Chapter 5
Zoe
I’d made my payment on time, so I hadn’t expected to see an email from the debt collector for another month. But there was that dreaded notification. I opened the email, eyes quickly scanning over it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
My voice echoed throughout my apartment as I stared at the screen, unable to believe what I was reading. They were increasing my monthly payment. Again. This time, by four hundred dollars. Not even taking on a wedding-sized order every month would make up that difference.
The pit in my stomach felt bottomless, just like the medical debt. Ten years later, and it was still haunting me.
My parents had offered to help me pay it off, along with my aunt and uncle, but I’d never allowed them to donate a cent.
I already owed my Uncle Cal and Aunt Peg for all their help while I’d recovered from surgery.
They’d housed me, driven me to doctor appointments and physical therapy, and put up with my miserable attitude.
I would never be able to fully make that up to them, so I refused to add financial support to that as well.
No, I was an independent, thirty-one-year-old woman with a career who could handle paying off her own medical debt. Even if that meant scrimping in some areas. What those areas would be, I wasn’t sure at the moment. I’d already been living frugally since moving out on my own.
Those numbers just stared back at me from my screen, and the hopelessness crept into my chest.
Swiping the email app closed, I shoved my phone in my pocket and marched to my bedroom for a pair of shoes.
There was no way I would spend my day in my empty apartment moping about this.
If I was going to come up with a solution, I needed a clear mind, and the best way to reset my brain was to get on the ice.
I opened the door and took in a deep breath of the chilled air, the muscles in my neck and shoulders instantly relaxing at the smell of freshly resurfaced ice.
One of my favorite perks of being the Puffins’ new coach was having a key to the ice rink.
It was meant to be used whenever I arrived to set up practice if the owner wasn’t around, but surely, they wouldn’t mind me visiting for a half hour or so.
As I neared the rink, there were the familiar sounds of skates carving the ice and the slap of a blade meeting the puck. I had hoped the rink would be empty, but I was fine sharing if it was all right with the others.
A kid and their father were practicing in the goal at the far end. Surely, they would be fine with me claiming the other goal. I had just set down my bag when the kid dove for a save, her long, chestnut braids flying out behind her. Charlie.
She pushed herself back up with an ease I found impressive for someone of her size loaded down with goalie gear and dropped the puck before passing it back to her dad. Then her eyes locked on me.
“Coach Zo!”
Jeremiah turned around, and I raised my hand in a small wave. He waved back with an easy smile. Then he turned to say something to Charlie before they both skated over to me.
I rested my arms on top of the boards. “Getting some extra practice in, I see.”
“The grind never stops,” Jeremiah replied with a smile as he combed his loose curls back from his forehead. “You know how it is.”
I knew exactly what he meant. Any free time I’d had when I was younger was spent at the rink. Just one of many sacrifices we made as athletes if we were serious about hockey.
“What are you doing here?” Charlie asked as she removed her mask, head tilting in curiosity.
I pressed my lips together. “I had a bit of a rough morning, and skating always makes me feel better.”
“We’ll pack our stuff up, then, so you can have the rink to yourself,” Jeremiah said.
He glided toward the door to exit the rink.
“Oh, no. Don’t stop on account of me. I’m more than happy with just a little piece of the ice. You guys keep practicing,” I insisted.
“Why don’t you practice with us?” Charlie suggested. “You can play one-on-one with Daddy, and I’ll be goalie.”
It may have been several years since I’d properly played, but the competitive side of me refused to turn her idea down.
I looked at Jeremiah, raising my brows with a slight smirk. “Think you could take me? I know you’re used to being the one in the crease.”
His thick eyebrows lowered as he tilted his head down, eyeing me in a way that had a blush creeping up the back of my neck. What had I just agreed to?
“I’m a well-rounded player, thank you very much. I can sink pucks into the net just as easily as I can keep them out.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said.
I turned to get out my gear, grateful for the excuse to break the intense eye contact, and sat down to exchange my sneakers for skates.
“Oooh, Daddy, I think you’re in trouble.”
Jeremiah’s jaw dropped, and he grasped at his chest as if she’d shot him in the heart. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Tot!”
Charlie just giggled, replaced her helmet, and scurried off to the goal to muck the crease.
Jeremiah hung back until I had everything on, and then we both skated out to the face-off circle to the right of the goal. He set the puck down, and we positioned ourselves on either side, knees bent and sticks at the ready.
“On the count of three,” Charlie called out. “One… two… three, GO!”
Our sticks collided with the puck at the same time, trapping it between us.
That was, until I released some pressure and Jeremiah nudged it far enough my way that I could hook my blade around it and drag it away, dodging to his goal-side.
His legs were long, though, and he caught up to me in just two strides.
When I tried to make a quick stop and pull it back, he snagged it from me and flicked it at the goal with ease.
But Charlie was ready, crouching down to trap the puck beneath her glove at such a speed, I would have bruised both of my knees—even with pads—and been limping for weeks.
“Nice one, Tot!” her dad cheered.
She tossed the puck toward the same face-off circle, and we resumed our positions.
It’d been a while since I’d played a proper one-on-one with anyone besides Uncle Cal, and Jeremiah was much lighter on his feet, not as far removed from his hockey career as my uncle. Or me, for that matter.
Three face-offs ended the same way with us grappling for the puck and Charlie blocking our shots.
While we were not holding back with each other, we were definitely considerate of the fact that there was a seven-year-old in the goal.
That didn’t diminish her abilities, though.
She looked like a contortionist out there, bending her body this way and that to get to the puck as fast as she could.
I’d thought I’d figured out Jeremiah’s go-to moves when he faked me out, bringing his stick back as if he were going to take a slap shot and then using the runner of his skate to knock the puck to the inside, and subsequently, behind me when I lunged forward in an attempt to stop him.
The misdirection had apparently worked on Charlie, too.
She’d moved to cover her left post, but Jeremiah had already skated to the right side and knocked it into the top shelf before she’d been able to react.
“That was a good one, Daddy!” Charlie grinned, not the least bit deterred by being scored on.
Jeremiah tapped his glove against the top of her helmet. “Snuck it by ya, didn’t I?” he teased affectionately.
All that affection disappeared as he joined me for the next face-off, circling around me with the puck before coming to a stop.
“Better luck next time, Cupcake.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up on the right side in a way that was equal parts endearing and irksome. I narrowed my eyes, the fire of competition swelling in my chest. He had no idea what he had just unleashed. I had to score a goal now.
Taking possession of the puck this time, I swept around the back of the goal. Jeremiah was hot on my tail, but not fast enough. I managed to slip the puck in between the post and Charlie’s stick as she reached out to block it.
Out of habit, I pumped my fist in the air. “Whoo!”
“She got you, Daddy.”
Jeremiah ignored Charlie’s chirping, his gaze locked on me.
“Tied game,” I sing-songed.
His eyes never left mine as he crouched down into his ready position, far less cocky than he had been just a few minutes ago.
We waited for Charlie to count down, and again, I was able to snag the puck before darting to the left.
Jeremiah attempted to use the advantage of his long arms to steal the puck from me, his stick constantly hitting against mine or my skates.
I zigzagged, trying everything I could to shake him long enough that I could line up for a decent shot.
I could see it: a shot from the left to the crossbar, just over Charlie’s shoulder. But then I was being lifted into the air, two solid arms wrapped around my middle.
“Hey!” I cried.
Jeremiah just laughed, his chest rumbling against my back as he turned me away from the goal. I tried to ignore the definition in his forearms and the feel of his strong, muscular torso behind me, but damn was it hard when he was holding me like this. And his deep laugh in my ear? Swoon.
I shook my head. No. He was a married man, and I was coaching his daughter. I could not be thinking about the abs and tight pecs he was totally hiding under his oversized t-shirt.
I shoved at his hands to release myself, and he finally relented, but by the time I’d turned around, he had already nabbed the puck and took off to the goal. I had no chance of catching up to him.
Charlie, however, was having none of it, and knocked his shot away with her stick.
“Daddy! Two minutes for holding. In the box,” she ordered.
She pointed her glove at the penalty box and eyed him. Jeremiah’s head fell back slightly as he let out an overly dramatic sigh before doing as he was told. I laughed softly to myself. Whoever his wife was, she was a lucky woman to have these two—and boy, did she have her hands full.