harder I was on myself to live up to everyone’s expectations of me.

I became fixated on never letting anyone down, and that’s a whole lot of weight to shoulder.

“It is,” I say, not trying to deny it. “But if he wants this, if he wants a future on the ice, he’s going to have to get used to the pressure because there will never be a shortage of it—that’s for sure.”

She’s silent, and I wonder if I said something wrong.

But then she finally speaks. Her voice is small.

“As a parent, I just don’t know what to do.

Do I help him to excel so that he can take this as far as possible?

Or … do I lead him toward a simpler path, where maybe high school hockey is it for him?

” She sighs. “I know the chances of going pro are very slim, but even playing at a college level can be a lot. And the injuries?” I can practically hear her wince. “I hate to even think of that.”

She’s asking me a loaded question, and I don’t even really know how to answer it.

Nobody pushed me to go pro. I did it because I was good, and I wanted to give my mom and sister the best life I could after they suffered the loss of my dad.

I wanted to provide for them and try to bring them some form of happiness that I didn’t think any of us had felt since he had taken his last breath.

But I can’t tell this woman that. I don’t even know her.

I can’t tell her that as great of a life that the NHL has given me, it’s not all happy times. Being at the top can be incredibly lonely, but it’s hard to know who wants you for you and who wants you because they know you have money and fame .

“Support, but never push. Encourage, but don’t force anything,” I say low.

“If he wants it, don’t be the one to stand between him and his dream.

” I look over at her. “The only thing I hate to see is when a parent forces their child to do something because maybe they didn’t fulfill their dreams, so they are living through their kids.

” I pause. “I don’t see that in you. Not at all. So, I think you’re doing well.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. “That’s actually … really good advice.”

I expect her to look away from me, but for once, she doesn’t.

I take advantage of the opportunity to look at her pretty face and study her eyes.

They are brown, but almost like a warm honey color that’s being hit by the sun.

They are soft and comforting, and I don’t even know who the fuck I am for noticing it.

I’ve never been the guy to look into a woman’s eyes and care about all the different hues, but with her, I want to memorize them before she looks away to hide from me, like she always does.

She gives me one last smile before looking back at the ice, and I fight my own grin because even though she didn’t touch me, that’s the closest I’ve ever felt to her before.

I want to know what happened to her husband, but I know it’s not something I can just come out and ask, especially when she’s this guarded.

If he left her … he’s an idiot. But if he upped and left, that must have been the hardest thing to do.

To leave her and those amazing kids? I can’t even imagine it.

I’ve never been one who brings home a new woman every night. I hook up occasionally, sure. I had a girlfriend a few years back for six months, but she wasn’t the one, so we split up.

I don’t fall asleep thinking about anything other than my next game and things I need to work on in the goal. So, why the hell has Freya been on my mind each night since the first time I saw her?

And why am I here, right now, sitting beside her at this game? Or why does it make me mad every time I look down at her finger and see that ring, reminding me that in some way, shape, or form … she’s taken?

I don’t have any of the answers. All I know is, she’s single, and this won’t be the last time I see her. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.