Fated Shot

Chapter 4

Mia

I may be delusional, but I swear he was looking at me. In all of the excitement, I couldn’t even register what was happening before I saw him get smashed into the boards. Who was that? Number eighteen? Sixteen? Crap, I didn’t even have a chance to get a good look at his jersey. I was a little too distracted by his face.

I’ve barely made it to three games since my dad became coach. It doesn’t help that Mom has always firmly upheld a no-hockey-talk rule in our house since I caught my dad swearing at the TV while watching back old tapes when I was three. I’ve thrived in the separation of Douglas Cameron—Hockey Legend turned Head Coach, and Doug Cameron—Dad. But now I’m kicking myself for not taking more of an interest in his career and not taking twenty freaking minutes to memorize the roster.

I’m not going crazy, I could see the glimmer of his blue eyes peering up from his helmet. I felt the heat of his gaze and his eyes studying me. He couldn’t see what hit him, it was like he was distracted. Like I was the one who distracted him. A moment where it was just us two.

I shake off the thought as I climb the rest of the stairs. To celebrate the first game of the first pre-season, the owner sprung for club seats for the player’s friends and family, a step up from the usual lower bowl chunk of reserved seats. I make my way over to Mom, waiting just outside the security-covered door for me.

She’s effortlessly beautiful. It’s as if she’s barely aged, I swear we’re genuinely mistaken for sisters. She smiles at me happily, wearing her slightly oversized jersey, skinny jeans and black-heeled boots. Leave it to Mom to know how to accessorize sports apparel.

“Hi, babes, how was the game from down there?” she calls out to me over the hum of the crowd.

“Much better than up here. You should have joined me, I could practically smell the sweat,” I joke as she hands me my tote bag, and we make our way into the suite together.

The cameras love to pan to the family section, and practically half the screen time on the jumbotron is taken up by the wives and girlfriends of the players jumping around. I much prefer sitting close to the ice and avoiding that attention when I head to games. It’s not that most people would recognize us unless they’re die-hard fans, but I’d just rather slip under the radar most of the time.

Once we’ve grabbed some water and a snack and taken full advantage of the clean, private bathroom, we make our descent to the ice level. A few other families have already started gathering in the tunnel. We stand chatting for a few minutes as Mom happily introduces me to some of the other wives, mostly of the trainers and coaching staff, proudly beaming as she mentions I’ve just graduated from NYU and I’m staying in Toronto for the year. The fans have cleared out at this point, a few admins carry a photo backdrop and a balloon arch onto the ice as pop music starts to play, echoing through the arena.

I reach into my tote to pull out my skates, crouching down slightly to lace them up. I’m one of the first people to step onto the ice as I outstretch my hand to grab my mom’s. I skate carefully, guiding her, still in heels by the way, over to the bench. She happily takes her seat as another woman joins her, quickly sparking up a conversation as I glide away.

It feels surreal skating in an empty arena. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like being on the ice with thousands of fans screaming at you from the stands. Everything feels so different from down here, it’s pretty easy to forget how big the rink actually is. A few players trickle in, offering greetings to their families as I continue my lap. Excited squeals fill the air from some little ones who are now charging mindlessly across the ice. I used to love coming to these events when I was little.

As I round the corner behind the goalie net, the board door opens and three players hit the ice in front of me, immediately joining the flow of our skating circle. They are… massive. There is no missing them, all well over six feet, skates making their already intimidating figures look that much more menacing. They tower ahead of me, blocking my view forward as I slow my pace to keep some distance between us. I can skate, sure, my parents put me in lessons the second I could walk, but I’m also a hazard to myself. Buffer room between children and giant man-shaped trees on the ice will always do me good.

Skating past Mom, I flash her a smile. She smiles brightly back at me, stopping her conversation to reach into her purse. I take another stride forward just as I hear her call out, “Amelia… Mia ! Smile!”

Turning my head to face her, my body skates right into a brick wall. “Oof.”

Wavering unsteadily, I realize the brick wall in question is actually the tallest of the players ahead of me, who has stopped in his tracks. Looking up at him is my first mistake. Stumbling onto the back edge of my blade, I’m completely knocked off center. Struggling to regain my balance, I wobble, starting to fall backward .

His eyes dart between Mom and me, the concern on his face evident as he lunges forward. Closing the distance between us in a flash, his muscular arms stretch out around me, large hands settling on my waist. Instinctively, I grab onto whatever I can, bunching up the fabric of his jersey for added balance, my fingers grazing his solid abdomen below.

All I can see is the built chest in front of me, making craning my neck a necessity for even a peek at my rescuer. You’d think my panic would dissipate once I’m stabilized, but my heartbeat only races faster as the realization sinks in. He’s staring down at me, blue, bewildered eyes blinking, and I’m instantly reminded of our moment earlier. It’s him. It’s happening again. This has to be some kind of karmic intervention or something.

I’m equally frozen, reduced to just studying his face. His clean-shaven jaw reveals chiseled features, a slightly crooked nose, and a healed scar just above his lip. Even after I’ve regained my balance, his hands stay firmly gripped on me.

Taking a breath, his perfect lips crack open like he’s about to speak. If he did say something, I certainly couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blood thundering in my ears. I’m physically unable to do anything but just stare back at him, waiting in anticipation.

“I’m… Jack,” he articulates in a deep, husky voice. The air feels charged, and I’m intoxicated by this moment. Come on, Mia . Name. Tell him your name . I’m praying my mouth responds to my brain’s cue, and thankfully it does.

“Mia,” I manage, trying my best to level my tone. His lips curl upward to reveal a boyish smile, warming his face but doing nothing to dampen the intensity of his gaze.

“Watch it there, Brody, precious cargo,” a familiar voice calls out, snapping us out of our trance. I skate backwards two strides, moving out of his reach as my dad pulls up beside me .

Jack’s arms drop to his sides, standing motionless. He’s still watching me carefully, but the lingering intensity of our moment is slipping away. Kids start swerving around us as my dad jokingly calls out, “May need to get you back into skating lessons, eh, Amelia?”

“Uhh, yeah, definitely. Need more time on the ice, I guess…” I’m barely able to articulate the words. “Thanks for catching me,” I offer with a weak smile.

Jack nods firmly, now avoiding my eyes. He sends one final look at my dad before clearing his throat and skating off to rejoin the two others who had continued ahead.

***

Jack

After our win, I hop in the shower, change into a jersey and jeans, and join Penn as we walk out of the locker room. Reid is waiting for us in the corridor, flashing a wide grin.

The moment Penn spots him, his entire face lights up. “I thought you couldn’t come!” he shouts as he pulls him into a hug.

“First game of the season, we had to be here.”

“Pre-season, technically,” Penn corrects.

“Yeah, and good thing. You’re rusty as hell. I’m surprised they’re still letting you wear that jersey right now. Mom could’ve outskated you tonight,” he jokes, shoving him.

“Did you know about this, Brody?” Penn asks, turning to me.

“I may have been tipped off.”

As the three of us jump onto the ice, Reid immediately starts recounting in painstaking detail his new workout regimen. As soon as he gets started on training, he doesn’t stop. He built Penn and me each an individual summer workout plan. It’s a huge help having a personal trainer who knows you to a tee and can push you harder than anyone else. Don’t get me wrong, I love his passion, and he’s incredibly skilled at what he does, but it’s easy to zone him out. As he rambles on about super sets, I catch my mind drifting, slipping back to early mornings at Cordelia’s. I don’t know when she started consuming my thoughts, but I know I’ve never experienced anything like this before. This fascination, this infatuation, this… holy fuck do I sound like a stalker.

I sigh, willing myself to refocus on listening to Reid’s twenty-step HIIT routine. This works for a total of two minutes until, betrayingly, my mind flashes back to the game when our eyes connected, and I feel a jolt of electricity in my stomach. I think about her perfect face, watching me with intrigue… I drag my hand down my face, trying to shake off the thought of her yet again, right as I hear someone call out her name.

Slamming to a stop, my head whips toward the voice of Bev Cameron, and before I can process anything, we collide.

I’m pretty sure I black out from the entire encounter except for one small detail: my mystery girl, my Wyndham beauty, my… Mia is Amelia Cameron. Fuck. If I couldn’t get her before, I sure as hell can’t now. This just got a whole lot more complicated.

It doesn’t take more than a few strides to catch back up with Penn and Reid. The assholes who couldn’t even be bothered to slow their pace as I slammed to a stop three minutes earlier.

Penn bumps my shoulder as I match pace with them, “You good, bro?”

“Yeah,” I lie.

Definitely not good. Recap of events: the girl I’ve been desperate to speak to shows up at my game, giving me the attention I’ve been dying for all summer. Said girl is Coach’s Daughter. I now feel like I’ve been sucker-punched in the balls because unless I have a death wish or a dream of being unemployed and sleeping on Penn’s couch, this little crush of mine is over. My mind spins as I try to make sense of the rollercoaster of emotions that have transpired over the last hour.

“Okay boys, five laps and then let’s hit the road. I’m starving, and this guy’s buying us steaks tonight,” Reid announces, jabbing an elbow into Penn’s ribs.

“Bullshit, you’re like five years older, aren’t you supposed to be the one providing for me?” Penn quips back.

Reid chimes in, “I’m not the one raking in seven hundred thousand a year at twenty-three, Penn.”

“Aw, jealous are we?” he teases as he raises an eyebrow.

“Nah, keep your money, at least it’s my jersey that Mom has hanging above the fireplace,” Reid proudly remarks, a smirk spreading across his face. I chuckle as Penn lunges at Reid, grabbing his shirt with both his hands.

“Alright, alright, we get it. You’re both legends,” I say stepping between them, breaking up their playful brawl. “Besides, Brooks family dinners are always my treat.”

We continue skating for a few more minutes as I try to focus on the conversation. I don’t dare to look up anymore, choosing to fixate instead on the incredibly interesting ice ahead of me. On our final lap, we decide it’s time for our mandatory photo op, standing in front of the red carpet and backdrop covered in the Tundra logo. When I finally allow myself to look up from my laces, I instantly regret my decision, spotting the family posing ahead of us.

Coach Cameron, Beverly Cameron, and squeezed between them, smiling wider than I’ve ever seen, Mia Cameron. I can’t understand how I didn’t make the connection before. Coach always talked about his ‘little Amelia,’ a relative term obviously, since the girl ahead of me has to be in her twenties. She looks just like her mom, vibrant dark blonde hair and bright eyes, though she’s much taller and a hell of a lot curvier. As I take in the view ahead of me, I notice her looking toward us, offering a polite smile as the camera flashes one last time before hurrying off with her family.

The boys and I take a few pictures and make our way off the ice. As we exit, we meet up with the remainder of the Brooks clan, Nancy and Neill. Nancy wraps me in a giant embrace immediately, then plants a warm kiss on my cheek.

I smile, “It’s so good to see you Mrs. Brooks.”

“Oh, will you stop with that? Always so formal.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s so wonderful to see you too, honey, we’ve missed you.” Nancy Brooks has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I’ve ever met, second only to my mom. Probably why they were so close—kindred spirits those two.

The greetings continue with an outstretched hand from Neill, a man of immense stature who has one of the most commanding presences that I’ve ever witnessed. No doubt where Penn and Reid got their builds from. Neill Brooks, however, was never much for athletics, more of an intellectual. I always remember him cooped in his study, staring at stacks of papers and occasionally punching numbers into his calculator. Even as a kid, I admired him. So respectable, a family man, working hard at a desk job and always making time to join family dinners or watch our games.

I learned when I was older that Neill Brooks, number puncher, was the CFO of a development firm. He wasn’t your typical accountant. Their generosity and comfortable life made a lot more sense when I connected those dots. Reid takes after his dad, a presence about him and a quiet air of leadership. He was always stronger and faster than I was, but I never saw him as competition, more of someone to aspire to. Penn is all Nancy, the life of the party and a heart of gold.

“Good to see you, kid,” Neill offers as I take his hand and shake firmly, like he taught me and Reid at fourteen.

I nod, “So happy you were able to make it, Sir. ”

We start to make our way out of the arena as Nancy loops her arm through mine and slows her pace. I hold her hand on my arm and match my steps with hers, a difficult feat considering she’s barely pushing five foot two. With her naturally cheery disposition and round face, she perfectly embodies maternal energy, radiating warmth and suspiciously always smelling like cinnamon buns.

Once we are a few feet behind the three Brooks men, who are passionately debating the best route to take to the restaurant, she leans toward my ear and whispers, “So, when were you going to tell me about the girl?”

Giving me a knowing look, with eyebrows raised, there’s nothing I can do but chuckle. Nothing gets past Nancy Brooks, but I attempt to play it cool, “Which one?”

She laughs as she rolls her eyes comically, sarcasm doesn’t come naturally to her. “The only one you couldn’t keep your eyes off today.”

I do my best to maintain a casual tone and brush it off as nothing more than offering help to someone who was going to fall on the ice. She looks at me unconvincingly and leaves me with a, “Sure, dear,” patting me on the arm as we continue forward to join the others.