Lucky Hit (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 1)

Morgan and I are sitting three rows from the ice, and while I don’t know how Morgan managed to wrangle these seats the morning of a sold-out game, I’m happy she did.

I’ve only ever sat this close to the ice with my dad when I was a teenager. And I definitely did not have a guy on the team who keeps flashing me winks and blowing kisses every time he skates past back then.

Oakley’s attention to me tonight has caught the eye of a few people in the crowd, but I’ve tried to block out their hushed gossip as best I can. Being in the spotlight has never appealed to me, but for the first time since things with my hockey star have become more serious, I’m starting to realize that I might not be able to avoid it much longer.

When it’s time for Oakley to do his final warm-ups, I make sure to stand with my back to him so he can see the name written on the jersey that hangs loosely from my shoulders. The proud smile that lights up his face is enough to have me blowing him a brave kiss that incites a flurry of whispers around me.

There’s an unmistakable flush all over my body when I collapse back into my seat and subtly cover half my face with my hand.

“Oh, my God! Did you see his abs when he lifted his jersey? I think I need a fan,” says a voice behind me. Being my nosy self, I don’t hesitate to listen in on the girly giggles.

“Oh, that’s enough out of you. Tyler Bateman is far too old for you.” The second voice is far more mature than the first one and has me turning my head in search of the two mystery ladies.

I spot a woman two rows back who looks to be in her mid-forties. She sits comfortably beside a much younger, almost carbon copy of herself. Both women are beautiful, with blue eyes and light blonde hair, the kind of hair that girls like Morgan pay hairdressers hundreds of dollars to have.

The younger girl has the longest eyelashes I think I’ve ever seen, a small nose that fits her face perfectly, and sleek, sharp cheekbones. Both of them are sporting matching Saints jerseys, although I can’t see who they are cheering for from where I’m sitting.

“Whatever, Mom. Just because I have a boyfriend doesn’t mean that I can’t look at other eye candy.”

“Where did I go wrong with you?” her mother sighs, but it’s not an annoyed sigh; it’s a happy one. It makes my heart clench. I turn back around in my seat in fear of getting caught eavesdropping. However, the woman calls me out before I can escape.

“Oh dear, I am so sorry for my daughter’s lack of manners. I hope we didn’t disturb you,” she says, glaring light at her daughter, who is now texting away, completely unbothered by her surroundings.

“No—no! You weren’t. I was just looking for . . . for my friends! They’re not here yet,” I stammer awkwardly.

“Well, I hope they get here soon. The game’s about to start. We just got here a few minutes ago ourselves. I hate missing the warm-ups! I’m Anne, by the way.” Her motherlike tone warms my heart. I can’t help but smile at her.

“I’m Ava. It’s nice to meet you.”

Anne’s eyes flash with something that looks like realization, but before she can speak on it, her daughter interrupts.

“Mom, stop freaking out the locals.” The teenager puts her phone away and glances at me. The same look flashes across her face, and my stomach churns with nerves. The girl blinks and the look is gone, replaced now with a casual stare. “Sorry about her. She doesn’t get out much. I’m—’

“Ava, the game’s about to start. Tell your new friends that you’ll see them some other time,” Morgan chides.

The lights in the arena dim as I say, “I hope you guys enjoy the game. It was nice to meet you both.”

It’s halfway through the second period that it happens.

The crowd is screaming so loudly I want to cover my ears when Oakley gains control of the puck and clears the Saints’ defensive zone. He’s skating full speed down the ice, outmaneuvering every single player on the opposing team with a confidence I’ve only ever seen him possess.

I see the player before he does. It’s almost like it happens in slow motion.

There’s no chance of Oakley catching himself when he snaps his head to the side and gets hit from the side. He was going too fast, and as he goes flying across the ice, I stop breathing. He was too focused on making it to the net that he didn’t see the defenseman until it was too late.

My heart thrashes in my chest as I stand and watch his shoulder make contact with the ice before he just lies there, not moving. Silence falls on the crowd for the first time tonight.

The team medic blocks my view as he runs onto the ice, carrying a stretcher and a small red bag. My hands shake as I try to move past the fans standing in front of us. I don’t even notice Morgan holding my hand until she pulls me through the dozens of bodies. When we finally reach a clearing, my hand flies to my mouth, covering my gasp.

Oakley is lying on his back, clutching his right shoulder and grimacing in pain, but at least he’s moving again. He yells at the ref, blood flying from his mouth and splattering the ice around the puddle that rests beside his head.

The medic kneels beside Oakley and looks like he’s trying to help him sit up, without much luck. Morgan calls my name, and I wrench my eyes away from Oakley to look at her. She points at the fight now taking place on the ice.

Tyler has the player who hurt Oakley by the throat, punching him again and again. He knocks the opponent’s helmet off and kicks it off to the side with his skate. The remaining referees frantically try to rip Tyler off, but he doesn’t stop.

I hear the words ejection and suspension fly from the referee’s mouth, but they don’t seem to register with Tyler.

“What the hell is happening?” the blonde teen shouts, but nobody has an answer for her.

Adam shouts to get Tyler’s attention, and by some miracle, Tyler drops the player so quickly you would think he burned him. He spins around without a second glance at anyone and storms off the ice.

By the time I look back where Oakley was, I find him gone. There’s only a deep red puddle left in his place. My stomach churns.

“Go, Ava. He’ll be in the medical room. Do you want me to take you?” Morgan rubs her hands up and down my arms.

“No, I got it,” I mumble before turning and leaving her there.

With my elbows out, I start shoving my way through the crowds, not caring when I piss someone off and they curse at me. I’ve made it past the stands and am damn near jogging through the big open area by the concessions when someone grabs me.

I’m almost so shocked I trip when scrawny fingers wrap around my wrist and tug me toward a round, short body.

“Hey! What’s going on? You’re Oakley Hutton’s girlfriend, right? I’ve seen you in pictures,” the stranger says, spittle flying from his mouth. I can’t tell if he’s curious or angry.

“Let me go,” I command, trying my best to keep my voice from shaking with the fear I feel vibrating my bones.

“Take me to see him. I have questions for the paper.” His grip tightens when I pull my arm.

“Let. Me. Go.”

The man sneers at me, and I swallow my whimper when his grip becomes painful. “Take me to him. This could get me a promotion that’s been long overdue.”

“The only thing grabbing at her like that will get you is a broken fucking spine.”

Dark brown, almost black eyes meet mine over the stranger’s shoulder, and I nearly cry at the relief that floods me. Tyler’s jaw is clenched so tight I’m sure it aches as he steps between the stranger and me and grasps the hand holding me tight enough the stranger cries out.

My wrist throbs when it’s released. I take two giant steps backward behind Tyler as I gulp down air and try to forget this ever happened.

“Tyler Bateman! Care to tell me what happened out there? Your knuckles look broken.”

“Broken knuckles or not, if you don’t fuck off back to whatever hellhole you came out of, I’m going to do to you what I did to Sullivan back there,” Tyler snarls.

“Just one comment,” the man pleads, clearly not caring about Tyler’s threat.

“Let’s go,” I say quietly. Somehow, Tyler grows even stiffer. “You can’t be seen out here like this, and the team doesn’t need bad press from you beating up some low-life reporter.”

A quick nod is the only reply I get before I come around to his side and let him lead me away from the reporter. Only when I see the bloody heart tattoo on his hip do I realize he’s half-naked.

He chuckles darkly as if sensing the exact moment I notice his lack of clothing. “It was get dressed or find you and bring you to Oakley. He threatened to go find you himself, but the medic popped his shoulder back in before he had the chance to make good on it.”

“Is he okay?”

“He will be. That fucker got him good.”

“And you? Are you okay? Did you break your knuckles?”

He lifts his right hand in front of him, and I blow out a breath. “Yeah. Not the first time and won’t be the last. It was worth it.”

I stop walking, and as soon as he follows suit, I’m moving in for a hug. He’s as still as a statue as I slip my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his chest. The friendly hug starts out quite awkward, probably because Tyler isn’t much of a people person, let alone a hugger. After a few seconds, though, he relaxes and wraps his massive arms around my shoulders. He leans into me, and I smile.

“Thank you. For standing up for Oakley but also scaring that guy away.”

“It’s not a big deal.” His gruff voice cuts through the silence as he pulls away from me. His eyes dart down to the swollen, mangled mess that was once a set of knuckles. “Come on. Oakley’s probably driving everyone crazy.”

We don’t speak for the rest of our walk, and before I know it, we come to a stop in front of a white door with the word medic plastered on the front in bold red letters.

“I’ll leave you to it. Just go in. I’m sure they’re expecting you.”

I laugh. Tyler nods once and turns around to make his way back to the locker room before he stops short and looks around awkwardly.

“Oh, and thank you. For the . . . hug . . . earlier. I didn’t know I needed that until, you know.” He rocks on the balls of his feet, ready to bolt at any moment.

“You don’t have to thank me, Tyler. We’re friends, and that’s what friends do. You don’t have to keep your feelings bottled in all the time.” I give him a small, reassuring smile and watch as he returns it. He nods and turns around once again, walking away.

With as much confidence as I can muster, I pull the door open and walk into the room. I’m hit with the smell of disinfectant instantly, and my nose scrunches.

Oakley is sitting on a makeshift hospital bed in the middle of the room, scowling at the wall. His gear and jersey have been removed and replaced with a sling holding his shoulder and an ice pack around his lower back. There’s red staining the side of his face, making me shudder at the reminder of the bloody puddle on the ice.

I suck in a sharp breath, drawing his attention. The minute our eyes meet, I’m rambling. “Are you okay? What the hell happened out there? You gave me a damn heart attack when you were just lying there, not moving!”

Oakley laughs airily, his lips curling up. I glare at his lack of seriousness. This is not a laughable situation.

“This is not funny. You’re in a sling!” I jab my finger in the direction of his injured shoulder.

“Ava, I’d like you to meet my mom and sister, Anne and Gracie,” Oakley says, hiding his smile behind his fist.

I go still. What?

“Oh my! It’s so lovely to see you again. We didn’t get much time to chat earlier, let alone properly introduce ourselves.”

Slowly, I turn my head and see the mother and daughter from earlier sitting in two chairs pushed up against the wall.

Holy shit, this is not happening right now. Heat creeps up my neck as I give them a beyond awkward wave.

Gracie snickers when Anne jumps up from her seat to greet me. She rushes over and pulls me in for a hug that I cautiously return.

Anne smells like peppermint and fresh linen, reminding me of Lily. A warmth spreads through me as I start to relax. Over Anne’s shoulder, I notice Oakley staring at us, his face stark with confusion.

“I didn’t get knocked out, did I? How do you know each other already?” he asks.

“You might as well have. How did you not see that guy?” Gracie scolds.

He flips his sister the finger. “I did see him. Just a few seconds too late.”

“Don’t start, you two. I’ve just watched my son get absolutely levelled. The last thing I need is more stress.”

“Levelled?” Oakley grimaces. “Who taught you to talk like that?”

“I did,” Gracie states.

“Well, stop. It sounds weird.”

“No, thank you. I like it that Mom’s becoming more hip.”

Oakley crinkles his nose. “More hip?”

“Stop acting like a dick.”

Anne groans. “Can we stay on track, please? You were asking how we met your Ava.”

Oakley’s eyes are soft when they fall on me again. “Right.”

“Your sister was being loud and drew Ava’s attention in the stands. We barely got a chance to start chatting before the game started. It took me a minute, but I recognized her from those pictures floating around,” Anne explains. I flush. Oh.

“I was simply telling Mom about how hot Tyler looked. It wasn’t as if I was screaming it for all to hear,” Gracie adds.

Oakley glares at his sister. “Tyler is not hot. He is way too old for you.”

“Too old for me right now, maybe. We can revisit this subject in two years.”

Gracie is brave, that much is obvious as she continues to go head to toe with her overprotective brother. In all honesty, I don’t think Oakley needs to worry about Tyler. I don’t know much about his type other than he’s not really the dating kind of guy, but I doubt he’s into underage, sixteen-year-old girls.

“Do you need to go to the hospital to see a doctor?” I blurt out.

Oakley gives me an appreciative smile for interrupting and holds his good arm out in front of him as if waiting for a hug. I shake my head, cautious of showing PDA in front of his family when we’ve only just met, but he just rolls his eyes and gets off the bed, heading right for me.

“My body hurts, Ava. Don’t make me beg,” he whispers once he’s standing right in front of me.

Apparently, that’s all it takes to change my mind because a second later, I walk right into his chest and wrap my arms around his waist. He can only hold me with one arm, but it doesn’t matter. His touch is a comfort that I didn’t know I had been missing.

“We’re going to take a walk until you’re ready to go, Oakley,” Anne says softly before footsteps carry to the door, and the door closes with a click.

“Finally.” Oakley heaves a sigh, pulling back. “I didn’t want to ask them to leave, but I’ve wanted to do this since the minute you walked in here.”

I open my mouth to ask him what he’s talking about when he presses his lips to mine and groans deep and low. The vibration of it travels from my mouth to my toes.

After a few moments, I pull back, Oakley’s mouth chasing mine. If it weren’t for the way his left arm lies between us, against his chest, maybe I would have let him continue to kiss me. But my worry for him is too prominent right now.

“You never answered me when I asked you what happened out there. What’s the diagnosis? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Looking tired and sore, he pulls me over to one of the chairs resting against the wall and sits down, patting his thighs. With slight hesitation, I sit on his lap, as close to his knees as possible. He wraps his good arm tightly around my middle and leans forward, chin resting on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry about my pain, Ava. The medic was quick to give me something for it. I have a bruised tailbone and a dislocated collarbone. I could do without the sore tongue from chomping down on it when I fell, but it’s nothing serious. I’m lucky.”

I nod. “How long are you out for?”

“If the healing goes well, three to four weeks.”

“So you should be playing again after the Christmas break.”

“Mhm. That’s the goal. I still need to go to the hospital to get proper X-rays and make sure there isn’t anything else there, but the medic was pretty confident it was a dislocation,” he murmurs, slipping his thumb beneath the jersey I’m wearing and sliding it along the band of my pants.

“We should go before you fall asleep in this chair.”

“You’re coming?” he asks quietly, his cheek pressing against my ear.

“Yeah. Who else is going to make sure you don’t get into another fight with your sister?”

His laugh is nothing more than a slow rumble, and I’m relieved when the door opens tentatively and Anne pokes her head in. A look of awe flashes across her face at what she sees before she smiles at me.

“Ready to go?” she asks.

Oakley doesn’t answer, and I don’t have to look back to know he’s dozing off. I pat his thigh. “Yeah. He’s ready.”