2. Rachel

CHAPTER 2

RACHEL

“ J ett! C’mon, buddy—we’re late!” I take my son’s small hand and practically drag him into the ice rink, wondering for the hundredth time why I let him and my stupid ex talk me into this. A five-year-old playing ice hockey is low-key ridiculous—the kid’s still learning how to skate. Not to mention the sport’s dangerous and expensive. I barely have enough money to pay the rent and now I’m charging skates, pads, and a team jersey to my Visa and praying I win the lottery so I can cover the extra cost.

But when Jett begged me, I couldn’t say no. I’m certain his father put him up to it, but still. I feel guilty that Jett’s become a pawn in our divorce, despite my best efforts. Charles doesn’t want to parent so much as control—me, the finances, our son. It’s always been about control with him, and I’ve had it.

Unfortunately, Jett’s stuck in the middle and there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it. The court’s spoken and fifty-fifty split custody was the best I could do.

So here we are.

“Mommy, there’s Luke!” Jett points at the ice and waves to his buddy. Luke’s already suited up next to his dad, Jackson. Jackson and I grew up together, before he went on to play professional hockey. He retired a few years ago and moved back home to Starlight Bay. Now that he’s a dad, he’s putting his skills to work as the youth hockey coach. At least I won’t have to worry about the quality of instruction.

“Hey, buddy!” Jackson reaches down and ruffles Jett’s chestnut brown hair. “Glad you could make it. You have all your gear?”

“Yes, sir.” Jett holds up the duffel, the bag almost larger than he is.

“Great. Let’s move over to the bench and I’ll show you how to suit up.” Jackson turns to me, giving me a quick hug. “Hey, Rachel. Good to see you.”

“You too, Jackson. Need any help?” I size up the number of kids, wondering how on earth he’s going to be able to coach this many tiny humans.

“Nah. I’ve got it from here. Besides, we found another coach to help out last minute, once we saw how big the roster was going to be. Oh, here he comes now.”

I glance up, locking eyes with a very large, very hot, very surly guy striding toward us. With a backward baseball cap, tattoos peeking out of his long-sleeved shirt, and dark brows pinched in a deep scowl, he’s giving major bad boy vibes.

He’s not my type at all.

But suddenly, the chilly arena feels a touch warmer.

“Kovac, glad you could make it!” Jackson smacks the man on the back before giving him a friendly bro hug. “Kovac, this is Rachel, one of my oldest friends. Well, not old—” Jackson chuckles. “But we go way back.”

Kovac juts his chin in my direction. “Hey.”

That’s it. One word, hey. The guy’s a real charmer. I have no idea how this Neanderthal is going to work with children. But it’s not my rodeo, so I wave and slink off to the bleachers before I clap back with something snarky.

Jackson and Kovac talk for a minute while Kovac laces up his skates, then Jackson blows a whistle. All the kids glide over and huddle together, listening to instructions. Another whistle and Kovac takes half the crew to the right and Jackson corrals the other half to the left.

Much to my dismay, Jett’s in Kovac’s group. Super. The only positive about this whole hockey thing was Jett working with Jackson. A great athlete and a quality father figure, unlike my asshole ex. But now he’s stuck out on the ice with Frosty the Abominable Snowman.

I’m too far away to hear what Kovac’s saying to the kids, but he doesn’t seem any friendlier with them. Two of the kids chat and giggle and Kovac slams his stick against the ice, getting their attention. The offenders jump back, but stop talking. After another minute or so, they form a circle and start running drills. Passing the puck back and forth, with Kovac skating around and giving them pointers.

Jett’s doing better than I thought he would, stopping the puck every time, then firing it off to the next kid. My proud mama heart swells as I watch him out on the ice, his face serious. Maybe this will actually be good for him, help build his confidence. Since the divorce, he’s been quieter than normal.

The drill ends and the coaches bring the groups together again, lining them up by height. They pair kids of similar sizes together and have them skate full-speed across the ice. Kovac takes times and Jackson records the stats on his clipboard.

“Hey, Rachel!” A bright voice startles me and I snap my head up.

“Oh, hey, Harper.” Jackson’s wife settles down on the bench next to me. “Luke’s doing great out there.”

Harper beams, pride lighting up her face. “He gets it all from Jackson, I swear. I’ve never played hockey in my life.”

“Me neither. I only signed Jett up so he could hang with Luke and Jackson. I’m kind of bummed he was paired up with the new guy. What do you know about him?”

Harper squints out at the ice, biting at her bottom lip. “Kovac? He’s a client of Jackson’s agent.” She lowers her voice, leaning in close so only I can hear. “He’s in the league, but needs a little image rehab. If you know what I mean.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about, but nod anyway. I’m not one to gossip, having been the subject of more than my fair share of rumor mills.

“Jackson said he could help him out, as a favor to his agent. He seems nice enough. Probably needs to decompress, escape the pressure for a bit.”

“Hmm. It’s mid-season. Shouldn’t he be playing?”

Harper shrugs. “I think he’s suspended. Jackson didn’t say much, but I know he has a reputation for being aggressive on the ice.”

Wonderful. Just what I need my kid exposed to.

“He is pretty hot, though. All those muscles, that dark hair. He’s been in magazines and stuff. So if his hockey career crashes and burns, he could always model.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” I lie, keeping my tone flat.

I mean, obviously I noticed, judging by the flutters in my belly every time he skates by. The man is freaking gorgeous, even with the piss-poor attitude. Honestly, the angry scowl may be part of the appeal. And those eyes, ice blue with flecks of navy. A jaw that could cut glass.

But zero part of me is interested in the grumpy hockey god. I have a kid to raise, an ex to hold at bay, and I’m teetering on the brink of needing a second job to make ends meet. The absolute last thing I need is to get involved in any way with the bad boy of hockey.

Gazing out at the ice, I catch Kovac watching me. Licking my lips, my heart pounds hard. He holds my gaze for a solid five seconds and everything around me goes silent, save for the rush of blood roaring in my ears.

Nope.

Not getting involved with that one.

He’s got ‘big mistake’ written all over him.

A gorgeous, muscular mistake with the exact right amount of stubble and smolder.

But still a mistake.