The Coach Next Door

  A.J. Wynter

  Contents

  Also by A.J. Wynter

  1. Amber

  2. Dean

  3. Amber

  4. Dean

  5. Amber

  6. Amber

  7. Dean

  8. Amber

  9. Dean

  10. Amber

  11. Dean

  12. Amber

  13. Dean

  14. Amber

  15. Amber

  16. Dean

  17. Amber

  18. Dean

  19. Amber

  20. Dean

  21. Amber

  22. Amber

  23. Dean

  24. Amber

  25. Amber

  Epilogue - Faith

  Second Chances - Chance Rapids, Book 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Connect with A.J

  Copyright 2021 by AJ Wynter - All rights reserved.

  Editor: Theresa Banschbach www.icanedit4u.com

  Cover Design: Najla Qamber Designs

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third party websites or their content.

  All sexual acts within the book are consensual and the characters are 18+.

  Join AJ’s Reader’s Club

  Created with Vellum

  Also by A.J. Wynter

  Laketown Hockey Series

  Not a Player

  Hating the Rookie

  The Coach Next Door

  Chance Rapids Series

  Second Chances

  One More Chance

  Accidental Chances

  A Secret Chance

  Reckless Chances

  Titan Billionaire Brothers

  For Richer, For Poorer, Book 1

  For Richer, For Poorer, Book 2

  Her First Time Series

  The Biker’s Virgin

  The Mountain Man’s Virgin

  The Rancher’s Virgin

  About The Coach Next Door

  My ex cheated on me with one of my players.

  Does it get any worse than that?

  We tried to patch things up, for our daughter.

  Scratch that...

  I tried to patch things up.

  She found another defenseman.

  I never thought being a single dad would be so hard.

  After the past couple of years, being alone was supposed to be easy. And it was, until she bought the house next door.

  Falling in love again would be an epic mistake.

  A bigger mistake?

  Falling in love with my hot new neighbor...

  The Coach Next Door can be read as a standalone, or as book 3 in the Laketown Hockey Series.

  One

  Amber

  The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach grew a little stronger, but I tried to put it out of my mind. I had been woken by another two a.m. phone call to my fiancé’s phone in the past week. All night long I had tossed and turned, sleep eluding me until just before dawn. As the early morning, Florida light filtered through the sheer curtains of our bedroom, the air conditioner whirred on and I knew that it was going to be a scorcher of a day. A chill ran down my spine as I looked at Chad, snoring beside me.

  Reaching across his body to check the call history on his phone would have been easy, but I shook my head. “Stop it.” I clenched my hands into fists to stop myself from grabbing the damn phone. I slipped out from between the covers and stepped into the ensuite’s shower, hoping the water would wash my unsettled thoughts down the drain.

  The bathroom fan clicked on, I always forget to flick the switch, and through the white plastic curtain, I could see the outline of Chad stretching his arms over his head followed by the sound of him peeing. This is what it was all about, right? Being engaged meant comfort, it meant snoring, and morning breath, and peeing with the door open.

  “Good morning.” I pulled the curtain aside.

  “Morning,” he grumbled and flushed the toilet.

  A year ago, he would have hopped in the shower with me. When he didn’t pull the curtain back and step in, when he didn’t slip his hands over my hips or murmur into my ear while the water pelted on our heads, I tried to tell myself that it didn’t mean anything. The man had to brush his teeth and get dressed, not have shower sex on a workday. That’s comfort. I rinsed the shampoo from my hair, all while keeping my ears peeled for the metallic sound of the shower curtain rings sliding, but the only sound I heard was the click of the door as he left.

  Chad was sitting at the small kitchen table, hunched over a bowl of his bran cereal, crunching loudly as he scrolled through his phone.

  “Anything interesting going on in the world today?” I poured a cup of coffee and took a seat across from him.

  “The usual crap.” He shrugged and continued scrolling, the light from the screen casting a pallid blue glow on his face.

  The coffee was strong and I felt my body respond to the first sip. “I have a consultation today at the golf course, that clubhouse I was telling you about.”

  This caught his attention and he looked up from his phone. “The Twenty-Two Palms?”

  I nodded. “I’m going out on a limb with this one. They told me that they want to stand out.”

  “Is this the art deco idea?” Chad leaned back in the rattan chair and crossed his arms across his t-shirt.

  The Twenty-Two Palms was an exclusive golf course that had slowly been slipping into obscurity. The owners had hired me to update the clubhouse to try to attract new high-quality members. High-quality was their word, but I could read between the lines – rich people.

  There were times when I wondered if Chad actually listened to me when I told him about my design jobs, so I was pleasantly surprised when he remembered the details of the Palms project. “That’s the one. I’ve put together a mood board that’s Great Gatsby meets the Twenty-First Century.”

  “Do you think that’s what they’re really after? I mean, that’s a little ostentatious.” His eyes were back on the screen.

  “Ostentatious is what they’re going for – even if they didn’t use that exact word.” I took another sip of my coffee. My concept drawings were gorgeous, I knew it without a doubt, well, until I heard the doubt in Chad’s voice. As a new designer, I had to prove myself. That meant setting myself apart from the thousands of other interior designers in Florida by toeing the line. Nudging the bar just enough to get noticed – but for the right reasons. “Can I show you?”

  “Tonight, Amber.” Chad’s chair scraped on the tile as he stood. “I’ve got to get in the shower.”

  Chad rinsed his dish in the sink and brushed behind me as he left the kitchen. My eyes were drawn to his phone like a magnet, Chad had left it face down on the table. I blinked hard and looked away, focusing on transferring my mug of coffee to an insulated travel mug.

  I let my eyes rest one last time on the phone and then shook my head. “Stop being crazy,” I whispered.

  I grabbed my leather portfolio and computer bag and took a deep breath before stepping out into the oppressive mugginess of Florida in May. My heels clicked on the pavement of our apartment complex and I fished around in my purse for my keys. When I reached the blue sedan, I peered into my handbag and groaned. No keys. I glanced at my watch, breaking into a sweat before one of the most important meetings of my life was not going to be good, but being late would be worse. I swore under my breath as I hustled back to the townhome.

  If my keys weren’t in my purse, they were usually in a pink pottery bowl on the stand beside the front door. My heart sank when I saw that it was empty. I kicked off my high heels and scanned the kitchen, there was nothing on the counter or the kitchen table. “Shit,” I muttered and ran up the carpeted stairs. “Chad?” I shouted.

  When he didn’t respond, I realized that the shower was running and he probably couldn’t hear me. “Chad?” I opened the door and stuck my head in the bathroom. “Have you seen my…”

  Chad wasn’t in the shower, he was in his boxers, sitting on the edge of the tub while the water ran steamy beside him, talking on his phone. His eyes were wide as he looked at me.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed.

  He narrowed his lips and pointed to the phone. He held up his index finger and then motioned for me to leave the bathroom. Chad was an insurance investigator and often listened in on phone conversations. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t legal, but Chad assured me it was part of his job.

  I closed the bathroom door quietly but paused with my hand on the knob. Hating myself a little bit, I leaned my ear against the hollow door and strained to hear anything above the sound of the water. It was mostly muffled, but I was able to make out his final words. “I’ll call you later.”

  The doorknob
turned in my hand and I jumped. I scurried into the bedroom, breathing hard as Chad stepped into the hallway. Yanking the duvet off the bed, I made a show of pulling the sheets back in my search for the keys.

  “I thought you left,” he said.

  “I can’t find the keys.” I lifted a pillow.

  “Shit. I think they might be in the pocket of my pants.” He pointed to the jeans that were draped over the chair in the corner of the bedroom.

  To save money for our wedding, Chad and I had been sharing a car. I had sold my vintage Volkswagen Cabriolet, and he had been using cars from his work fleet when he wasn’t working from home. I hated selling that car, but we both had to sacrifice something to save for our wedding.

  I rushed to the chair and squeezed the pants, my heart soaring when I felt their bulk in the front pocket. “Got ‘em.” I held them up triumphantly.

  As I rushed past Chad, he grabbed my wrist. “Amber.”

  I knitted my brow at him, but didn’t say anything.

  “Knock ‘em dead today.” He kissed my cheek and released my wrist. “Your designs are beautiful.”

  With that touch, the lingering doubts that had clung to my psyche like cobwebs blew away. “Thanks.” I smiled and glanced at my watch. “But it doesn’t matter how good my designs are if I’m late for the meeting.” I reached up and slid my hand behind Chad’s neck, rising on my tip-toes to kiss him.

  “Get going,” he smiled and patted me on the ass of my cream-colored sheath dress.

  I was halfway down the stairs when he yelled. “What time are you going to be home?”

  There wasn’t any time to process just how odd the question was. He never asked me when I was going to be home. I went to work, the gym, and then was home between six and seven, every night.

  “The usual,” I shouted.

  Only I was wrong. Nothing about that day was usual. Nothing at all. The day I decided to leave Chad, and Florida ended in a cliché of blood, sweat, and tears. And a mistress.

  Two

  Dean

  Forgive and forget. Fuck. That’s what I’m supposed to do. And I’ve been trying. But as I scanned the necklaces in the brightly lit jewelry counter, forgiving felt wrong. She cheated on me.

  “How about this one Dad?” Chloe asked. My daughter pointed to a teardrop-shaped diamond. “It’s pretty.”

  The tear shape seemed the most appropriate of all the cuts that glinted up at me. “It is pretty, sweetheart.” I rested my hand on the head of my daughter. The glue. Chloe was the only thing holding us together. She had no idea that her mom had betrayed me with one of my players. But it’s a small, hockey-obsessed town, she was going to find out the nasty truth one day.

  “What anniversary are you celebrating?” The old, balding jeweler, a man named Franco asked as he opened the case and pulled out the necklace. He draped the chain across his palm and presented the stone to me and Chloe.

  “This will be our eighth anniversary.” I leaned forward pretending to inspect the diamond. “That’s good.” I smiled.

  Franco smiled and gently placed the necklace in the black velour box. “You have good taste, my dear.” He nodded at Chloe.

  “She’s going to love it, Dad.” Chloe walked to the back of the store, at almost eight years old, she was the perfect height to peruse the gems at eye level. “Oh, this one is beautiful.” She gasped and pressed her finger to the glass. Franco paused and raised his eyebrows. I shook my head. “Your mom doesn’t like peridot.”

  “That’s the birthstone for August,” Franco said.

  “August. That’s mine, Dad,” Chloe grinned.

  “Noted, kiddo. But your birthday isn’t for three months.” She smiled and shrugged then joined me at the cash register.

  Franco handed the bag to Chloe. “You look like you will take good care of this special present.”

  “I will.” Chloe held the shiny bag with both hands and bumped the automatic door opener with her butt. “Unlock the car, Dad,” she shouted as she skipped to the Jeep.

  “Coach?”

  Franco interrupted me as I was about to follow my daughter out of the store. “Should I put the peridot away for you?”

  I nodded. “I’ll come in tomorrow and pay for it.”

  “That’s not necessary. I know where to find you,” he grinned.

  “Thanks, Franco.” The trusting jeweler was a reminder of why I lived in a small town. I tipped my Laketown Otter’s hat at Franco and jogged to catch up with Chloe.

  The Jeep roared to life and I steered it out of the parking lot. “Thanks for your help picking out the necklace.” A dinging noise caught my attention and I glanced into the back seat to see my seven-year-old daughter scrolling through a phone.

  “Where did you get that?” I tried to keep my voice calm.

  “Mom gave it to me.” Chloe propped one foot on the back of the passenger seat and didn’t pull her eyes away from the screen. I wanted to rip the damn thing out of her little hands, but instead, I took a deep breath. “Oh, really? When?”

  “She said it was an early birthday present, so she can talk to me anytime she wants.” Chloe put her other foot on the back of the seat.

  I veered the car into an empty parking space on the side of the main street and stomped on the brakes extra hard to get Chloe’s attention.

  “What?” she said as she rolled her eyes at me.

  Where had my sweet little girl gone? I saw a mini teenager forming before my eyes and it scared the hell out of me.

  “First of all, take your dirty Crocs off the back of the seat.”

  “They’re clean.” Her gaze was back in the glow of her phone.

  “It’s dangerous,” I said slowly. “If we get in an accident, your knees will knock out all of those teeth. And the tooth fairy doesn’t come for adult teeth.”

  Chloe slid her feet back down to the floor. “The tooth fairy isn’t real, Dad.”

  I didn’t want to get into this conversation, as far I knew, Chloe still believed in Santa, and I wasn’t going to be the one to kill the man in the red suit. “Give me your phone.”

  She clutched the black device to her chest with both hands. “No.”

  I sighed. “Your mom didn’t talk to me about giving you a phone.”

  Still clutching her phone, Chloe turned to me, her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s got parental locks, Dad. It’s for safety. Like tonight, if I need to call you from Olive’s house, I can.” Her voice shook.

  I pursed my lips and tried to control the impulse I had to pry the damn thing from her pink nail polished fingers. Throwing Kira under the bus was not going to solve anything, but how dare she? We had implicitly discussed a no smartphone rule.

  “It’s got parental controls?” I pointed to the phone.

  “Yes.” She eased up her death grip.

  With the Jeep back onto the road, my heart thudded heavily in my chest. “We are going to have to set some ground rules.” Like your mother will never do anything like this ever again I thought to myself. “You’re going to leave your phone with Olive’s mom tonight, okay?”

  “Why? Come on, Dad.”

  “You can have it back tomorrow when I pick you up.”

  Olive and her mom, Cynthia met us in the driveway as we pulled in. Chloe hopped out of the car and grabbed her pink backpack. “Bye, Dad,” she shouted and the two girls ran into the house like someone fired a starter’s pistol and they were in the one hundred-yard dash.

  “Hey, Coach.” Cynthia approached the car.