The sound of snowblowers was like a grand symphony through the neighborhood. As I made my way home, I tried to figure out how to diplomatically drag my daughter out of the house. I didn’t see Amber right away. She was confidently clearing the snow from her driveway with her snowblower. “Hi,” I waved. She pulled her ear muffs from her head and shut off the engine. The snowbank between our houses was almost up to my shoulders and growing. I could just see her eyes and pink hat over the top of its peak. “That’s not what I meant by ear protection.” I pointed to the fuzzy pink muffs.

  “They work,” she smiled. The woman was adorable. And sexy as hell.

  “Is the new player starting today?”

  We had briefly talked about Gunnar and I was surprised that she remembered. “He is. I’ve got a small roadblock though.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “What’s going on?”

  I sighed. “It’s a snow day for the school and Chloe is refusing to come to work with me.”

  “Do you blame her?” Amber smiled.

  She was right, I wouldn’t want to spend all day in my office, and there’s no way that Chloe would either.

  “What about her friends?”

  “They’re stuck in their driveway. And I just checked with Mrs. Hunter and she’s not there.”

  “She’s gone to a quilting convention.”

  I didn’t have time to ask how Amber knew where Mrs. Hunter had gone. “I’ll figure it out. I’d love to stay and chat, Amber, but I’ve got to sort this out.” I turned and rushed to the door.

  “Dean,” Amber shouted and waved me back to her.

  “Melissa closed the office today. She said she doesn’t want us driving in the storm. I’m working from home today. If you want, I can watch Chloe.”

  I didn’t have time to think of all the reasons it was a bad idea. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Of course. I’ll get my work done and she can do school work, or read, or something.”

  I could’ve leaped over the snowbank and kissed her. “Thank you, Amber. And I hate to rush you, but I’ve got to go in like five minutes.”

  “No problem, boss.” She gave me a salute with her snowy mitten. “But don’t you have to check with Chloe first?”

  “She’s going to have to live with it. There are no other options.”

  The fluorescent lights buzzed above the silent ice surface. The rubber flooring shone, still wet from a fresh wash. I spotted Andy at the end of the hall with the mop and gave him a wave. I hadn’t sat down for one minute when Pacey stuck his head in the door. “Is he here yet?”

  “Who?” I rolled my eyes. It was like Wayne Gretzky himself was joining the Otters. The word had spread through the Laketown rumor mill and tickets for tomorrow night’s game sold out in record time.

  “Lockwood.” Pacey obviously didn’t get my sarcasm.

  “I don’t know,” I snapped. “Why don’t you check the dressing room?”

  Pacey blinked hard and stepped back from the opening in the door. “Okay, I will.”

  “Shit,” I muttered. “Pacey,” I shouted.

  He reappeared. “Yes, Coach?”

  “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just…”

  Pacey pursed his lips and nodded. “A lot is riding on this kid. I got it.”

  “Thanks, Pacey. Can you do the pre-practice meeting?”

  Pacey nodded. “Of course, Coach.” He shut the door as he left. I looked down and realized that my hands were shaking. A lot did ride on this kid. A good coach would be able to turn the energy of acquiring a star player into something beautiful. It was time to be that coach again. I owed it to the players, and I owed it to myself. Kira had done enough damage. It was time to put all of that negativity behind me and get back to who I really was. And that was a top-notch hockey coach.

  I laced up my skates, grabbed my clipboard, and headed to the ice. The players were gliding past the bench, chit-chatting between each other like they were at a Tupperware party. Lockwood was the exception. He was already hustling and I could see the laser focus in his eyes when he crossed the blue line and skated toward me.

  Pacey, can you turn on the game sound system?” I asked.

  My assistant raised his eyebrows at me and then nodded. “Sure, Coach. I’m on it.” Before he walked away he leaned in and whispered, “Lockwood showed up with a dozen sticks.”

  “Really? That’s a cocky move.”

  Pacey nodded his head in agreement. The players all had different equipment allowances, and it was something that we never discussed with the players, and as far as I knew, it was an unwritten rule between the players, not to discuss their allowance. Showing up with twelve sticks basically announced from the rafters that Lockwood had a giant stick allowance, double any of the other players. Cocky. Yes. But I admired his moxie. I was good at reading the players and their energy and Lockwood had National League written all over him. He didn’t give a shit what any of these Northern League guys thought of him. He knew that he wouldn’t be here long.

  He was perfect. Exactly what the team needed.

  As Pacey skated away, I blew my whistle and waved for the players to approach the bench. Lockwood hung back. I smoothed a hundred-dollar bill on the boards. The first player to do one hundred laps get the hundy.

  “Coach?” Mike Ryan raised his glove. “Like all at the same—”

  I blew the whistle before he could finish his question. “Starting now. Go!” I shouted. They all looked at each other like they were confused, but Lockwood didn’t. He took off like there was a naked supermodel at the end of the ice.

  Pacey glided to a stop next to me. “What’s with the race?”

  I kept my eyes on the pack of skaters, “We need to shake things up around here. Try something new. We got too complacent and the guys have lost their drive.” The more I spoke, the more I realized that I had just been talking about myself. The players were a reflection of their leadership, they hadn’t lost their drive. I had. And like Lockwood was to the team, Amber was the new and exciting component in my life. Being with her, I felt like an entirely different person. Not a different person. I felt like the man I was destined to be.

  Pacey leaned on the boards. “It’s getting a bit rough out there.”

  Leo, Mike, and Gunnar were at the head of the pack. The Lion was our fastest player, the fastest we’d had since Dylan Moss. Mike wasn’t as fast, but he was pushy, and the elbows on the leaders were high and flying. Lockwood and Ryan battled it out while Leo kept up a stride behind. The rest of the guys were two strides behind, a cloud of condensation hung above the pack as the cardio started to kick in.

  “You counting laps?” Pacey asked as a few of the players started to lag behind. It wouldn’t be long before they get lapped.

  “Nah,” I shrugged. “Those three will know exactly what lap they’re on.”

  Pacey chuckled. “They damn sure will know.”

  “Hey, Coach.” Andy stepped into the box. “My money’s on the Lion.” He joined me on the bench and put his work boot up on the boards in front of us.

  “Mine too,” I said. “Ryan and Lockwood are going to tire each other out with all of that jostling.”

  Andy leaned back, reclining against the plexiglass behind us. The man always looked so relaxed, as if he belonged on a beach in a lounge chair, not hunched over the top of that Zamboni every day. “What’s the point of this?” he asked.

  “Other than getting them moving together?” I laughed. “They’re up against the top team next game. I want them to be exhausted when they practice their drills. They can execute them with their eyes closed in practice. They’ll need to learn to do it when they don’t have any energy left in the tank.”

  Both Andy and Pacey nodded.

  “Makes sense.” Andy stood up. “Thanks for helping Moss out.” Andy clapped his hand on my shoulder. “The kid has had a rough go.”

  I nodded grimly. “I let him sober up first.”

  Andy pointed to the race. “Moss would have won this – hands down.”

  He was right. Dylan Moss was one of the most talented players I had ever coached. Naturally talented. He didn’t have to try. If he had put in any effort at all, he wouldn’t be stumbling drunk in the Otters’ lobby on game night; he’d be scoring goals in the National League. “I know, Andy. It’s too bad.”

  Andy shoved his hand in his pockets, nodded, and disappeared into the stands. I knew that Andy had been friends with Dylan’s parents, and their death had impacted not only the Moss kids but a lot of the folks here in town. Andy looked out for them and did his best to help Dylan. I knew he beat himself up seeing the kid spiraling out of control. I made a mental note to tell Andy not to be so hard on himself. Andy had been the one to let Moss’s sister, Jessie into the rink to practice her figure skating. At least one of the Moss kids had made it out of Laketown.

  “Shit,” Pacey cursed, bringing me back to the action in front of us. Lockwood and Ryan had a hold of each other’s sweaters. The rest of the players had slowed and I knew what was about to happen. A fight.

  I pointed. “Get in there before Lockwood gets hurt,” I shouted.

  Pacey shot off and I blew the whistle. Half the team’s heads turned, but the other half was so drawn in from the testosterone-fueled brawl brewing in front of them. Ryan and Lockwood had dropped their gloves and they scattered across the ice as the players skidded to a stop around the two fighters.

  The whistle didn’t stop them.

  Fists were meeting helmets and Lockwood’s was the first to get knocked off. I hopped over the boards as Pacey's hand grabbed onto the back of Lockwood’s sweater. It was going to take more than one person to pry the two players apart, and based on the way the rest of the team was standing around, not one of them was going to jump in to stop it.

  This day had just gone from bad to worse. A fight with my daughter, and now, the player I had banked on saving the season looked less like a miracle cure and more like kryptonite.

  Fourteen

  Amber

  Chloe had insisted on having toaster waffles for breakfast. Disappointment set in as I searched the cupboards and fridge high and low for maple syrup. It was a key ingredient that I should’ve made sure was in stock before I pushed down the lever on the toaster.

  “What are you looking for?” Chloe’s arms were crossed and she looked at me like I was crazy.

  “The maple syrup. I should’ve checked to make sure that you had some. I don’t have any at my house…” I was rambling. The kid was making me nervous. It wasn’t lost on me that if I made a good impression on Chloe, dating Dean would be a lot easier.

  She stepped around me and took a jar from the top shelf of the fridge. “It’s right here.”

  “That says salsa.” I pointed to the jar, which was filled with an amber liquid.

  Chloe raised her eyebrows. “Does it look like salsa to you?”

  The sassiness caught me off guard. “Well. No, but…”

  She laughed and gave me a huge smile. “Andy makes it from the trees in his backyard. Sometimes he even puts it in rum bottles.”

  I took the jar from her and unscrewed the lid. “That would be quite the sight. A third-grader?” I guessed. “Putting rum on her waffles.”

  “Second-grader,” she smiled, obviously happy I had guessed her a grade higher.

  “That’s worse.” I grinned, giving her my best dramatic voice. “Boozy waffles before school.” I pretended to stagger to the table, encouraged by her giggles. “Tell me when to stop.” I drizzled the syrup into a few of the squares.

  Chloe’s eyes were glued to the stream of amber syrup. I paused as the syrup crested the top of the waffle and spilled onto the plate. “I didn’t say stop.”

  Was she testing me? Or did the kid eat her waffles in a lake of syrup? It was her day off so I decided to let her make that call.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She held up her hands. “I think it’s about to start floating.”

  When Chloe finished her waffles, there was still a giant puddle of syrup on the fine china plate. “I guess I better have a waffle too, don’t want to let Andy’s hard work go to waste.”

  An involuntary moan escaped my lips as the syrup hit my tongue. “This is incredible,” I gushed.

  “It’s the best,” she agreed.

  Chloe helped me clear the table and dried as I washed the dishes. She told me all about her skating program and went into specifics about what she wanted for a costume. “But we have to drive to the city to get skating costumes like that,” she sighed. Then she went on and on about Swarovski crystal accents and strapless bodices. Which, to me, sounded much too sexy for a young girl.

  “Show me what you mean.” I took the tea towel from her hands. The day was already going a million times better than I’d expected it to. Based on what Dean had told me, I had expected Chloe to hole up in her room and turn into a demon when I tried to take her phone away. Instructions that I wasn’t sure I was up to enforcing, but so far, the phone had sat on the coffee table in the living room. “We can look it up on my computer.”

  She grinned and scampered over the chairs to the one in front of the computer. I pulled another chair close to her and opened the computer. “Where do you go to look for… what are they called?”

  “Figure skating dresses, Amber.” She raised her eyebrows at me in exasperation.

  “I didn’t know if they had a special name or brand.” I leaned against her, my shoulder brushed against hers and I shot her a smile.

  “Oh, Bonchance is a good one. Or Sixpoint0.”

  With Bonchance typed into the search engine, Chloe and I scrolled through the images of gorgeous dresses.

  “There. That one.” Chloe pointed. “I want that skirt, but with a different top.”

  We reached the end of the page, but no such dress seemed to exist. “Are you sure it was this company?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, Amber.” She drew out the M in my name and it felt like she was addressing me like a friend. “It’s going to be a custom dress.”

  “Wow. Cool,” I smiled. The prices on the Bonchance dresses were insane, I couldn’t imagine how much a custom dress would cost. “Does your Dad know about your vision?”

  It was the first time I’d brought up Dean’s name. Chloe screwed up her face. “No. We haven’t talked about it yet. He’s probably going to make me get one from the arena.”

  “Are the arena dresses nice?” I knew the answer.

  The little shoulders shrugged again. “They’re basic.”

  I wasn’t going to get in this middle of what was sure to be a contentious issue between father and daughter. “Well, from what I hear, you could wear a paper bag and make that Swan Lake Waltz sparkle on the ice.

  “I guess.” She flipped open my sketchbook. “What is this?

  “My sketchbook.” I turned a few pages to show her. “I’m working on a design for the office. Do you want to see it?”

  She nodded, her gaze trained on the drawings. I was what my firm liked to call a hybrid designer. I used a lot of computer-assisted design software, but I still loved sketching out my designs on paper. For the next hour, Chloe and I went through my entire sketchbook. She asked questions about each drawing and asked to go back to a few of the earlier ones after I explained a few of the design concepts.

  “This is your job?” she asked.

  “It is,” I smiled.

  “That’s so cool. Maybe I’ll be a designer too.” Her eyes had changed and I could see the admiration in them. My brother didn’t have kids and my best friends in Florida were all my younger work colleagues, also without kids. Chloe was the first actual child I had spent time with since my proper baby-sitting years. The morning had completely flown by and I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the company of this eight-year-old kid.

  I flipped to an empty page in my sketchbook. “I don’t have my color pencils here, but if you want, we can try to sketch out a design.”

  “Really?” Her eyes grew wide. “I’d like to design my room.”

  I knew the measurements of Chloe’s room would be the same as my spare room, but I still went through the motions of taking the measurements and drawing the outline of her room to scale. “Now that we’ve got the measurements, I would ask the client questions to get a feel for their vision.” I pointed to Chloe. “That’s you. What’s your vision for this room?”

  She groaned and pulled back the comforter to show me cartoon princesses. “Not Princess Jasmine. And not pink.”

  I thought for sure we were going to be designing a pink princess room. “Alright, talk to me, Miss Covington. Tell me what you’d like to see in this space.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She bit her lower lip and stared at the room. I cursed Dean, how long had he lived in this house? Pictures in frames weren’t hung, there were no shelves, one single dresser, and a relic of a comforter that Chloe had clearly outgrown. I racked my brain to try to figure out how to explain the concept to her, but feminine, minimalist, and art deco didn’t seem like terms an eight-year-old would be able to fully understand.

  “How about this. Tell me what colors you see and how you want to feel when you’re in here.”

  Chloe looked at me and nodded. She stepped into the middle of the room and turned in a slow circle. “My favorite color is turquoise, and I love the beach.”

  I scribbled in my notebook. “Good. Keep going.”

  The snowflakes continued falling as Chloe and I designed the perfect beachy, adventurous, yet relaxing room. We moved to my computer and I led Chloe through a design program. When it was done her eyes gleamed with excitement. “My room is beautiful.”

  “It is,” I agreed.

  The front door opened and a swirl of snow preceded Dean’s entrance. I looked at my watch and realized that Chloe and I had worked through lunch. “Dad!” Chloe ran to Dean and gave him a big hug. He looked at me, tilted his head, and smiled.