Second Chance on Ice (Hawks Hockey Romance #1)

1. JESS

Chapter one

JESS

“How is this my life?” I yell out into the humid, sunscreen-scented air, probably hitting a solid ten on the drama scale, providing a little entertainment for the other beachgoers here in Jamaica. Nothing like a good old jellyfish sting to turn a person into a public spectacle, not that I need help in that department.

I’m not having a good week. First, I embarrass the most tender-hearted professional hockey player on the planet by leaving him at the altar. Then book a last-minute solo trip to an island to get away from it all, decompress, and possibly hide my mortified head in the sand.

This paradise could be highly enjoyable, even though I’m alone, but just as I take a few steps into the stunning turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea, I am stung by the tiniest of jellyfish. Too distracted by the replay of my disastrous departure from what would have been my wedding to pay attention to my surroundings.

Given the clarity of the water, there’s a good chance I would have noticed the malicious midget marine life if I wasn’t in a daze. But I can’t stop flashing on Tobey’s face as I walked down the aisle toward him. It was pure joy; a few happy tears running down his gorgeous cheeks.

Several players from his Chicago NHL team were in attendance, hooting and hollering (not normal wedding behavior, but they’re professional hockey players, so they get a pass) as I got closer to Tobey.

He smiled at me with that ecstatic “I am looking at my future right now” gaze that probably made every woman in attendance swoon. But as he reached out for me to take his arm, I made a sharp left quicker than you can say “peace out” and bolted for the closest exit.

A collective gasp rippled through the audience, along with an “Oh no, she didn’t” that I believe came from his Aunt Renee. I’m going to miss her. Then it got worse. It seems unlikely that things could have nosedived after my altar ditch, but they did.

Apparently, a few children from Tobey’s family thought the side aisle was a good place to color. I get it, weddings are boring for kids. And I’m guessing their parents didn’t expect the bride to make a speedy getaway, so it seemed like a safe place to be.

But wedding dresses aren’t made for maneuvering, and by the time I saw them, there was nothing I could do. They disappeared under my ridiculously fluffy dress when I hit the ground.

I can still hear the screams of the children calling their mothers for help as they tried to navigate from under my chiffon quicksand.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think that at any point in the day I would have two children and two middle aged women swimming around in the train of my dress. Once the kids were rescued, I high tailed it out of there without ever looking back.

I wonder how many Chicago taxi drivers get to see a woman in a wedding dress flag them down on the street. In the moment, I was very thankful to live in a city because I had no idea what I was going to do next when I got outside the church.

But the sounds of beeping horns and nonstop traffic quickly brought me back to reality, reminding me that I could make my get away from the crime scene in a yellow cab. My guess is taxi drivers in the city really have seen it all because he didn’t give me a second glance as I stuffed my billowy outfit in my lap.

“Where you headed?” is all he said as we sped away from the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

Tobey Brewer is a forward on the Chicago Blades professional hockey team. We met because I’m a local reporter, covering all things sports related in the city. When all the other guys on the team were obnoxiously loud after wins, begging for the chance to put their bare-chested physiques on camera, Tobey sat calmly, fully clothed. When his teammates bragged about their prowess, eager to make a win all about their skills, he gave credit to everyone else around him when he scored.

He was so reserved that I had to make the first move.

Eventually, I couldn’t resist those piercing blue eyes, crooked smile, and lighthearted laugh I saw during interviews. I asked him if he’d like to grab coffee after one of his home games. He said yes, and we were inseparable after that.

He checks every box any woman could ask for. Handsome? Check. Gentleman? Check. Funny? Check. Athletic? Super check. Ready to make me his wife? Absolutely, check.

In the world of professional sports, he is an anomaly, and he was mine.

The only box he didn’t check is the one that moved me to Chicago in the first place. He isn’t Jagger West— yes, another hockey player — the man who broke up with me on live television almost four years ago.

I get that doesn’t seem like a box a woman would want checked. Arrogant? Disloyal? Playboy? Told me he wanted to see other people on camera when he didn’t know we were live? That box should remain unchecked… forever.

Jagger clearly didn’t plan on telling the world he no longer wanted to be together, and that he was leaving me for the “hottie over at Channel 5,” a phrase that was replayed on social media for months after his impromptu announcement. But the fact that it wasn’t planned did nothing to mitigate the damage.

Another anchor, really?

It was bad enough that I had to interview Jagger just after he tore my heart into a million pieces and stomped on it in front of everyone, but knowing who he did it for was just salt in the wound. And that salt was right there in the locker room at the same moment, chatting with Miami’s goalie.

“Lottie the Hottie,” as she was portrayed in the media after everyone else figured out she was Jagger’s new flame, was standing less than thirty feet from me. It wasn’t hard to figure out who he was alluding to. There are usually no more than two anchors that cover sports for each channel, and the only other option at Channel 5 was a married man in his sixties. Pretty sure he wasn’t Jagger’s hottie. To make it all even uglier, Jagger kept glancing over at Lottie in her short skirt and expensive heels during his interview/break-up with me. Real smooth.

Jagger concluded the excruciating episode with a hearty handshake saying, “No hard feelings, it’s been fun.” Then he walked to his locker like we hadn’t been together for the last year while I stood there speechless. Three hundred and sixty-five days wasted on a man who stole my heart, then discarded it for some Jimmy Choos.

I should have known. Jagger had a reputation among the media. There was a trail of broken hearts before me, and I'm sure a love apocalypse that came after me. He’s just not a man who settles down. Our relationship was by far the longest he’s ever had.

That’s why I thought we were meant to be. Everyone at my station said I finally tamed the untamable. That Jagger found his future in me. But then Lottie moved to town.

Jagger texted me after the segment to make it clear he didn’t cheat on me. He just felt like he and Lottie had a “connection” he needed to explore. Uh-huh, a “connection” that included long blonde hair, high heels, and a never-ending supply of teeny tiny skirts.

There was no way I could stay in Miami after that. It’s a big city, but not as big as you think, especially when it comes to sports reporters. We all run into each other constantly. I stuck it out the last few weeks of hockey season, doing my best not to body check Lottie into the wall each time we were in the same locker room interviewing the team. I’d learned enough about hockey from Jagger at that point to execute the body check properly.

Just a little shoulder dip and then, “Bam,” she’s down. Maybe no more short skirts for her if she’s going to be splayed out on the floor after every game.

Whoa. I realize that sounds very aggressive, and it’s not who I am at all. I love all athletic endeavors, but I am usually a sports pacifist, choosing non-contact activities like tennis or golf. Plus, this wasn’t all Lottie’s fault, it takes two for a “connection.”

Being dumped on television has a monumental effect on a person, so that’s why I transferred to the Chicago station, where I met Tobey. The man who’s the opposite of Jagger. He embodies everything Jagger does not: he has no need for the limelight, is humble, and committed. And he would never wonder if the grass is greener with the short skirt wearing anchor at another station.

It was “meant to be,” or so I thought.

But I could never get Jagger out of my head no matter how hard I tried. Even after Tobey and I got engaged, I kept my phone set for notifications about the Miami Cyclones. Terrible, I know.

Just for the record, Jagger’s “connection” with Lottie lasted less than two months. He immediately started texting me when it was over, begging for another chance. He apologized endlessly, saying he never knew how good he had it until it was gone. It sounded a whole lot like that Shawn Mendes song, but it didn’t matter.

There’s no going back after you’re humiliated on television, right? Definitely not.

So, I eventually got a new number. I am only so strong and was afraid I’d cave because Jagger and I had a great relationship up until that point. Everyone else saw the cocky, attention-seeking star of the Miami Cyclones. I saw the guy who’d get me ice cream at midnight from the only gas station in the city that carried Pistachio Delight thirty minutes across town every time I asked for it. It didn’t matter how tired he was, he went with a smile on his face. The man that would send flowers to my work once a week until he exhausted every variety the shop had, just to find out which ones were my favorites.

We were JJ: Jagger and Jess. I thought it would last forever. It didn’t, obviously, and now I’m just as bad, breaking Tobey’s heart when he doesn’t deserve it. But I couldn’t live a lie, couldn’t marry Tobey after he offered me his arm, because the first person I thought of was Jagger.

Most men put out their arm with their hand in a fist, but Jagger was different. I’m not sure he ever knew he was doing it, but he always had his thumb sticking out, like he was pointing the direction we would go.

It was a small thing, but it always caught my eye, made me smile. In all our time together, Tobey had never offered his arm to me like that before. But when he did it at our wedding, my mind immediately flew to Jagger. That’s when I knew—I couldn’t marry Tobey. He deserves someone who is all in, whose heart is fully available. That’s not me.

Now I clearly should have come to that conclusion before our wedding day. Told him in private instead of embarrassing him in front of his family and friends. But it just didn’t hit home until that moment. And for that I’ll always feel terrible and will never stop apologizing.

He hasn’t answered any of my apology texts, emails, or voicemails, so far. And I get that. Hopefully at some point we can sit down and talk, but I’ll understand if he never wants that.

Now back to the pesky sea creature that’s causing an enormous amount of pain in my foot. I eye the culprit again, revenge on my mind. How can a sting from something that small hurt so badly?

It wiggles its tentacles menacingly at me and I bolt, hobbling toward the shore that is thankfully only a few steps away and sit down.

Ugh. How am I going to make it back to my room with my foot throbbing like this? I don’t even know how far away it is. The front desk gave me my keycard, then the valet took my bags, telling me they’d be in my room waiting for me. I just came out here to dip my toes in the water, set the mood for a relaxing tropical getaway.

It should be nice. According to the website, my room is on the ground floor with a small private pool and a great view of the ocean. A whole lot pricier than I wanted, but that’s what happens when you book the week before you leave. It might have been the last room left at this resort, so I’m lucky I got anything at all. I used the extra money I had saved to buy new furniture after the wedding. Well, I won’t be needing that now.

“You need me to pee on that for you, beautiful?” a gravelly voice from behind me asks.

That is the most disgusting pick-up line I’ve ever heard in my life. My older sister told me once that the ammonia in urine takes away the pain from jellyfish stings, but still, ew. I wouldn’t even allow a family member to do that, let alone a stranger at an island resort.

So, I’m not even going to turn around to justify that ridiculous remark. “No, I’m good. Just gonna walk it off.” My whole life clearly revolves around sports, even a jellyfish sting.

I stand, heading toward the front desk, maybe they have something for the pain. As I limp in the opposite direction of the man, I hear him say, “Walk it off? Good, I like my women sporty.”

I ignore him. This isn’t what I need right now.

But then an arm appears at my side as I continue shuffling in the sand. “If you won’t let me help with the pain, at least let me help you walk. I hate to see such a breathtaking woman struggle.”

That voice. Why does it seem familiar? No, it’s nothing.

I am just about to let this obnoxious man know where he can take his unwanted compliments when I notice a peculiar detail about the way he’s offering his arm.

Oh, no. That’s why. This day can’t get any worse. This week, even. Please tell me the man offering me his arm with a thumb sticking out isn’t the only other member of the male species I’ve seen do it before.

I swing around to find deep brown eyes staring back at me, rich and warm, captivating me instantly. A coffee color that adapts to different light, appearing as a soft warm brown outside, or taking on a more intense espresso shade in dimmer conditions. I know from experience, a full year of experience.

These are the only eyes in the world I do not want to see right now. Eyes that belong to the man that made me want to give up on love.

The eyes of Jagger West.