Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  Partway through the woods, she got confused. She could hear Ollie and Jay laughing, but she wasn’t sure which direction to go to find them. Sitting down, thoroughly done with all of it, Maisie blinked back tears. It sucked being the only girl her age in the neighborhood. It sucked to have to dress like a young lady when she wanted to wear shorts and a tank top. Just all of it… sucked.

  But then a head popped through the brush in front of her. “There you are,” Ollie said.

  “I’m staying here. You guys go wherever. I’m just…” Frustrated? Tired of being the only girl on their street who wasn’t either fully a teenager or a baby? Just frustrated in general.

  Ollie reached out a hand. “Don’t be like that. You’re the happy one, if I remember correctly. You find the good in the worst stuff, remember?”

  Was that her? She didn’t think so. She felt small, shabby, sweaty and altogether made of suck. “No, I don’t remember.” She sniffed hard, refusing to cry in front of a boy.

  “You’ll like this, Maisie. I promise. Come with me?” He shook the hand at her, as if to encourage her to reach out and take it.

  And she did. She didn’t know why she did, couldn’t explain it to even herself later when she tried. But she took his hand, and some part of her believed him. She was Maisie Annabeth Miller, and she found the good in things. The cute boy said so.

  “Fine,” she grumbled. “But if your secret place is a stream, understand I’ll probably push you into it.”

  Ollie smiled at her, a full smile rather than the half one of earlier. “Deal,” he agreed.

  Right about then, she realized he was still holding her hand. She shook free of it when she heard Jay’s voice nearby, but she heard his chuckle. He’d realized he was still holding her hand. On purpose.

  Her cheeks were flaming hot, probably from the sun.

  They broke free into a clearing that sheltered what looked like a deer stand. There was a light underneath it, and rickety boards nailed to the trunk to climb if she wanted to reach the stand.

  “A deer stand?” she asked, looking at Ollie. “Your special place is a tree stand?”

  “No, it’s a tree house.” Ollie looked up at it. “You can see really far from up there. We can pretend it is a pirate ship or a space ship… it can be anything we want.”

  “You still play pretend?” Jay asked with a snort. “Really, man?”

  Ollie shrugged, and Maisie was pretty sure he blushed under his dark tan. “Whatever. Apparently, you have no imagination.”

  Maisie could see it now. It was far enough away from his house to be private, but not so far that the adults would worry. It was what he said… a special place. Flowers bloomed along the edges of the clearing—probably weeds, but pretty nonetheless. She breathed in deep and realized the place smelled good.

  Safe. It smelled safe there.

  “I like it,” she said.

  Ollie reached out and gave her hand another squeeze before he said, “Good.”

  He darted away from her, scrabbling up the tree like a monkey to follow Jay to the actual house itself. Maisie settled down in the grass and began to weave flowers together into a wreath. It might have been his special place this morning, but it was theirs now. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she was one hundred percent sure they were all going to be the best of friends.

  Best friends forever.

  Epilogue

  Present

  “Jim Johnson with WKYCTV, here, and I have the great pleasure to be interviewing Oliver Tremblay, right winger for the Ragin Cajuns. As most of you likely know, they recently won the Cup in an amazing game. Oliver, how does it feel to have won the highest hockey honor in the land?”

  The reporter shoved the mic in his face, and Ollie resisted the urge to take a step away from it. Instead, he kept expressionless and answered, “It feels great, Jim.”

  Across the grass, he met Maisie’s eyes. The smile tugged his lips without him thinking about it, and he couldn’t help but think she looked particularly lovely under the bright sunlight. Much like years ago, the day was seasonably warm and the skies were clear, but the weight of that blue bowl didn’t hurt so much. Not even standing so close to the memorial to his parents and the others lost that most horrible day.

  Mostly, he figured it was better because he wasn’t alone in the cage this time. She was with him. Everything was better with her by his side.

  Speaking of which… “If you’ll excuse me for a second, Jim?”

  He knew the camera wouldn’t pan away from him, and he shot a glance to the Keeper as he lifted the Cup. With a gentle nod, the Keeper followed a few paces back.

  “Maisie,” he said.

  “They’re following you. Shit. You’re bringing reporters closer. Get back over there and do the interview, you idiot!” Her panic amused him, so he dropped a kiss on her lips before hefting the Cup over her head.

  “This one is heavier,” he said.

  “That’s why I made you Silver Wonder.” She sounded disgusted with him, but her smile proved she wasn’t immune to the joy that seemed to throb through him with each beat of his heart.

  “You named it?” he asked her.

  But the reporter had caught up to him, shoving the mic back in his face. “Who is the young lady, Ollie? Your fans would love to know, especially the ladies, if you’re seeing someone.”

  “Yeah, I see her,” he said softly, so only Maisie could hear. “Sorry, Jim,” he said louder. “I don’t have the Cup for very long, so I’d rather do what we need to here.”

  Jim nodded, his expression trying to appear sober, but the man was practically oozing his glee. Probably hoping this interview went viral or got picked up by the networks. Ollie didn’t blame him for chasing fame. Wasn’t that how he’d won the Cup, after all?

  Pouring champagne into the cup, he tipped it over the monument, splashing the bubbling celebration into the grass. The crowd cheered, joyous and moved by his gesture. They didn’t get it though.

  His parents weren’t here. They hadn’t been here since the day the world ended. But that was okay. Sometimes people needed their ceremonies to remind them why they went through the day to day things.

  The hard things. The hurting things.

  This part of his day was all about obligation, and he owed the town that gave him a home their moment in the spotlight.

  Once the cameras were turned off, and the crowd began to dissipate to return to their normal lives, he turned to Maisie. “Come on, I have a surprise for you.”

  She hesitated, still glancing around at the crews as they packed up their stuff. “You still have the Cup thing,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah, the Keeper is going to give us a minute alone. He’ll be nearby, don’t worry. You’ll like this, Maisie. I promise. Come with me?” He shook his hand at her, impatient for her to take it. They had their whole lives to live and a lot of time to make up for. He wanted to begin now.

  When he said those words, a memory triggered in her mind. He’d said almost the exact same thing to her when they were kids. Back then, she’d taken his hand without hesitation.

  As a woman, she could no more resist him than she could as a kid. Their fingers twined, linking them physically and completing the circuit. It sometimes seemed they were always tied together, by invisible threads that were too small to see and too strong to break. When they touched, it was only an affirmation of what existed for them all the time.

  He jogged toward the tree line and she glanced back to see the Keeper following at a much more moderate pace. Forcing herself to go faster, she hurtled alongside him, chasing those few stolen moments they’d have alone before he caught up.

  “Your tree house?” she asked. It wasn’t looking better for wear, the weeds grown up to waist deep and the middle of the ‘house’ caved in a little. The years had not been kind to his secret place, but they hadn’t been particularly kind to him, either.

  “Yeah, I thought it appropriate. Here.” He shoved the Cup at her and it mad
e a rattling noise.

  “What is in the Cup?” she asked, sitting the heavy, awkward thing on the ground. It crushed the grass a bit, but she could see into the bowl on the top much better when he wasn’t waving it above her head.

  Taped to the inside was a ring. A platinum ring, one that so closely matched the color of the Cup that she’d missed it at first. Picking off the tape, she lifted it to look at it closely. For a moment, the significance was lost on her.

  Then her brain caught up with her movements and she gaped at him. He knelt slowly, not ever looking away from her, and she couldn’t find words.

  “I’ve loved you for years. I carried your words with me, close to my heart, and knew I didn’t deserve you. I still don’t. I’m probably going to make a ton of mistakes, fumble the puck in more ways than you can even imagine are possible, but I don’t want to live another day without you in my life. I know, we need to date for a while, maybe move in, but this felt right. Important. Will you do me the great honor of marrying me, someday, though? Not soon, but someday. Once I’ve showed you how well I can love you.”

  “There were a lot of disclaimers in your proposal,” she pointed out, but she was blinking back tears.

  “Yeah, life should come with those. For the rough parts. You said you wanted to share those with me, the shitty days. This isn’t a shitty day. This is one of the good ones. And I want us to never forget it.” His words were soft, and he had taken her hand, but all she could think was, Today?

  It was the anniversary of the Most Horrible Day. He’d picked that as his day with the Cup to honor his parents, but it seemed an odd choice to get engaged on a day so filled with bad.

  “Ask me tomorrow,” she whispered. Because she couldn’t tell him no, but she didn’t want that pall over their memories. They had to carry the weight of the loss every day, why have it taint what should be a great day for them?

  His smile was slow and a little sad. “I’m asking today. Because we have our whole lives to build good memories, but like you said… They’re only gone if we forget them. They are part of who we are. This day framed who we both became. It makes no sense to let it have power over us anymore. Be my wife, Maisie Miller. Together, I promise, we’ll build a life worth living.”

  She crumpled, then, into his open arms. She whispered her yes into his ear and clung to him as if he could see her through whatever might happen in the future.

  There would be other really bad days. Life sucked like that. There would be horrible things that happened and no one could explain them.

  But the thing about life was… it had really good days, too. And love.

  The most important part of all of it was that. Love.

  About the Author

  USA Today Bestselling Author Virginia Nelson is the hybrid author best known for The Penthouse Prince. Her debut novel, Odd Stuff, won Best Books of 2010 from HEA Reviews. Aside from that, she’s the mother of three wonderful biological children and tons of adopted kids and critters. Virginia is a graduate of Kent State University with an Associate of Science and a Bachelor of Arts in English and a current student at Seton Hill University, where she’s pursuing a Master of Writing Popular Fiction. Sometimes called the rainbow unicorn of romance, she’s far from perfect and she knows it. You can find out more about her—including where to find her on social media—on her website.

  Books for sale. Snark for free.

  virg-nelson.com

  Also By Virginia Nelson

  The Penthouse Prince

  Hiding with the Heartbreaker

  While You Were Writing

  The Warm Up

  by

  Xio Axelrod

  For Mr. X, who knows how lucky he was to marry a hockey chick; for Teemu Selanne, my hockey boyfriend; and for Eric Desjardins, whose grace, speed, and intelligence on the ice ignited my love for the sport. Let’s go Flyers, let’s go!

  Prologue

  In Constantine Zimin’s twenty-seven years on planet earth, nothing had ever tasted so bittersweet.

  The Cup - THE motherfucking Cup - was right there at center ice, surrounded by hockey legends, the league’s commissioner, and some other people he honestly didn’t recognize, so screw ‘em. Soon, Zim and the New Orleans Cajun Rage would be announced as the 2016 Cup Champions.

  He felt under his jersey for the thick, silver chain he knew would be there, and brought it to his lips, kissing it with a silent word. Mila.

  His twin sister would have been there to cheer him on. Should have been. Ten years after they’d lost her, the pain had never been so acute as it was at that moment. She had always been his number one cheerleader, even before his parents. Not a day went by that he didn’t miss her.

  “This is fucking unreal!” The Rage’s starting goalie, Flynn Kazakov, yelled, champing at the bit to get his hands on the trophy. “Can you believe this?”

  “I know!” Zim shouted over the cacophony, a mixture of cheering fans, and booming announcements.

  Flynn clapped him hard on the shoulder, laughing. “Soak it in, my man! Soak it in.”

  Zim knew how much it meant to the guy. It was the same for all of them. Though each man had his reasons, his own personal demons that he’d had to fight to get to this point in his life, they were all there to share in the glory of this success.

  All but one.

  Zim’s best friend, his teammate for nearly as many years as he’d been in pro hockey, Jonas Magnusson, was not beside him. He hadn’t been there for the thrilling final game. He wasn’t there to hoist The Cup over his head and take a lap around the ice. He wouldn’t be back in the locker room to guzzle champagne from its gleaming, silver bowl.

  Instead, Jonas was laid up in a hospital bed with a concussion and a goddamned broken leg because he – Zim – hadn’t been on the ice to protect him.

  So, yeah. This was as fucking bittersweet as it came. No Mila. No Jonas. Not even his parents could make it out for this final game.

  He thought about calling Jonas from the ice, getting the asshole on the phone and letting him hear the deafening cheers from their home crowd. Maybe he was watching on television, though Zim doubted it. The guy had been so out of it when he’d dropped by earlier in the day.

  Fuck.

  “You look like you stepped in shit,” yelled rightwinger, Ransom Cox. Right in Zim’s motherfucking ear. “We just won The Cup, man! There’ll be bunnies lined up for days after this.”

  Zim nodded and forced a smile. It wasn’t like Coxy to drown himself in puck bunnies, but it was a special occasion.

  “Fucking unreal, ain’t it?”

  Ransom nodded, grinning like an idiot.

  Zim had to laugh.

  Jonas and Mila would both kick his ass if he didn’t enjoy this moment, so he concentrated on doing just that. The truth was, other than his parents and Magnussen, Zim didn’t have anyone to share this with after the lights dimmed and the parties ended. It was a sobering thought, and he wasn’t even drunk yet.

  This should have felt bigger, like the culmination of something. Instead, it seemed more like the means to an end.

  Ladies and gentlemen, your 2016 Cup Champion Cajun Rage!

  The arena exploded with riotous cheers and applause while their fight song blared from every speaker.

  Zim had waited his whole life for this moment. Had shed buckets of blood, and oceans of sweat and tears for it. He’d protected their lead in game seven with a fortunate kick save, helping out their goalie and securing the team’s place in history. Zim had earned this. He should have been over the fucking moon, but it rang hollow.

  Tonight, he’d celebrate with his teammates and then head over to sit with Jonas. He had to wake up soon, right? The fucker had better.

  Zim would make sure Jonas was okay, and then he’d take his $200,000 bonus and head back home to Philly for the summer. Get things rolling on a project he’d been wanting to do for a long, long time. Something he’d been wanting to do for Mila, in her memory.

  “Zimmer!” Rightw
inger Archie Durham yelled for Zim, and he realized Archer had The Cup in his hands. Archers grinned widely as he skated toward him. “Time for a spin around the ice by the man who saved our collective asses.”

  Zim had a plan, a promise he’d made to himself years ago. After tonight, he’d be going home as a champion. He just might have the means to make that promise a reality. It was something. This moment was something.

  He hoisted The Cup over his head, and then he took that goddamned lap.

  1

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  Suji,

  I’m sorry to do this in a letter. It’s shitty, I know, but you know what a coward I am. Neither of us ever really felt like it was working, so me leaving without saying goodbye face-to-face shouldn’t be a shock.

  Listen, I’ll never forget you. You’re loyal, and your devotion to the hospital is great, but I realized I need more. My career’s taking off, and I need someone by my side. I know you live for your work, and I should have been more understanding, but we are who we are. You taught me that.

  Deep down, I think you knew it was over, but you hung in there anyway. Honestly, I don’t believe you would have ever walked away. I’m ripping off the bandage.

  Find that person – the one who wants to change the world, like you do. Good luck.

  All my best,

  Brian

  Sujarta Meriwether read the letter for the umpteenth time. By now, it was wrinkled, worn in spots, and showing traces of dried tears where the ink had smudged.