Hold Me Tight (Chicago Railers Hockey #2)

Chapter 1

Callie

It might have taken a few hours, but the bakery is finally quiet. The morning rush has come and gone, leaving behind a trail of empty coffee cups, a smear of frosting on the glass display case, and exhaustion after a sleepless night.

After wiping my hands on a towel, I lean against the counter.

Sloane exhales next to me, brushing away a streak of flour from her cheek. “I really thought that stroller mom was going to riot when we ran out of almond croissants,” she says, grabbing her water bottle.

I manage a smile. “She’s probably already drafting a Yelp review as we speak. And it won’t be pretty.”

We both laugh, and I let myself enjoy the moment. Just one blissful second of quiet. Until I spot the stack of mail on the back prep table. That’s all it takes for my stomach to dip.

I gravitate toward the pile and then slowly flip through bills and junk mail.

It’s mostly routine stuff I’ll dump in the trash, until a thin white envelope with an official logo from the bank catches my eye.

My fingers tremble as I force myself to tear it open.

Even before scanning the words, I already know what they’ll say.

My loan payment is overdue.

We’re now moving toward the sixty-day mark.

If I don’t make a payment soon, I’ll default. Which means I could lose the bakery.

My bakery.

The one I worked so damn hard for.

The room blurs slightly as I grip the edge of the table.

For the hundredth time, I rack my brain for a way out of this mess. I can’t go to my parents. They’d help if they could, but there’s nothing left for them to give.

And Zane, my ex?

The father of my daughter?

Ha!

He’s a professional hockey player and makes millions a year, and yet, his child support is always late. How he manages to burn through so much money each month is almost unfathomable.

What I’ve learned over the years is that he’s not someone who can be relied on.

Unfortunately, I was a little late to the realization.

From the time I was a kid, I’ve had to figure things out on my own, and this situation isn’t any different.

There’s no choice in the matter.

Failure isn’t an option.

Not when Nora is counting on me to provide a stable home for her.

“What’s that?” Sloane’s question cuts through my mental spiral. I blink out of those thoughts and find her watching me with a furrowed brow.

I force a smile that feels like it might crack my face in half before shaking my head and setting the letter on the counter near the register. “Nothing. Just more junk mail.”

Relief washes over me when the door opens. I don’t want Sloane asking more questions. Not only is she an employee, but she’s a good friend. The last thing I want to do is lie.

I glance up, already shifting into business mode, as River Thompson strolls in.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and far too good-looking for my peace of mind.

It’s the tousled blond hair and piercing blue eyes that seem to slice right through me.

He makes me feel seen in a way that’s not entirely comfortable.

When he walks into a room, I feel it down to my bones.

The man moves with the grace of an athlete.

Of someone who’s at ease with their space in the world.

It must be nice.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt that a day in my life.

This morning he’s wearing a simple Railers hoodie and jeans.

When he steps over the threshold, the temperature in the bakery rises.

Or maybe it’s just me.

My pulse trips, and it takes effort to stomp out the attraction zipping through my veins.

I hate the way my body reacts to him.

He’s Zane’s friend.

Or was.

Quite frankly, it’s not my business what their relationship is.

What I do know is that he stood by silently while Zane made a fool out of me.

I turn my attention back to the register, hoping he’ll order quickly and leave.

If I’m lucky, Sloane will swoop in like usual and save me from having to make small talk. Those conversations are always awkward.

A woman with a small child walks in right after him. She gives me a smile before glancing in his direction and doing a double take as her eyes widen.

“Oh my God,” she gasps. “You’re River Thompson. My husband is obsessed with the Railers.”

River gives her a friendly smile that’s both easy and charming. “Good to know. Tell him I said ‘hey.’”

The little boy at her side is probably around five or six. He peeks out from behind her leg while clutching a toy car.

Without missing a beat, River crouches down so they’re nearly eye level. “Do you like hockey, buddy?”

The boy looks up at his mother before nodding.

River reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a glossy puck. “If you have a marker, I’ll sign it for you. Would you like that?”

The woman digs through her purse with frantic fingers before glancing at me in desperation. “You wouldn’t happen to have a Sharpie, would you?”

“Umm,” I glance around the counter before opening a drawer and pulling out a marker. “Here you go.”

She squeals before plucking it from my fingers and passing it to River. “My husband is going to die when he sees this.”

River scrawls his name across the smooth surface. “Here you go,” he says, handing it to the boy. “That’s for when you score your first goal.”

I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. Of course he has a puck on hand to give out to fans.

Who doesn’t?

And apparently, the man is also good with kids.

I hate the part of me that’s touched by the small gesture.

It annoys the hell out of me.

I don’t want to feel anything where this man is concerned.

The woman gushes for a few more minutes before pulling out her phone and asking to take a selfie, which he agrees to. After more than two dozen photos, she orders a donut for her son and then finally takes off, probably posting all the pics as she goes.

River’s gaze resettles on mine as he steps up to the counter. “Hey, Callie.”

His voice dips, turning low and intimate. The deep baritone of it wraps around me before squeezing tight. There’s a gentleness to it. For some reason, I imagine this is the exact tone he’d use when attempting to calm a skittish animal.

“Hi.” I go for cool. “What can I get for you?” When he continues to search my eyes, as if picking through all my thoughts, I blurt, “We’re kind of busy here. So…”

He breaks eye contact long enough for his gaze to drift across the now-empty tables as he pops a brow. “Really? Kind of seems like I just missed the morning rush.”

My face heats as I shift behind the counter. “I meant that we have prep to finish up.”

The corners of his mouth tip upward, as if he’s used to my iciness and doesn’t mind the burn.

“Could I get a black coffee, medium roast?” He points to the second row in the display case. “And maybe one of those cinnamon things.”

“Scones,” I say flatly.

“Yeah, a scone,” he echoes, like it’s a foreign word.

I quickly bag the pastry and hand it over, hoping to put an end to this conversation.

Instead, he continues to linger.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asks.

My hands tighten on the counter as his eyes continue to probe mine for answers I refuse to give. “I’m fine.”

What else am I supposed to say?

That I’m one bounced payment away from losing everything I’ve worked so hard for?

That I have no one to call?

No safety net to fall into?

He looks like he wants to say something else, but I turn away before he can get the words out.

A man is the last thing I need right now.

Especially one who stood on the sidelines while my life unraveled once before.

It’s a relief when the door opens again and another customer walks in.

Dismissing River, I focus my attention on the woman.