Chapter 2
Playing with the Boys
~~Aria~~
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine myself as guardian to my six-year-old nephew, but here I am. As hard as it’s been, I don’t regret my decision.
I take a seat in the bleachers and wait for the kids to skate onto the ice.
My nephew is participating in a youth hockey clinic, and I’m nothing if not a dedicated aunt.
I need to be. He’s all I have, and I’m all he has in this world.
Sure, I have parents, his grandparents, but they’re not really involved in our lives other than a few token gifts and occasional phone calls.
My parents could never be accused of being helicopter parents.
They’re married to their careers as college professors and researchers.
Everyone and everything else take a back seat to their dedication to their work.
I’ve come to terms with their disinterest in my life, knowing full well that I’m an embarrassment because of my career choices.
I could never measure up to my perfect sister, and now I’m battling a ghost, which makes it even more difficult.
My nephew is the best thing I’ve ever gotten out of this family. I wish he didn’t play hockey, but he’s insistent, and I’m the doting aunt who denies him nothing. How can I with all he’s been through? My mission is to make his life as rich and joyful as possible no matter the cost.
I watch as he bursts onto the ice. Pacing him are two boys, obviously twins, and the three of them race around the rink at a speed impressive for their ages.
Noah edges ahead and glances over his shoulder.
In that instance he loses his balance and crashes into the boards.
I stand to get a better view. My heart’s in my throat, and I nervously bite my knuckles.
The coach immediately runs over to him, but Noah’s already shot to his feet and retrieved his stick.
He’s a tough kid, but the sudden, tragic loss of his mother months ago has caused him to retreat.
The only time he seems happy is when he’s playing hockey.
“Hi,” says an unfamiliar voice.
I jump in surprise, not realizing anyone is nearby. Standing next to me is a cute, curvy woman with purple hair and multiple tats visible past the short sleeves of her T-shirt.
“He’ll be fine. Kids bounce right back.” Her smile is kind, and I develop an immediate affinity for this woman. She looks nothing like the other hockey moms.
“I know, but I still worry.”
“You’re Noah’s mom?”
“Aunt, but I have custody. He lost his mom three months ago.” I don’t know why I’m telling a perfect stranger unsolicited details about my family.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Your sister?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
People say this all the time and really don’t mean it, but I have the impression this woman sincerely does.
She holds out her hand. “I’m Gardenia.”
“I’m Aria, and that’s Noah. Which boy is yours?”
“Boys. The twins, Ryder and Rowen. They aren’t my bio children, but I feel as if they’re my children. Their mom is out of the country and not really part of their lives.”
“That must be hard on them.” I glance at the three boys now passing the puck to one another. They’re laughing, and it’s heartwarming to see Noah enjoying himself. It gives me hope he’ll be okay. I worry constantly about his mental and emotional health.
“Yes, it’s been a struggle, but they’re adjusting and doing pretty well now. I’m happy to see they’ve made a new friend. I don’t recall seeing you around here before.”
“I had Noah enrolled in a different program at another rink up until last week. We recently moved, and this rink is closer.” Not to mention my assignment is to cover the Portland Icehawks, who also practice in this facility. It makes it easier all the way around.
She nods and continues a one-sided conversation. She’s chatty, and I’m not. Finally, she notices she’s the only one talking and stops. She studies me in a way that makes me squirm.
“Do I know you?” Gardenia asks.
“I don’t think so.” I have to admit she looks somewhat familiar too.
“I feel as if I’ve seen you somewhere. Do you work for the Icehawks?”
“Not exactly. I’m a sports reporter.”
“Oh, you’re that Aria.” Gardenia’s face changes, and I get the impression she’s not a fan of my work.
“Yeah, I’m that Aria.”
“I’m Jakob Bang’s fiancée.” Gardenia focuses her attention on the ice as if she’s debating what to do next.
She probably wishes she hadn’t sat down by me.
I was extra hard on Jakob Bang when he was first traded to the team.
I glance down at the huge rock on her hand. It’s almost blinding, it’s so large.
“I’m probably not someone you care to hang out with.” I say the quiet part out loud.
Gardenia shrugs. “Hey, you’re just doing your job.” Her eyes stray to the ice. “Your nephew is talented.”
I don’t dare tell her that he probably got his talent from his father. “So are your boys. They take after Jakob, I see.”
“They do.” She gives me another disarming perusal. “I get the impression Noah’s father isn’t in the picture?”
“He’s not, and he never has been. He didn’t want to be saddled with a kid and signed away his rights.” Bitterness creeps into my tone.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It is what it is.” I attempt to lighten my tone.
“Does Noah know?”
“Not really. He’s only six. I’m trying to protect him from the brutal reality of a dad who’s a selfish asshole.”
“I think I’d do the same.”
We turn our attention to the boys’ practice, which has just started.
The coach calls them into the center of the rink to give instructions on the set of drills they’ll be running.
Most of the kids in this group have been on skates since they could walk, including Noah.
As much as his mom and I tried to discourage him from playing hockey because of fear of him being injured, he has an innate feel for the game and loves to skate.
After his mother died in a car accident three months ago, hockey seems to be the only thing he still cares about.
I’ll mortgage my soul to keep him in the sport.
It’s expensive, even for kids his age. At least he isn’t a goalie.
Their gear is prohibitively spendy. I don’t know how the average parent affords it, though the Icehawks do offer scholarships and assistance for those in need.
If I hang in there long enough, my sister’s estate will be settled, and there’ll be plenty of money for Noah.
I’d love to write a story about the youth hockey program, but my boss hates the idea.
It wasn’t salacious enough, and he does love exposing any dirt he can on players and teams. As a result, he constantly pressures me to uncover team secrets and scandals, which doesn’t make me popular with the Icehawks.
When I graduated from college in journalism, I pictured myself doing real sports reporting, not this shit, but it pays the bills.
With newspapers and magazines dying a quick death and social media filling the void, I’m lucky to have a paying job with some benefits, even if my assignments aren’t what I consider real journalism.
All Hockey News is a successful subscription-based service dealing in sensationalism and gossip. Their motto is Hockey News with an Opinion. We’re the train wreck our readers can’t look away from, and digging up dirt on professional hockey players is our main function.
As the reporter assigned to the Icehawks, and I’ve been here since day one, moving from a previous assignment in sunny California.
My trip down memory lane is interrupted by a celebration on the ice. Gardenia leaps to her feet clapping, while I’m clueless. I’m the only parent sitting so I stand and join in, still not knowing what happened.
“That was a good goal,” Gardenia says. I nod and smile. I have no fucking clue who scored or how, but I’ll play along.
“Great goal.”
“Ryder is a challenge, but he’s dialed in when it comes to hockey. Great assist by your boy.”
“Yeah, it was.” I’m a horrible aunt. I missed the whole damn thing. I sit up straighter and pay attention for the remainder of practice. As the coach addresses the kids, their attention is drawn elsewhere. I follow their gazes to see what all the excitement is about.
My heart stops.
Drakos Lenkov struts onto the ice as if he owns it.
What is he doing here?
I grudgingly admit that he’s hotter than hot, a perfect male specimen of athleticism and power. Tall, built, and handsome with talent to match that big head of his. He’s one of the premier forwards in the league, and I’ve made it my personal mission to bring him down.
I bite a fingernail as he saunters up to the adoring group of kids. Disgusting. I want to puke at how they worship such an unworthy man. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but the entire group listens with rapt attention. No easy feat with six- and seven-year-old boys.
He takes questions, and the members of the group are all shouting at once until Coach reins them in. I watch him closely, and my nephew’s reaction to my archenemy makes me nauseous. His adoration of Drakos flashes like a neon sign.
Drakos, on the other hand, pays no particular attention to Noah, for which I’m grateful.
He’s oblivious. I have no doubt he’s never made the connection between his one-night stand with Noah’s mother and her being my sister.
Nor does he realize Noah is his son. I intend on keeping him indefinitely in the dark.
Tension tightens my muscles with a vise grip of equal parts of fear and anger. Gardenia casts a sideways glance my way, and I realize I’m telegraphing my hatred for this man. I force myself to relax somewhat.
“Hey, baby, you ready to go? The boys are almost done.”
I look over my shoulder to see Jakob Bang behind us.
His eyes are on Gardenia, but he glances at me, then does a double take.
His friendly smile disappears to be replaced by wary dislike.
He definitely recognizes me. My brief friendship with Gardenia is most likely over.
I can only hope his dislike doesn’t affect Noah.
He needs friends, and Rowan and Ryder are the first kids he’s bonded with since his mom died.
“We should go,” he says tersely.
“Nice talking to you, Aria.” Gardenia smiles as she takes Jakob’s hand, and together they leave.
Jakob glances over his shoulder and glares a warning in my direction.
I read it loud and clear. Don’t mess with my family like you messed with me.
And I did. When he first came to Portland, I was pretty hard on him, but then, I’ve been pretty hard on almost every member of this team, especially Drakos.
I’m only doing my job, even if I’m not exactly wild about some of the crap my boss wants to publish. I don’t have a choice. I have a kid to feed and clothe, and the money is too good to pass up.
Even if I’m selling my soul.