Scoring One Night (Blue Ridge Mountain Hockey #4)

Aspen

"Ugh, I feel like crap." My voice was hoarse as I rolled over in bed.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the bedroom. Normally, that would make me smile, but I felt an intense hatred for the sun right now.

I groaned as the light intensified my pounding headache. Why did my head feel like an ice skate had been sharpened on it?

Oh, right, all the drinking.

"Ugh," I muttered, clumsily reaching for the glass of water on my nightstand. I gulped down the cool liquid, helping me feel only about one percent better.

As I lay there, trying to shake off the effects of the hangover, memories of a dream flooded my mind. The images were so vivid—a woman with long black hair and chemistry between us that practically sizzled in the air. This dream was different; it felt like she was real, right there with me. But as I glanced around at my empty room, I knew it was just a figment of my imagination.

"Damn," I whispered, rubbing my temples to try to alleviate the ache. "Why can't dreams come true?"

I couldn't help but let out a small chuckle despite the pain. It wasn't like me to get so caught up in a dream, especially since getting women wasn’t a problem for me. In fact, it was too much of a problem. Most of the things I did ended up being a problem.

It was time for me to grow up. Maybe that's why I dreamt of that gorgeous woman. If I had to be strait-laced, then my mind would entertain me instead of my body.

I frowned. I was going to miss being carefree and having fun. But being wild never got anyone a gold medal or trophy. It wasn't like I needed any distractions—not when I had an important game ahead of me and the eyes of the judges from the International Games on me.

"Focus, ," I told myself, forcing my thoughts back to hockey.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stood, knees and ankles cracking with each step. My joints showed the signs of wear and tear from years of pushing my body to the limit on the ice.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the lingering images of the mysterious woman with long black hair. I didn't have time for dreams, only the reality of the ice rink and the pressure to prove myself as a responsible adult and exceptional player.

"Time to start adulting," I muttered, squaring my shoulders and heading for the bathroom. It was time to clean up from last night before working hard at practice today.

"Alright, . Time to leave that dream behind and focus on what matters," I said to myself, gripping the edge of the sink as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My gray eyes were bloodshot from last night's escapades, but I wouldn't let that stop me.

I hadn't become a pro-athlete by calling in sick every time I was hungover.

But that didn’t mean I wouldn't love to crawl back into bed.

"Man, I shouldn't have gone out drinking with the guys." I sighed, running a hand through my dark hair. "But at least I didn't do anything too stupid." Despite the headache, I managed a small grin, grateful that my wild days were officially behind me.

"This is the first day of being a top athlete, . Just like what Dad wanted." I pointed at myself in the mirror.

I narrowed my eyes and gave myself a good stare down. Then I slapped myself. "I mean it. This is for real. Make Dad proud. Own it!"

Yes, I felt a little ridiculous giving myself a pep talk in my own bathroom, but it needed to be done.

I squared my shoulders and smiled. "Look at this body, strong and young. You, , have the ability to outshine everyone on that ice. Don't let your immaturity get in your way. And definitely don't ever let your dick get in the way of what Dad wanted for you."

I pounded the marble counter with my fist and instantly regretted it. My arm jerked back, and I shook out my hand. "Damn, that hurt."

Taking a deep breath, I pointed at myself in the mirror. "Now you know, don't ever punch marble. You haven't even left the house, and you're already learning how to adult properly."

That might have been a thing that most people had figured out by now, but I never punched a counter before.

Which was strange, because I punched a lot of things before. Some of the more memorable things I punched were the air—of course—a car tire, a microwave, a butterfly, three cheese lasagna... at least twice, velvet curtains, and soap bubbles overflowing from a washing machine.

But never a counter or marble.

I glanced at the clock over the door and felt a surge of panic in my chest as I was suddenly aware of the time. "Damn it, I'm going to be late for practice!" I cursed under my breath.

In a flurry of motion, I turned on the shower, quickly shedding my clothes and stepping into the warm spray. The water cascaded over me, washing away the remnants of sleep and last night's regrets. As I lathered up with soap, I couldn't help but replay snippets of the vivid dream in my mind, wondering who that woman could be.

"Come on, . Don't let some stupid dream distract you," I scolded myself, rinsing and shutting the water off with a decisive twist. I grabbed a towel, drying off hastily as I tried to push the mysterious woman from my thoughts.

I stepped outside, the cool, late spring morning air nipping at my skin as I hurried toward the ice rink. The anticipation of the upcoming game and the presence of the judges from the International Games weighed heavily on my mind. Each step was a reminder of the regret gnawing at me for going out drinking last night—it wasn't the responsible choice I should have made.

"Get it together, ," I muttered to myself, trying to shake off the negativity. "You'll make up for it today."

I reached the entrance of the rink, and I took a deep breath before pushing the door open. The familiar sounds of skates scraping against the ice and sticks clashing filled my ears, bringing a small smile to my face as I stepped inside.

This was what I have wanted all my life. Hockey. Quickly gliding on the ice was like flying. Every winter, my friends and I would go to a tiny lake—which was more like a pond—that froze over near the top of Maskell Mountain. We'd spend the day skating and pretending we were big time hockey players. It was the best.

Now, I get to do that as my job. I couldn't ask for a better life, yet I kept screwing it up by taking things too far.

Like drinking too much last night.

"Hey, Rivera! You're late!" Jackson shouted with a laugh, skating past me.

"Thanks, I hadn't noticed," I shot back sarcastically, grinning because, in the past, Jackson was almost as bad as me.

As I headed toward the locker room, my eyes caught a glimpse of a woman with long black hair. She seemed just like the woman from my dream last night. Intrigued, I followed her, my steps quickening as I tried to catch up.

"Hey!" I called out, hoping to get her attention. But she rounded a corner, and when I turned after her, she had disappeared. Bewildered, I stood in the empty hallway, wondering if I had imagined her.

With a sigh, I resumed my trek to the locker room, my mind lingering on that woman.

"Get it together, ," I muttered to myself, trying to focus on the upcoming practice and game.

"Hey, !" I heard someone call out, but my mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of the woman and the judges.

As I rounded a corner, lost in thought, I slammed into someone with a jolt that sent us both stumbling back. "Oof! I'm so sorry!" I blurted out, instinctively reaching out to steady the person I'd collided with.

"My notes," the woman said, her piercing gray eyes flashing with disappointment. She brushed herself off, her cheeks flushed from the impact as she stared at the papers that had fallen on the floor.

"Sorry, uh, Melanie, right?" I asked because I knew her. She was Daisy's friend.

I wondered what she was doing at the rink, but it probably had to do with Cillian, who Daisy was dating.

"Yes, Melanie," she said, her tone dripping with disapproval. "Don't tell me you already forgot my name, ."