Pucked Promise (Seven Nights to Mr. Right #5)

Chapter 1

ONE

DANE

Stepping into my cabin, I drop my luggage, take longs strides to the leather couch, sink in, and sigh.

A deep, heavy sigh. The kind that only comes after releasing the two tons of weight a man has been carrying around for too damn long.

Twenty-three players.

Three assistant coaches.

One pain-in-the-ass owner and his front office.

Countless fans.

Way too many reporters and arm-chair experts.

For the past nine months—hell, for the past three years—they’ve all demanded every second of my time and depended on me to make their dreams reality.

It’s the gig. It’s both the honor and the burden of being head coach of a professional hockey team.

But after a season plagued with injuries, player disputes, and my own damn stupidity, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t somewhat relieved we didn’t make it to the post-season.

Okay, that’s the lie.

Of course, I wanted to make it to the post-season. I did everything short of committing robbery or murder to take my team to the play-offs.

Yet, for the second year in a row, we fell short.

And now everything I’ve spent my life building hangs in the balance while said pain-in-the-ass owner decides whether or not he’s going to shit-can my ass.

They said they’d take a few weeks to make their decision.

Which is why, after barely making a pit-stop in the past few years, I’ve come back to the cabin I had built outside my hometown in Alaska back when I was still a player. It’s the place where I envisioned retiring to one day.

That day might be here sooner than I planned.

“It’s fine,” I tell myself, eyes closed while I take a breath to ward off the jolt of panic that sliced through me. “Whatever happens, I’ll be fine.”

I’ve built a nice nest egg. I’ve invested wisely. Even if I get fired, and no other team takes me on, I’ve made more than enough money to live out my life comfortably in this little piece of paradise. I don’t ever have to work again.

“But what the hell am I going to do with myself?”

The front door crashes open.

I open my eyes, sit upright, and have just enough time to brace myself as my ten-year-old nephew launches himself into my arms.

“Uncle Dane, Uncle Dane.” He gives my neck and shoulders a tight squeeze. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, Danny,” my younger sister, Devony, says with a laugh as she follows him inside. “I told you he’d be here.”

“Yeah, but he hasn’t been here in forever. I had to see it to believe it.”

My heart clenches at his words. I know he didn’t mean to send me on a guilt trip, but there it is. Hook. Line. Sinker.

“The kid is right,” I say, lifting my arms to give him a hug back. “It’s been too damn long since I’ve been here.”

“Language,” Devony snaps. “How many times do I have to remind you not to swear around your nephew?”

Danny and I groan in unison as we pull back from the hug.

“That’s hardly a swear word,” Danny says, dropping next to me on the couch.

“He’s right.” I nod. “It’s hardly a swear word.”

“I still don’t think we need to talk like that,” Devony says.

“Besides, I’ve heard much worse.”

Her eyes narrow. “Where?”

Danny and I exchange a look. I know what he’s thinking. He’s heard worse language—much worse—out of her own mouth. Probably while she’s driving around town or after burning her toast in the morning.

“I don’t know,” he says with a half shrug. “Around.”

“I hope you haven’t heard it at hockey,” she says.

I snort before I can stop myself. And if looks could kill… But, come on. Everyone knows what kind of words come out of a players’ mouths when they’re on the ice.

Dropping f-bombs is part of the fun for a kid. That and spitting.

“Speaking of hockey,” Danny says, changing the subject. “I need to ask you something.”

I narrowly groan again, but stop myself just in time. “If it’s about the last game against Montreal, I’ve gotta plead the fifth for now. I can’t talk about it anymore.”

“We’re not interested in rehashing your season at the moment,” Devony says. “We’ve got our own problems.”

My brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Tanner left town yesterday.”

My hands ball into fists on my knees. “What?”

My sister’s ex wasn’t much of a husband. But he’s always been a good father. He makes sure Danny eats his vegetables. He splits school pick-up and drop-off. He even coaches the kid’s hockey team.

Why the hell would he bail now?

“He left town?” I repeat, rising to my feet, hands still fisted at my side. “Do you need me to go after and kick his”—I spare a glance at Danny—“A-S-S?”

Danny bursts into laughter. “I know how to spell. I’m ten. Not three.”

“It’s not like that,” Devony rushes. “Sorry, I should have led with that.”

A tiny bit of the fire inside me cools. “Then what is it like?”

“I didn’t tell you but,” she spares a glance at Danny, and sighs, “Tanner lost his job last fall.”

I blink in surprise. “He did?”

“His company closed and laid everyone off. Work has been hard to find.”

I nod along, because it makes sense. While living in small-town Alaska has its charms, finding regular work close by isn’t one of them.

“He finally got hired on with another crew, but he had to leave the area for the contract.” She gives Danny a supportive half-grin. “He’s going to come back whenever he gets time off. But, unfortunately, it means he can’t finish out coaching Danny’s team through their play-offs.”

“Oh, shi—oot.” I ruffle Danny’s hair. “I’m sorry kiddo.”

“Yeah, well, that’s where you come in.” She gives me a pointed look.

It takes me a few long seconds to realize what she’s silently trying to convey.

“Oh, no. You don’t mean—”

“You wouldn’t have to do much,” Danny says. “We’ve been playing together all season. We know our stuff.”

“They just have to have a coach listed on their roster,” Devony says. “And who better than a real hockey coach.”

“I don’t know.” I pull a face. “This season was rough. I need a break.”

“We’re already really good,” he says. His face is animated as he gives me highlights of the season and a quick rundown of the players. “Plus, Dad says I’m a great enforcer. And you should see Scottie center.”

“Is Scottie any good?”

“Scottie is the best.” Danny leans forward and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Scottie once made a bully on the other team cry.”

I arch an eyebrow and glance at my sister. “I had no idea Pee-Wee was so cutthroat.”

“Sure you do.” She rolls her eyes. “You got your start playing in the Alaska youth leagues. No one knows them better than you.”

“Maybe I did once.” I scratch my jaw, the whiskers from my would-be play-off beard starting to itch. “But that was a long time ago. Things change.”

Not to mention, I’ve lost my magic touch if the sports commentators—and the recent scoreboards—are right. According to them, I’ve lost my spark. I’ve lost what made me one of the best coaches in the league.

It’s bad enough letting down my team and the fan base. I’d hate to let down a bunch of ten-year-olds. Especially with everyone in my hometown watching from the bleachers.

“I don’t know,” I say at last, letting my hand fall to the side. “I’m not sure it’s a good fit.”

“Sure it is.” Danny grabs my head and gazes up at me pitifully. “Please, Uncle Dane. You’re our only hope.”

When his bottom lip trembles for just one second, I crack.

“Okay.” I resist the urge to heave a sigh or roll my eyes. “I’ll do it.”

His face lights up like the arena after a home win. “You promise?”

“Yeah, buddy.” I tussle his hair and give his mom a quick glare before smiling down at him. “I promise. I’ll coach your team for the rest of the season.”

With any luck, maybe I’ll take one team to the playoffs after all.

The next day, I stand on the sidelines as a bunch of pint-sized players decked out in helmets and pads glide around the ice.

I only had a chance to meet a handful of them before it was time to start practice. I’m not sure I remember half of their names, which makes me feel like an ass.

They seem like good kids, though.

One player in particular—Danny’s friend, Scottie—shows particular skill. The way he moves around the ice, issuing commands to the other players.

And the kid has one hell of a backswing. Shit, I could probably ask him to give my players some pointers. Assuming I still have a job next season.

I’m about to call them in to talk strategy when a familiar face appears in the bleachers. A face that sends a simultaneous pang of longing and shot of desire through me.

“Gina,” I whisper.

I haven’t seen her in nearly twenty years. Not since the summer before our freshman years of college.

The summer when we decided to break up, because while we loved each other in the full, pure way you only can when you’re still basically a kid, we didn’t know what our futures held. We only knew they were taking us to opposite sides of the continental U.S. Her to Seattle. Me to Boston.

But here she is now.

Scottie slides to a stop in front of her, pulls off his helmet, and calls out, “Mom.”

I’m not sure which reveal leaves me most stunned.

That the only woman I’ve ever truly loved is here and has a kid.

Or that her kid, the little hotshot who has been dominating the ice, is a girl.