2. Cope

2

COPE

I walked away from the woman with what felt like the first genuine smile I’d had in months, those hypnotizing turquoise eyes flashing in my mind. She was fierce, that was for damn sure. Fiery and more than a little determined. I respected the hell out of it. Even if I wished she’d let me help.

I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder for one more look and nearly tripped over my feet. She was leaning into the front seat of her SUV, examining her face in the mirror, but her positioning made the denim of her jeans pull taut across her heart-shaped ass and curvy hips. Hips I’d love to sink my fingers into as I— hell . I was going to hell.

Jerking my gaze away, I forced myself to focus on the facility in front of me. Even from the outside, it looked a hell of a lot nicer than where I’d grown up skating around here. Not as nice as our professional facility in Seattle, but few places were. And the community was lucky that Arnie had decided to build a new spot like this one.

Just as I was about to reach the door, my phone dinged. I adjusted the gear bag on my shoulder and pulled the device from my pocket, seeing my teammate and friend’s name on the screen.

Teddy

Don’t shoot the messenger but someone got ahold of a video of the fight.

I cursed. It wasn’t as creative as Warrior’s biscuit-eating grandma, but it had a hell of a lot more Fs involved.

I switched out of the text thread and went to a hockey blog. The video was the first thing on the home page. I tapped on it. Marcus and I circled each other as a voiceover sounded. “We’re used to seeing brawls on the ice, but not usually between teammates.”

The video showed me ripping off my gloves and decking Marcus. The footage had obviously been taken from security cameras at the rink. It was slightly grainy and had no sound, which meant you couldn’t hear the foul shit coming out of the asshole’s mouth before I decked him.

The voiceover went on to ask what had been wrong with me lately. And wasn’t that the million-dollar question? I’d love to have given them an answer, but I didn’t have one. All I knew was that the tips the press was getting weren’t helping.

Every possible slip-up seemed to be under a microscope. But worse than that was the made-up shit. Everything from me supposedly being rude to a server to accusations of me sleeping with anyone and everyone. And that crap wasn’t me. I wasn’t a saint, but I wasn’t a dog either. And being raised by two incredible women for the majority of my life meant I had a healthy respect for them.

Plus, if my mom or Grandma Lolli ever heard about me mistreating a woman, they would kick my ass.

I wasn’t sure who had it out for me in the media, but they’d combed through my trash, broken into my ex’s private social media accounts to steal photos, and now this.

My phone dinged again as a new text came in.

Linc

Ignore the video, and don’t fuck this up. If all goes right, this will give you a little of the good press you need.

I pulled my ballcap lower on my forehead as if that would shield me from all the attention headed my way. I was lucky as hell the owner of the Seattle Sparks had my back. He was more than a good boss; he was also a friend. Maybe because we read in each other that we’d both been through our share of hardships. Perhaps because we both had a love for the ice and the pure game without the bullshit. Either way, I was grateful to have him at my back.

Me

You got it, boss.

Linc

Fuck off.

My lips twitched but that hint of a grin quickly slid away at the reminder of the video. It was the last thing I needed when I was already on thin ice. I cracked my neck, trying to alleviate some of the pressure that always gathered there after a shoulder injury, and opened the door to the rink.

The moment the air hit me, a million memories came with it: my dad helping me lace up my skates, him and Mom and the rest of the Colson crew in the stands, yelling their heads off at my peewee games. I missed that. Missed what it felt like before I went pro, and all the bullshit entered the picture.

I moved through the facility, admiring what Arnie had created. There were two rinks, a restaurant and snack stand, multiple locker rooms, and even a gym. I wandered deeper into the space until I reached the skate rentals. A young girl who looked to be around fifteen stood behind the counter.

“Can you point me toward Arnie’s office?” I asked.

“Sure—” Her words cut off as her gaze locked with mine. Her eyes widened. “Copeland Colson?” she squeaked.

I winced. “Call me Cope, and let’s just keep my presence here between you and me.”

I knew it was a fleeting wish. Before long, word would get around that I was back. That I was volunteering with the kids’ camp here. But Arnie had promised he’d kick the lookie-loos to the curb. I just wanted to hold on to my anonymity a little longer.

The girl’s eyes only widened further. “O-of course. I won’t put you on blast. I just—I—” She closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to center herself. “I play center like you. I’ve watched your footwork about a million times, trying to learn it. And your wrist shot? It’s killer.”

My brows lifted in surprise. By the look of her, I would’ve thought she was a figure skater. Possibly working the counter to pay for ice time. “Hockey player?”

She nodded. “Arnie’s trying to pull together a girls’ team for next year.”

“That’s sick. I’m coaching the kids this summer, so if you hang around after camp one day, I can give you thirty minutes of my time.”

The girl’s eyes lit up like I’d just promised her a pony. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “It’s no big thing. All I ask for in return is you telling me where Arnie’s office is.”

She blushed. “Sorry. Staircase is down that hall.” She pointed. “Head up, and he’s the first door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

The girl nodded, resembling one of those bobblehead dolls, and I couldn’t help but chuckle as I walked away.

I made the trek to Arnie’s office in under two minutes. The plaque on the door read Owner & Head Asshole . It fit the cantankerous man.

I rapped three times on the door, and he bellowed from within. “Come in and stop trying to knock my damn door down.”

I grinned as I stepped inside. “Hasn’t anyone taught you to watch your mouth yet? There are children around.”

Arnie scowled at me. “Hasn’t anyone taught you to respect your elders? Being a hotshot doesn’t give you the right to be a dick.”

My grin only widened as I crossed to one of the chairs opposite his desk and lowered myself into it, dropping my bag onto the floor. “How the hell are you?”

“Better than you by the looks of things.” He arched a brow as if challenging me to argue.

“The press are assholes,” I muttered.

Arnie leaned back in his chair. I was pretty sure it was the same one he’d had when I was six and started at his first rink. “They can only do so much if you don’t give them the raw material. ”

A muscle in my jaw began to flutter. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Arnie scoffed. “Don’t wanna hear a laundry list of excuses, boy. Just do your job and do it well.”

“Not sure it qualifies as a job if I’m doing it for free.”

The man sitting opposite me scowled, the grooves in his face deepening. “Don’t give me a buncha lip. I might be old, but I can still kick your ass.”

One corner of my mouth kicked up. “I have no doubt. Now, wanna fill me in on this camp?”

Arnie jerked his head in a nod. “We got kids ten and under for this group. You’ll have to split ‘em up when you start scrimmaging, but I got our usual coach to help you out. Figure you two can tag team.”

“Sounds pretty straightforward.”

“Even you should be able to pull it off.”

I chuckled. “Aw, Arnie. I missed you, too.”

“Piss off,” he muttered.

“Hey. The girl working the skate counter. What’s her story? Said she’s a hockey player.”

A shadow passed over Arnie’s face. “Hayden. Good kid. Mom’s a piece of work. Hayden works here summers and after school. Brings her two younger sisters a lot. Get the sense she’s more mom than older sister to them.”

Shit.

“You know you can always call Fallon if you need help in that arena.” My younger sister was a social worker, and her bleeding heart meant that she would fight to the death for any kid who came across her desk.

“Sometimes, the system does more harm than good. Not everyone gets lucky enough to land with the Colsons.”

My parents had been involved with the foster system for as long as I could remember. I had one adoptive brother, Shep, and four foster siblings, Trace, Kyler, Rhodes, and Arden. Fallon was my only blood sibling. Other than the brother we’d lost. I shoved thoughts of Jacob down. I couldn’t deal with that today .

“I get it,” I told Arnie. “But if you sense it’s bad, call her.” Or I would.

Arnie waved me off. “You know I will. Now, get your ass on the ice.”

I grinned as I pushed to my feet and grabbed my bag. It was good to be back. Arnie’s familiar, thorny care was a hell of a lot better than the politics I dealt with on the Sparks. At least with him, I knew he gave a damn. In Seattle, everyone was just watching their own backs.

Heading down the stairs, I heard the din of excited voices. The camp was set to have twenty-four kids. Not a ton, but more than enough. And wrangling them for almost a full day would be a lot.

As I moved in the direction of the chaotic noise, I stopped in my tracks. There was the woman from the parking lot. She was crouched in front of a little boy who had the same turquoise eyes. Her head was bent toward him as she seemed to gently encourage, a faint smear of grease still on her cheek.

The boy beamed up at her like she hung the moon, and I didn’t blame him. But then I put the pieces together. She had a kid in my camp. Which meant she was likely married or had a partner.

A flare of disappointment speared me. It shocked the shit out of me because my last attempt at a relationship had ended in disaster. It wasn’t my thing. People getting too close, wanting to know the secrets I did everything I could to keep buried. It was better this way—Warrior being taken.

Because there was one truth I couldn’t deny: I’d always be better off alone.