Chapter 5 "No. Stop. You're killing me." Travis leans on his hockey stick, head bowed, as he cackles so hard it shakes his entire body. We've got the ice to ourselves and are hitting a few pucks before camp starts. He stands tall and bows his back, then throws his laughter into the air, noise echoing in the empty stands and rafters. "I'm glad you find this funny." "I can't believe you don't." I grunt and fire another puck into the net. I have a hunch the burn of my muscles would be more satisfying if Trav wasn't getting so much enjoyment out of my misery. "What'd he say when you told him you weren't going to let her interview you?" he asks when he gets himself under control. "I didn't get a chance. He conveniently had Bingo last night and was gone before I got back from the cabin." He left a note on the counter: Bingo. Don't wait up. Like it was any other day, and he hadn't moved in some strange woman and offered up my time to help her, then left me to deal with it. And if there'd been any doubt that I was the contact she'd mentioned, he'd also scribbled, Ruby is swinging by the rink at ten to ask you a few hockey questions. I left a note in response. One word. No. "Ha!" He lets out one more bark of laughter. "Bingo. Mike kills me." "He's killing me too," I mutter. Travis trails off into quiet chuckles. "Is she at least our age?" "We are not the same age," I say, firing another puck. Trav is five years younger, though admittedly, his life experiences make him feel like an old soul. A wild, old soul. "You know what I mean." "Yeah. Best I can tell. Mid to late twenties. Thirty, maybe." "Married?" I glower at him. "How the hell would I know that?" "Nah. Mike wouldn't have moved her in if she were married." My jaw drops and my throat goes dry. "That's not what this is." Trav lifts one brow. Fuck. Is that what this is? My dad has made it his mission to play matchmaker in the past, but would he really go this far? It started about five years ago when Aidan was getting old enough that things felt more stable. Before then, I honestly could barely keep my head above water, so dating was the furthest thing from my mind. Slowly, my son started becoming more independent, we got into a routine, and about that time my dad started meddling. He turned every woman he met into a potential wife candidate for me. "You sure?" "No," I admit as my mind reels. "Okay. Well, what does she look like?" My skin pricks and I shrug one shoulder. "I don't know." He sighs. "Short? Tall? Cute? Nerdy?" "She doesn't look like what you'd expect." His gaze narrows. "Meaning?" I know I've said too much when his lips part and he flashes a big, wolfish grin at me. I look away and line up another shot. "She's hot," he says in a tone that mirrors Aidan's when he's really, truly, unabashedly excited about something. "Your dad moved in a hottie next door." My grip on the stick tightens. "Wooooweee. Well, this changes everything." Travis circles around me. "It changes nothing, and I didn't say she was hot. I only meant that she doesn't look like the stereotypical bookish nerdy type." Even as I say the words I know they aren't the complete truth. Ruby is gorgeous. Chaotic? Sure. Quirky? Absolutely. But she's also undoubtedly beautiful. The kind that takes your breath and makes you feel unsteady on your feet. Which now that I think about it is exactly why Dad invited her here. The man is relentless. "D-Low doesn't either, but he's the single nerdiest person I know," Travis says, pulling me from visions of Ruby and her long red hair and pouty lips. True. Our teammate, Danny Marlowe, is covered in tattoos and loves trendy fashion labels. He also happens to have degrees in both aerospace engineering and math. People are always surprised that he's so smart, but you really can't judge a book by its cover. My lips twitch with a grin. Look at me making book jokes. Now I just have to turn the page and figure out how the hell to get rid of the woman. "Is she your type or mine?" he asks. "What?" "You tend to go for the nice, wholesome girl-next-door type." My brows lift and my mouth curves in amusement. I didn't realize I had a type, but that doesn't sound so horrible. "As opposed to the mean girls you date?" "They're not always mean. Brittney was an outlier. I was blinded by the septum piercing. I freaking love a nose ring." He groans like he's picturing a woman with one right now. "My type is more free spirit while you prefer someone less...complicated." I will say one thing about Trav. He knows what he wants, and he isn't afraid to go after it. Maybe my type is as boring as he makes it sound, but if so that's because most of the time, dating feels like too much effort to me. It isn't like I never hook up, but I prefer to do it when traveling or while Aidan is with his mom. It keeps all that separate from my real life. "So..." Trav leans on his stick with both hands. "Free spirit or girl next door?" "I don't know. She's just..." Chaos. "It's fine. I'll swing by and check her out myself. What kind of book is she writing anyway? Do you think D-Low's read any of her stuff?" "No." "No, he hasn't read her?" "No, you cannot check her out." I carefully avoid telling him what she writes because Trav would never let me live that down. He'd see it as some sort of sign. My dad moved a romance author in next door. That's ripe for jokes. And we both have long contracts with no-trade clauses. "Why not?" His voice climbs. "She promised to stay out of my way, so I'm going to extend the same to her." If I don't see or talk to her, then perhaps I can pretend like she doesn't exist. I wonder what she did when she found out her contact is me. Hopefully my dad handled it and she's on her way back to wherever she came from. "I mean, if you're not going to ask her out, then I might." I glower at him, but he just laughs at my predicament. Fucker. "Kidding." He's not. "She's not hot," I say because on the off chance she's still there, I cannot have him showing up at my place, and if I tell him that she is, he absolutely, one hundred percent, will. Tonight. Probably as soon as we finish here. "Fine. Fine." With a shake of his head, he says, "But I'll happily trade places with you. Eventually one of the women your dad hooks you up with has to be hot." The slam of a door, followed by voices, alerts us to the arrival of our first campers for the day. Trav and I are both working a kids' hockey camp that the team puts on every summer. For the week, we'll be teaching children ages five through twelve a variety of skills based on their age and levels. It's the second year I've done the camp, and I enjoyed it more than I expected last time. When Aidan was born, I knew next to nothing about kids. And even after, I still wasn't really a kid person. I love my kid, but I never thought about having more or coaching them. "Done," I say as I skate to the edge of the ice. Trav falls into stride next to me. "You can come live at my house for the next six weeks and Aidan and I will move into yours." "Mike and I would have a blast. I think I could get behind a meddling parent setting me up with hot women. I can assure you it's better than the absent kind." A hint of guilt stabs me between the ribs. He doesn't talk about his family much, but he's said enough for me to know they aren't a part of his life. My dad drives me crazy, but he's always been there when I needed him. "That's what everyone says until their dad is inviting your pediatrician to Thanksgiving dinner," I mutter, then crack a smile because as uncomfortable as it was at the time, it is funny to think about now. "I had to find Aidan a new doctor." Trav's lips pull up on one side of his mouth. "Better than the time he ran a wanted ad in the newspaper." I shudder at the memory of that one. It still isn't funny. In fact, embarrassment heats the back of my neck like it's happening to me all over again. Apparently, back in his day people did that kind of thing all the time. I'm not sure I believe that, but even if it's true, it's not something people do now. I had to change my phone number and outright lie to a sports journalist who questioned me about it. "No, I am not the Nick Galaxy looking for love with a beautiful, kind woman who likes kids and hockey." "Besides, you've already dated all the women in Moonshot." I let my first true smile of the day loosen. "Who would he possibly set you up with?" "Except one." He winks, not at all bothered by my ribbing him. Though, it's true. I don't date anyone, and he dates everyone. Maybe us swapping houses is the perfect scenario. We step off to greet the first of the kids trickling in. Their excitement is written all over their faces. Warmth spreads through me when I spot one particular face in the crowd. Aidan grins as he approaches me. He spent the past week with his mom while I was in Dallas, and I missed the hell out of him. "Hey." I place a gloved hand on top of his head. "Did you get taller?" "No," he says, ducking away from my hand. "You sure?" I pull him into a quick hug. "Missed you. Did you have fun with your mom?" "Yeah. I guess so." He shrugs one shoulder. "Little G!" Trav greets my son. "What's up, my dude? Ready to play some hockey?" "Yeah." Aidan nods his head with enthusiasm. I'm glad that hockey is still one thing we both love. The first hour of camp is spent on introductions, expectations of the week, and grouping the kids off by age. Trav takes the oldest group, including Aidan, the Moonshot assistant coach Lori takes the middle, and I work with the youngest. We'll switch around today, and through the week, but I like the excitement and energy of the five- and six-year-olds. Their skating levels will vary and that's often the biggest factor in the young group. Most have skated with their families during the winter a time or two, so they're at least a little comfortable, but I have one little girl who has already told me this will be her first time. We start off the ice. I lead my kiddos to the strength and training room. "Woah," they all exclaim, little heads tipping back as they stare at the rows of equipment and framed pictures on the wall of players and coaches. There's a board of pictures taken by the staff here while we were traveling or hanging out, casual, behind the scenes moments. For other people, it's a cool glimpse of players outside of the uniform. For us, it's a reminder that this is a job. A fun, amazing job but outside of that we're friends, we're teammates, we're people with families and lives outside of the jersey. "What's that?" one little girl asks as she points to a bulletin board on one wall. She's missing her front two teeth. I remember when Aidan lost his. There's nothing cuter than a kid without their teeth. Not so cute on grown men playing hockey. I've been fortunate in that area and the team dentist helps. "Those are quotes left behind by all the coaches that have ever worked here," I say, then tip my head. "You can go read them if you want." The kids all run at once. I follow behind them, standing at the back of the group. "What do they say?" another kid asks. He's the tallest of the kids, almost awkward with his lanky arms and legs. Right. I forget that most of them can't read yet. I pick a couple of my favorites and read them, but they're bored quickly and on to the next thing. For a lot of these kids, the ones that care less about hockey and more about the adventure of it all, the coolest part of this week is getting the behind the scenes look at the facilities. I realize for some of them it's like going to a theme park or a museum. I do my best to keep them corralled while they explore the room for a few minutes before rounding them back up to stretch and warm up before getting on the ice. I learn their names and ask each of them to tell me one thing they want to do this week at camp. Their answers vary from meet Conrad Shepard, one of our star defensemen, to learning a slap shot to lunchtime. Their honesty, the purity and courage to say whatever is on their mind has me feeling more relaxed than I have in days, maybe weeks. Beth, Aidan's mom, and I split custody fifty-fifty. The time when Aidan is with his mom is important for him and her, but man does it suck. Once the kids have stretched, I take them to the locker room where again they spend several minutes scoping out the space, finding all their favorite players' lockers, and admiring the giant Moonshot logo on the ceiling. I go to my cubby where the equipment manager has laid out my gear for me. I show them my stick and pads, my helmet, all of which they pass around with awe-filled expressions. "All right. You guys ready to get in your gear?" I ask them. Their heads can't nod fast enough. "Okay, but first, I think you need these." I open the flaps of a box sitting on the bench and pull out jerseys for each of them. The gasps and eagerness as they lunge forward to take one makes me chuckle. It's a major difference between this group and the older kids. Aidan will be excited to get one, even though he has plenty of Moonshot merch, but he and his peers won't be nearly this unabashed in their excitement. "I'm number eighty-eight like Travis Bennett," one boy proclaims proudly as he holds it up. "I want number ninety-one. Danny Marlowe is so fast." Another kid rummages through to find his favorite player. There's nothing more heartwarming than seeing the kids so pumped about donning their hero's jersey. As soon as they've each picked one, we head back out to the main rink. I lead the younger kids to the area where they left their gear and instruct them to suit up. I find Aidan on the ice, already suited up in his jersey. It's mine, which makes me smile even though he probably just picked it because we share a name. Travis is leading his group through a warm-up drill on one side of the ice. When he sees me, he yells out a few more directions to the kids, then skates over to me. "Ready to have a little fun, Galaxy?" "Yeah." I chuckle, then notice one of the parents is approaching me. Generally, the younger kids' parents stick around the first day, or at least for the first few hours, to make sure their child is going to be okay. Most of them sit quietly in the reserved section of the stands we rope off for them to view camp, but there are always a couple that think they need to come down and help out, give their kid a pep talk or a snack. I glance back at Trav. "Can you get them out on the ice?" He gives me a sympathetic glance as he also notices the mom on her way with a water bottle in one hand and a baggie of orange crackers in the other. "Yeah. No prob." I raise my voice so the kids can hear me over the noise, "Once you're all set, my friend Travis will lead you out onto the ice. If it's your first time or you're feeling uneasy, then grab one of the skating aids." Once I've given them their instructions, I walk around them to the mom on her way over. She's at least hesitant enough to hang back. "Hi," she says, cheerily, when I get within a few feet of her. "I forgot to give these to Annabelle. And I also wanted to make sure she got her skates laced up right. She still struggles to tie her shoes." There's a clear nervousness about the woman that mirrors the cute little redhead. Annabelle already told me she hasn't skated before so I understand where her mom is coming from, and I can tell her intentions are good. It can be hard to stand by helplessly and watch your kid do something new and out of their comfort zone. "I'm Nick." I hold out a hand to her. "Kelly." She sets the crackers on top of the water bottle and shakes my hand. "And gosh. I know who you are. We're big fans in my family. My parents have season tickets. It's just, Annabelle is my sweet, accident-prone child. She hasn't really done any sports. Except a short stint in gymnastics that ended with both her and her coach in tears." I smile and let out a small laugh. "Learning a new sport can be hard and stressful, but I promise we'll check all their gear before they get on the ice and do our best to make sure she has a good time." She nods but doesn't say anything, and I can tell my words haven't really eased her fears. It might just be that she needs to see Annabelle conquer hockey as much as her daughter does. "And I can take that for her." I glance at the water and snack she's holding. "Oh, okay." She gives them to me, then wrings her hands in front of her. "She can do this," I say. Not every kid walks out of camp a superstar, but none have left without being able to skate marginally well or hit a puck into the goal (at least at close range). She nods again and I offer one more smile before I head back. Annabelle is at the back of the line. She has a look of fear on her face, but she holds her head high as the kids step forward one by one. Trav checks all of them over before giving them the okay to enter the ice. We have other coaches this week assisting, so there are plenty of bodies to make sure each camper has someone to help, if needed. I put Annabelle's snack with the rest of the kids' stuff, then stop next to her at the back of the line. She glances over and attempts to smile. "Nervous?" I ask. She shakes her head adamantly. Her red hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but a few strands fall around her face. "It's okay if you are. I was terrified the first time I went skating." "You were?" she asks, disbelief rampant in her tone. "Mhmm." I squat down so I'm at eye level with her. Checking her gear over and adjusting as needed, I say, "My dad told me the most important thing to remember was that everybody falls." She giggles, a small, anxious sound. "Don't be afraid of it. Try to relax and not worry about going down. The more you fall, the more you get up, and the faster you'll get the hang of it." They are words I've had to repeat to myself a lot over the years. Especially lately. Ever since my shoulder surgery, stepping out onto the ice makes me uneasy. It wasn't the first and won't be the last time I get hurt playing hockey, but for some reason this one really messed with my head. It's not so bad when I'm shooting around or helping the kids, but it's going to be a long journey to gearing up and playing full contact without worrying I'm one injury away from retirement. "What if I get hurt?" Her voice is small and my gut twists as her fears mirror my own. "That's what all this padding is for." I tighten the strap of her helmet under her chin and then tap the top of it lightly. It's her turn so I stand and hope I've made her less nervous instead of more. I've been a parent long enough to know my pep talks aren't always awesome. "Ready to fall down?" I ask her, but maybe I'm talking to myself a little too. She grins, flashing that gap in the front. I go ahead of her and then watch as she takes her first tentative step. She doesn't let go of the wall until I slide a skating aid in front of her. The sturdy plastic aid is about three feet tall and a couple feet wide with handles to grip on to. It's essentially a walker that glides over the ice, keeping the kids upright while they get their footing. It's hard to remember what it's like to learn to skate. I've been doing it so long that it feels so natural, but I give her, and the rest of the kids, the same basic instructions I've heard time and again, "Start with small steps, alternate lifting one foot then the other, glide, push off with one skate, feel the shift of weight." Slowly they each get comfortable. Even Annabelle. The first time she falls, she looks over at me. Tears well in her eyes, but she picks herself up quickly. By the time we take our first break, nerves have turned to excitement and an eagerness for more. While they snack, they sit on the benches, the lights dim, and the Jumbotron plays a flashy, pump-up video they run at the beginning of every home game. Travis and I stand off the ice, taking our own quick breather. "Pretty good group this year," he says. I nod, loving how good it feels to be here. When everything else in life has felt hard or uncertain, hockey has always been there. I want to give these kids that same feeling. "Aidan has improved a lot since I last saw him." "Yeah. He's been working hard since he moved up to play with the older kids." "That's great. Is he going to..." Travis's words trail off, or at least I don't hear them, as a flash of red catches my eye. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention and my body tenses as Ruby Madison stands ten feet away in a yellow dress with little straps that are tied in bows at her shoulders. Her hair is in a braid that hangs down her back and she has her backpack looped over one arm. "No," I say and I'm not sure what I'm answering. No, I am not noticing how hot she is-thanks a lot, Trav. No, I don't want her here. No, I am not going to walk over and repeat myself that I don't want to be interviewed. Surely, she's pieced it together by now that I'm her contact. "Holy Hot Mom," Travis says when he catches sight of the object of my attention. I glare, though not directly at him, because I don't want to look away from Ruby. "She's not a mom," I say, "or at least not a mom of one of these kids." I do finally look at him. His brows furrow and then ever so slowly I watch understanding dawn on his face. "Nicholas Michael Galaxy," he says, voice filled with humor. "You dirty, fucking liar." Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!