Small Town, Big Storm (Cedar Hollow: Home Ice Heroes #1)

Prologue

Storm

I slow at the final curve in the road, every cell in my body telling me to stop, to pull into the next turnout and flip a U-turn, to get the fuck out of here.

Away from Cedar Hollow.

Away from the memories, from the darkness that clung to my childhood. From the grief and the pain and the fists leaving bruises.

But the old bastard is dead.

He can’t hurt me anymore.

So, why am I here?

“To make sure he doesn’t somehow resurrect himself and haul his ancient, shriveled ass out of the grave?” I mutter.

Right.

Am I streaming far too much horror content?

Maybe.

But it’s still bizarre to think that my father is dead, that this giant storm cloud that’s shadowed my life for so long has finally lost its power.

That the wind has slowed, the rain has stopped, the blue skies are shining through—

“Enough fucking metaphors, dumbass.” Snorting, I press my foot to the gas pedal and drive into town.

But as I make my way to the church, it’s impossible to shake off the sense of foreboding.

My chest grows tight, my lungs heavy, and my pulse pounds through my veins.

It’s like I’m on the rink, my skates digging into the ice, my eyes on the puck, my body hurtling toward exhaustion as I try to push through my shift to make one more play, to give one last bit of strength.

That hasn’t been going well either.

Hockey.

My game.

My future.

My career and life and dreams and expectations and—

Beep!

I jerk, hands tightening on the steering wheel, and realize the one signal in town has turned green.

“Christ,” I whisper, lifting a hand in apology as I press on the gas and start forward again.

I pass the library and the fire station and the ice rink.

Drive by the turn-off for Gold Creek and the beach where I whiled away many a summer, eating ice cream and wading in the cold ass water and getting up the nerve to climb to the top of Grizzly Rock and dive into the deep blue river below…

all while mooning over the girls who couldn’t be bothered to so much as look my way.

Until one had.

God, those days—

I shake myself.

It doesn’t matter that they were the bright spot.

Eventually, I had to go home.

To him.

To that fucking house.

To the shit that formed memories, that chased—

No. That chase me.

In my mind, through these fucking streets, on the ice, in the locker room, on plane rides and bus trips and through interviews.

From the Sierra to the Hawks.

From the pine trees to the fucking cedars.

All my life they’ve chased me.

And now it feels like I’ve made a U-turn and driven right back into the storm.

Maybe attending my father’s funeral should be the final piece in putting this all behind me.

But as I pull into the church’s parking lot, it feels like I’m right back at the beginning.

Like there’s a big ass defenseman skating my way, about to blindside me with an open-ice hit.

I need to keep my head up, keep alert.

Stay aware and—

My phone buzzes, reminding me of the time.

Christ.

It’s time.

I pop open the door, climb out.

It doesn’t matter that this shit has dragged me back to a place I don’t want to be.

It doesn’t matter that my father was a bastard.

It doesn’t even matter that my new team has brought me far too close to home, too close to all that is Cedar Hollow.

And it sure as shit doesn’t matter that it feels like I’m standing on a precipice of my life, about to tumble down into the dark unknown.

The years gone by don’t matter.

Neither does that unknown.

Because I’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Nothing—and no one—could make me stay.