The Shots On Goal Series Box Set

by Kristen Hope Mazzola

  Staring at the blank piece of paper, I tried to come up with anyone else’s name to write down. Nothing. Gavin was the going to be our next captain. He was going to make my life hell, but maybe I would become a better player because of it.

  Gavin

  “Cheers, to Gavin being named captain of the Otters. Who would have thought a fuck-up like you would ever become a leader of the team?”

  I rolled my eyes, clanking my goblet against my brother’s, my mother’s, and finally my father’s crystal glasses. “Thanks, Pop.”

  I cut into my rare steak, watching the juices pool on my mother’s fine china—the crap she only brought out for special occasions. It meant a lot that she thought of this as a celebration, but who the fuck were we kidding? The team had only picked me because there was no better option, and the fact that Gideon Hayes was my father; they probably all thought that was what they were supposed to do.

  Griffin gave me a quick eye roll followed by his reassuring wink, trying his best to laugh off my father’s rude display of persistent disappointment in me. “Dad, don’t be so hard on Gavin. He’s the right man for the job—his teammates think so at least. It’s good they trust him.”

  “Bunch of idiots if you ask me, but the majority had its say.” Dad slurped his cabernet like a heathen, wiping the driblets from his brassily chin with the back of his hand. You can take the hick out of the backwoods and move him up to New York, dress him up in his Sunday best, but you can never take the backwoods out of the hick when booze and disappointment start to soak his blood.

  “Gideon, you’re drunk. Don’t be mean.” Mom always tried to just chalk the nasty shit Dad said up to being drunk. Usually, she was right, but I knew the crap currently spilling out of his wine-soaked mouth was his true feelings.

  I knew the moment I was drafted to The Otters that my father was not going to be happy about it. He wanted me to go to any other team—then he could just be proud of his son and I would be some other coach’s problem.

  “Griffin, don’t you have a fight coming up?” Anything to get the conversation away from me.

  Griff sucked on his teeth while he nodded. “Yeah, I got challenged by Chuck Williams. I’m going to have to go up a weight class to meet him, but I’ll never back down from a fight.”

  Griffin was my little brother by five years. He was fresh out of college and already making a huge name for himself as an up-and-coming boxer. Sports News had named him ‘Fighter to Watch’ this year, and I knew my dad was way more excited about that than anything I had done since the fifth grade.

  “Griff is going to make this family proud, that’s for damn sure.”

  Way to rub salt in the wound, Pop.

  “How about that lovely girl, what was her name, Griffin? With the long dark hair?”

  I started to laugh. “Which one?” I teased, and Griffin kicked me under the table.

  “Things aren’t really working out. I have been pretty busy training, too much to have time for a high-maintenance chick like Marissa.”

  “Marissa, that was it. She was lovely. You should still try, son. You don’t find nice girls with such good breeding every day.”

  Breeding. My mother was all about the status of our relationships—if we were living up to our legacy with the women who were sucking us off at night. Who the fuck cares?

  “We’ll see what happens, Ma.”

  My little brother was the stereotypical New Yorker: thick accent, sharp dresser, knew everybody. The only things we had in common other than our last names and hatred for our old man were our love for ink and slutty women. Even though we were so different, I would do anything for the kid and he always had my back, too. It was a family thing. No one was going to mess with either of us if the other one had anything to say about it.

  “What about you, Gavin?”

  I looked up from my plate, steak rolling around in my mouth.

  “Huh?” I knew it wasn’t polite to talk with my mouth full, but after my father’s display of his complete lack of table manners, I couldn’t have cared less.

  My mother sighed, glaring at me. She hated when I didn’t act like the son she had raised. “Is there anyone special in your life? Do you have a lady-friend?”

  I couldn’t hold back my laughter. I nearly spit out my food before I had the chance to swallow it. “I think I am off women for the time being.”

  “Son, you’re going to have to get back on the horse eventually. No one wants a weak captain that can’t get laid because he’s crying in the corner over some bitch leaving him at the altar.”

  Dad for the win.

  “Well, I guess we’re done here.” I shoved away from the table, trying to cool my temper before I knocked my old man’s teeth in.

  “You sit your ass in your chair and respect your father.”

  I bowed my head, working my jaw as I took my seat. “Yes ma’am.”

  Chapter 4

  Brayden

  One Year Later

  “Come back to bed.” A soft moan came from my blue satin-covered king bed.

  If I could only remember her damn name.

  I rinsed out the toothpaste and spit into the sink, wiping away the white foam from the creases around my mouth with a hand towel before throwing it onto the marble sink. The old mahogany whined under my bare feet as I made my way back over to her.

  Long bleached-blonde hair curled and frizzed around her face as she peacefully lay curled up in the groggy moments of leisurely waking up. The heavy makeup she had on from the night before was smudged around her eyes and running down her cheeks, probably from gagging on my cock only a few hours before. I loved when a girl really deep throated and tears streamed down her cheeks. There was something so raw and real about those encounters.

  Damn blackouts. I wish I could remember more of our sexcapade.

  The end of the night was a blur, unfortunately. She had caught my eye with her tighter than tight light blue dress, insanely high, very flattering heels, and bright pink lipstick. Add in how juicy her butt looked as she waggled by and I was a goner. It was right about the time the lights came on and the DJ started to play Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’”. Before I knew it, we were making out in the backseat of a yellow cab, heading to my place. I did remember making her take her heels off as we snuck through the house—waking Myla up was very low on my to-do list, to say the least. My little sister did not need to hear me sneaking in another random fuck in the middle of the night.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, sighing.

  Too bad there isn’t time for one more quickie.

  “I have a lot to do today.” Hopefully she can take a subtle hint.

  I heard Myla’s shower start.

  “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath.

  “What is it, babe?” She sat up, running her dainty fingertips over my shoulder.

  I tensed under her touch. “You really need to go. I’ll get you a cab.”

  “Do you even know my name?” My dead eyes darted to hers as I shook my head. “You fucking bastard.”

  I got up to hand her the blue dress I had thrown across the room. “I’ve been called worse.”

  I could see the blood boiling under her skin as she thought of all the foul things she wanted to call me. As the pissed-off chick started to pull her heels on, I saw the light bulb go off in her brain. Within seconds she was out of her leopard print pumps and throwing one directly at my head.

  “Bitch. Get the fuck out of my house!” I yelled as the heel crashed onto my armoire behind me.

  She stood there in the middle of my room, pouting, and her blaring green eyes would have killed me if that were possible.

  “Make me.” She popped out her hip and started tapping her bare feet on the area rug that surrounded my bed.

  “Wrong answer.” Right as I was about to pick her up and throw her over my shoulder to physically remove her from my home, Myla’s small frame came into view in my doorway.

  “Bray? What in God’s name are you doi
ng?”

  The random girl gasped. “Who that fuck is this bitch?”

  Wrong move. Myla was the epitome of the Shakespeare quote: “Though she be but little, she is fierce.”

  I grabbed Myla’s wrist before she got close enough to slap the chick that was clearly from Staten Island—her style, accent, and entitlement issues gave it away in seconds.

  “This is my sister, Myla, and again, it’s time for you to go.”

  “Fine, whatever. You ain’t worth my time anyway. Fucking hockey player. Oh well, everyone slums it for one night.”

  I rolled my eyes. Did she really think her words meant anything to me?

  “All right cunt bag, there’s the door. You know how to use one of those right?” Myla cracked me up. She was so sweet and innocent for the most part, but once her patience was tested, there was no saving you.

  Myla

  After yet another one-night stand huffed out of our house, I was easily able to bribe Brayden to make me breakfast. Usually, all it took was a puppy-dog face and a please, but this leverage was going to be fun to exploit. I was going to keep it in my back pocket for when I really needed it, but at the moment we had bigger fish to fry.

  “I really don’t think it’s going to work out, Brayden.” My big brother set a plate of scrambled egg whites with goat cheese, diced tomatoes, and spinach in front of me while I slurped my iced green tea. Then he took his seat across the table with the same meal in front of him. He knew the way to talk me into anything: my favorite foods.

  With his bright amber eyes, Brayden beamed at me with all the encouragement a big brother could give to his kid sister. “Look, Myla, you have to do this. I am not going to sit by and let you waste away in this house. You need to get out there and do something!”

  “Yeah, like you did last night?” It was a snarky jab, but I needed to stack the deck a little bit in my favor.

  He rolled his eyes. “You know what I am talking about.”

  I pushed the eggs around my plate, whining. “But being a figure skating coach’s assistant seems like a big fucking joke, Bray! I mean come on!” I was a little annoyed with Brayden for getting me the interview completely behind my back. It was nice of him, and sure, his heart was in the right place, but forcing me to get back on skates just a little more than a year after my hip and femur were fractured in the accident was a little more than I could wrap my head around.

  “Mom would have wanted you to get back out there and you know it.”

  There it was, the line I hated, and he knew it. It crawled right under my skin and festered there. It broke my heart because he was right, and I hated the power that lay in his hands because of it.

  “Look, Myla, I have to go back on the road in a week, and I want to know that you’re going to be taking care of yourself. Doing this will be good for you. You need to meet people and get your nose out of those books for a little while, and with your physical therapy completed—”

  “All right.” I sighed, cutting my brother off with a harsh glance before shoving a huge bite into my mouth. I quickly heaved away from the table, leaving most of my breakfast on the plate. “I guess I better get ready and get my skates sharpened before I meet the head coach. What’s his name anyway?”

  Brayden’s smile was infectious as he tried to hide how giddy he was that I had given in so easily. “It’s Simon Abramson.”

  The name clicked and my mouth fell open. “The Simon Abramson? Like five-time gold medalist?”

  Brayden nodded. “Yup, the one and only.”

  “How’d you…?” I was standing in the middle of our kitchen in complete shock.

  “He comes in from time to time to help the team with some skating techniques. I got his number when he was bitching about losing his other assistant to maternity leave.”

  I shuffled my fuzzy pink slippers over to my big brother, threw my arms around his neck, and kissed him on the stubbly jawline. “Thanks.” I smiled down at him. Even though it was going to be hard and I still didn’t know how I’d feel once I was back out on the ice, it meant a lot to me that Brayden cared so much.

  Chapter 5

  Myla

  After going through ten outfits, running down to the pro shop to get my old skates sharpened, and rushing like a maniac to get to the rink on time, I realized how unprepared I was to be a freaking coach.

  Yes, I had skated all my life, and yes, I had been about to join the Olympic team before the accident, but that did not make me qualified to teach people how to do what I did—not a fucking snowball’s chance in hell. Most of the time I was a robot just taking orders from my coaches. I had no idea how to motivate, lead, and teach to the caliber that athletes deserved from one of the most important people in their lives.

  I sat on the first row of bleachers in the empty rink while I waited for Simon to meet with me. My knees knocked together under my dark blue leggings, partly from the chilly air, mostly from my nerves. I stared down at my feet, housed in the off-white skates I hadn’t put on in far too long. It all felt so foreign and so right all at once. I was completely unnerved, yet in my element. It was a Jekyll and Hyde moment, two sides of me feverishly colliding—the old me trying to take back my life, the new me being scared shitless of it all.

  Right as I was about to shoot off a text to Bray about not knowing if I was cut out for this, the metal door to my left swung open and Simon Abramson strode through. He was so graceful and impeccably dressed, practically sashaying as he smiled at me. “You must be Myla. Your brother speaks very highly of your talents, young lady.”

  I jumped to my feet and grabbed his outstretched hand, willing myself to not start gushing over the amazingly talented and accomplished skater in front of me. “Hopefully I can live up to all the hype.”

  “I’m sure you will. Are you ready to skate for me?”

  I nodded. “What would you like to see?”

  His grin turned a little playful as he pulled his lips together, tapping them with one finger while he thought for a moment. “Why don’t you show me what you got? Your best, your favorite—just impress me, darling.”

  I took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

  It only took me a few seconds to get my skates laced up, slip the rubber guards off, and get out onto the rink. Right as my blade glided on the slick ice, I could feel panic start to build in my stomach. It was the first time I had even attempted to get back out there and there I was about to try to pull off a triple axel for the one and only Simon Abramson.

  Fuck my life right now.

  I started to slowly warm up and looked over to the smiling man as anticipation started to well up inside me. I felt like I was about to burst, but I needed that energy to pull off the jump. With a deep breath, I counted softly to myself.

  One…

  Two…

  Three…

  I was in the air, spinning, feeling freer than I had in over a year. I started to let my foot slide down to connect with the ice and…

  Shit.

  The cold from the hard ice smacked into my ass and back as my arms and legs went flying around me like I was some goddamned rag doll.

  “I’m sure you didn’t blow it.” Brayden and I took our favorite seats on the back couch in Victory Coffee.

  “I fell flat on my ass on jump number one. If Simon hires me, it will be a miracle for sure.” The light hint of hazelnut in my coffee was starting to lift my spirits a bit.

  “Oh, fuck,” Brayden whispered, staring down the guy that had just walked through the door. He was tall and tattooed, and I knew him from somewhere but couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

  “Bray? Who is that?” My brother opened his mouth to answer but the subject of my inquiry started walking over to us with a crooked smirk spreading on his lips.

  “Hey, rookie. Fancy seeing you here.”

  And then it clicked: Gavin Hayes—the best player and biggest asshat of the Otters.

  “How ya doin’, Gavin?” Brayden’s chest puffed out as his glare narr
owed.

  Gavin shrugged. “Just living the dream.” He glanced over at me, doing a quick onceover. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  Brayden cleared his throat. “Gavin, this is Myla, my little sister.”

  I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Before I could say anything back, a mother walked over with her young son. He was staring down at his feet as his mom whispered to him, “Don’t be shy, Ryan.”

  “Excuse me.” The little boy with bright yellow Converse and matching shirt was so nervous and adorable.

  My brother and Gavin both looked at him, smiling. Brayden shimmied off the couch and onto his knee to get eye level with him “What’s up, kid?”

  The boy’s face turned all kinds of red as a huge smile spread like wildfire. “Are you Cox and Hayes from the Otters?”

  The mom put her hand on his shoulder. “Ryan is a huge hockey fan. He just started playing on a peewee team.”

  Gavin crouched down next to my brother. “Oh yeah? What position does your coach have you playing?”

  Ryan started pulling at the bottom of his shirt. “I’m the left defender.”

  Gavin looked over his should to me. “Will you ask one of the baristas if they have a marker we could borrow?”

  Trotting over, I got a Sharpie from a young worker that was frothing milk. “Who are they?” she asked, handing me the marker.

  “They’re players for the Otters.” I smiled, glowing with pride from getting to experience a fan moment with my brother. It used to happen a lot with my dad when we were kids, but this was the first time it had happened to Brayden when I was with him. It hadn’t really hit me until that moment that Brayden was a big deal and a hero to some people.

  While Brayden and Gavin signed the little boy’s shirt and chatted with him for a while, I stood back with his mother.

  “I can’t believe how sweet your boyfriend and his teammate are. Ry’s whole room is decorated with Otters stuff from floor to ceiling. We just got him a huge stuffed Ollie and he sleeps with it every night.”