Goal Line Hearts (Love and Hockey #6)

Chapter 1

Heather

The third period of the hockey game has barely started, but my daughter, April, is already on her feet and pointing toward the far end of the arena with an outraged look on her face.

“Did you see that, Mom? We almost scored! The puck was right there, like this close!” She holds her finger and thumb about an inch apart. “I thought it was going in, for sure.”

“Close doesn’t count in hockey, sweetheart,” I say, smiling at the predictable groan I get in response.

She’s in full mega-fan mode and completely focused on the ice, with no appreciation for my motherly pearls of wisdom. At nine years old, she knows more about hockey than anyone I’ve ever met, and that includes my younger sister, who happens to be the social media manager for the Denver Aces.

“That shot should’ve made it.” She shakes her head and huffs out a short breath, looking like a disappointed little coach. “We can’t afford too many of those misses.”

She’s not wrong about that. The score has been tied at two points for most of the third period, and the Aces only have a few minutes left to pull off a win.

I’m not exactly the world’s biggest hockey fan, having been to all of three games in my life—and all three in the months since April has become obsessed with the sport—but even I can tell there’s been a change in the crowd, like they’re getting ready to either start celebrating or rioting.

“Maybe we’ll make the next one,” I offer, nodding in the direction of my brother-in-law, team captain Noah Blake. “Noah is already lining up for another shot.”

“I hope he makes it, but…” She turns and gives me a conspiratorial look. “Aunt Margo says that hockey is all about the close calls. She says that’s what makes the actual goals so much more exciting. It’s like, the dramatics of it all.”

I snort, unable to hold back a laugh. “The dramatics of it all? Is that what Aunt Margo says, too?”

“No.” She flaps a dismissive hand at me, fully focused on the game again. “That part was from Mrs. Hendricks at school. She says I have a flair for the dramatics.”

“Mrs. Hendricks is a smart woman,” I say, only biting back my laugh when April gives me another annoyed look. “Oh, here they come!”

We both turn our attention back to the ice where the other team’s center has broken away and is making a last-minute play to break the tie. There’s a collective intake of breath all around us as the opposing center takes the shot.

“I can’t look.” April partially covers her eyes, but I can still see her peeking out between her fingers. “Is it… did it…”

The stands around us erupt into cheers at the last-second save by the Aces’ goalie, who reached down and blocked the puck with the kind of agility and lightning-fast reflexes that shouldn’t even be possible with all that gear and padding.

“He did it!” April is jumping up and down, tugging on my arm. “Parker is the best, isn’t he?”

“That was pretty amazing,” I admit. I might not get as excited about hockey as my daughter does, but I can still appreciate the kind of dedication and skill it takes to make the tricks they do on the ice look easy.

And April is right about Grant Parker being the best player on the ice right now. My sister Margo says he’s the best goalie in the league, hands down. Then again, my sources might be more than a little partial.

The action is moving back toward the other end of the arena, but my eyes are still fixed on Parker as he taps his stick against the goal post three times before dropping back down into position in front of the net.

I saw him do the same little move at the start of the game, then for the second and third periods too. It’s such a subtle thing that I hardly noticed the first couple of times, but now I can’t stop wondering what it means. Is it a good luck ritual? Something he always does?

I’m rocked by another cheer as my daughter bounces into me. “Mom, we won! Did you see that? That was a crazy goal right at the buzzer!”

“I saw, sweetheart,” I lie, feeling a twinge of guilt for paying more attention to the goalie than the rest of the game. “We should go meet Aunt Margo down at the lounge so we can congratulate Noah on the big win.”

“Yeah!” April is still bouncing on her toes, and I have no doubt she’ll be hyped up from the game for at least the next hour or two. “Do you think I can make it onto the news again?”

“What did the reporter call you last time? The youngest, most enthusiastic Aces fan she’d ever met?”

“Most spirited,” April says. “Not enthusiastic, Mom.”

“Oh, right. How could I forget?” I laugh and drape my arm around her shoulders as we walk down the bleacher steps toward the friends and family lounge where my sister will already be waiting for her husband to come out of the locker room.

“Well, if you see any cameras in the lounge, let’s try to give the players a chance to speak first.”

“And if there aren’t any players talking to the reporters?”

“Then feel free to lay on the dramatics, sweetie.”

She gives a little fist pump and it hits me, just like it has more and more lately, that my little girl is growing up and becoming her own person right in front of my eyes.

Hockey is her obsession this month, but it might be something totally different next month, and that’s okay.

I’ll support her one hundred percent in everything she does, because that’s what I do.

For my daughter. For my sister. For the women at the shelter.

For everyone in my life who needs a piece of me, no matter how little that leaves at the end of the day for myself.

“There’s Aunt Margo!” April points across the crowd as we enter the lounge outside the locker room.

My sister, no doubt hearing her name shouted by her excited niece, turns and waves us over to the door where the players will start filtering through.

“Hey, Apes,” she opens her arms wide and nearly loses her balance when April launches herself into a big hug. “Did you see that last goal? We were number one trending in North America within thirty seconds. Pretty great stuff.”

“And Parker…” April heaves a dramatic sigh. “That save was, like, so good.”

“He saved our butts out there more than once tonight. I’m sure Noah will say the same thing when he gets out here.”

Noah appears behind her in the locker room doorway as if she summoned him by saying his name. He hugs my sister from behind, resting one hand on the rounded bump of her belly as he leans in for a quick kiss, then turns his attention to April and me. “Noah will say what, now?”

“How great Parker was tonight,” April answers before Margo or I can get a word in. “Do you think he’ll come out here and talk to the press tonight? I want to get his signature on my jersey.”

Noah winces and looks back over his shoulder into the locker room. “He might come out in a little while, but it’s hard to say for sure. Grant has a reputation for, uh—”

“For being a bit prickly with the press,” Margo finishes for him with an eyeroll. “Even getting him to pose for a picture is like pulling teeth.”

Noah grins and shakes his head. “Don’t be so hard on him, Sunflower. He might not like getting his picture taken, but he’s damn—er, darn good on the ice. He always seems to know where the puck is going to be. Always. It’s like his superpower.”

April nods enthusiastically. “I hope he comes out here tonight, at least. I’ve got most of the other guys’ autographs, and it would be nice to have the full set by the time we officially move here, you know?”

“Well, I’ve signed that jersey at least twice,” Noah says. “I can probably come close to Grant’s signature in a pinch.”

April gasps, scandalized at the thought, and Margo elbows her husband. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I won’t let him scribble nonsense on your jersey.”

Noah tosses his wife and April one more grin, then pokes his head back into the locker room for a second. This time when he comes back out, the subject of our conversation, the superstar goalie himself, comes out right behind him.

“You said everyone was clearing out, Blake,” he bites out through gritted teeth. Standing a full head and shoulders over almost everyone else in the room, he immediately draws attention. “And you said there was food here. I don’t see any food.”

“Did I say that?” Noah cocks his head to the side like he’s trying to remember, then shrugs. “I guess I was wrong. But look—here’s my wife and her sister, along with one of your biggest fans.”

“That’s me!” April waves both hands at him like she’s trying to get the attention of a giant. Or maybe a passing plane.

Which is appropriate, because holy shit, I forgot how tall he is. Like, ridiculously tall. At least six-foot-seven. He’s taller than all of his teammates, none of whom are small men, so he absolutely towers over the rest of us.

The other thing about him that’s not readily apparent from the stands when he’s wearing a helmet and all those pads? His eyes.

I haven’t forgotten them from the last time we spoke, but they still take me by surprise with their intensity.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a shade of blue that’s quite so piercing, and they look even brighter set against his dark hair and stubbled jaw.

He’s definitely hot, and would probably be drop dead gorgeous if he smiled, but there seems to be little chance of that at the moment.

He looks down at April and his face softens a little. Just a little. But still no smile. “My biggest fan, huh?” He crouches down so they’re theoretically closer to eye-level even though he still towers over her. “You don’t look that big to me. You have good taste in jerseys though.”

He eyes the oversized jersey while April does an obligatory spin to show off the autographs she’s collected.

“I was hoping you’d sign it tonight, too,” she says, giving him her best puppy dog eyes. It’s the same look that’s made me crumble a million times, and it seems to work on gigantic, chiseled, perpetually grumpy hockey players just as effectively.

Now that’s a superpower.

“Does anyone have a marker?” He holds out his hand and doesn’t even have time to look around before someone presses a black permanent marker into his palm. “Here you go, kid. Stay in school and tell all your friends to… eat healthy.”

“Eat healthy?” Noah laughs. “Did you really just say that?” He turns to Margo. “And this is why he doesn’t have endorsement deals lined up out the door.”

Grant’s resting grimace deepens into an actual frown. “Hey, I’ve had plenty of endorsement offers. I just don’t believe in shilling energy drinks and protein bars that aren’t ever going to be a part of my daily regimen.”

“Okay, okay, big guy.” Noah puts his hands up in a mock surrender.

“I didn’t mean to question the sanctity of the daily regimen.

” He says it all without letting his own cocky grin slip.

Just as smoothly, he directs the conversation—and Grant’s attention—back to safer territory.

“Anyway, you already know Margo, of course, and now April. But I can’t remember if you’ve met Margo’s sister, Heather? ”

We’ve only actually spoken to each other a handful of times, and only when he’s around his teammates, so I’m curious to see if he even pretends to remember me.

Surprisingly, there’s a flicker of recognition in those blue eyes as they lock with mine. It’s enough to make my cheeks flush slightly when he reaches out to shake hands.

“We’ve met a time or two. Nice to see you again.”

“You too.” His hand seems to linger on mine for a half-second after we’ve finished shaking, but that could also totally be my imagination.

Especially since he still looks like he’d rather take a hockey puck to the face than suffer through small talk.

Which, of course, I take as a personal challenge.

“That was an impressive save out there at the end of the third period.”

I’m not sure if I’m channeling my daughter, my sister, or my brother-in-law, but it’s enough to make those blue eyes flicker again. It’s definitely not a smile, but it’s something.

And if I’m being honest, that makes me feel like I’ve just scored a goal of my own.

“Thanks.” He nods as if he’s assessing me all over again. “That’s just what I do.”

There’s no cockiness in his tone, just simple honesty. And according to everyone everywhere who knows anything about hockey, making good plays is just what Grant Parker does.

“It must have been that good luck ritual you do,” I say before I have a chance to think it through.

Only when his brows knit together and he gives me a questioning look do I start to backtrack a little.

“I mean, maybe it’s not a ritual—that three-tap thing you do on the goalpost? —but it did seem to be good luck.”

“Oh, that. Huh.” He doesn’t say anything else for a moment. Sounding almost bewildered, he adds, “I’m surprised you noticed that.”

“I mean, not that I was watching that closely. Not watching you that closely, I mean. I was watching the game. Just…” I swallow hard, and can feel my cheeks starting to burn as Margo and Noah stop talking and turn my way as well. “I’m not making this better for myself, am I?”

“No.” Grant shakes his head and I can see the corners of his mouth twitch like he almost wants to smile. “But thanks for coming and watching the game. Just the game, of course.”

Oh god. Will the floor please open up and swallow me whole right now? Please?

April has been holding her own meet and greet with every Aces player in a ten-foot radius, so she’s been completely oblivious to my foot-in-mouth moment. Thankfully, she interrupts just in time.

“Mom? Declan Murray just said he’ll only sign my jersey if we promise to come to all the home games when we move here, so can we?”

I chuckle, arching a brow. “Tell Mr. Murray he drives a hard bargain.”

She considers for a moment, then frowns. “That’s not a ‘yes.’”

“Yes, sweetheart, we’ll do our best to come to the home games once we move to Denver.”

“Promise?”

With Grant, Noah, Margo, April, Declan, and probably half a dozen others looking at me and waiting in suspense, what else can I say?

“I promise.”