Playoff beard shots on g.., p.1
Playoff Beard (Shots On Goal Standalone Series Book 5),
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Prologue
Chapter One
Playoff Beard
A Shots on Goal Standalone
Kristen Hope Mazzola
Copyright
Playoff Beard
Copyright © 2017 Kristen Hope Mazzola
Published by Kristen Hope Mazzola
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Published: Kristen Hope Mazzola 2016
Cover Design: Kristen Hope Mazzola
Cover Images: © Fxquadro ##119984386 / stock.adobe.com
Formatting by: Kristen Hope Mazzola
Editing by:
C. Marie: editingbycmarie@gmail.com
Jordan Bates: https://leeeditingbyjordan.wixsite.com/leeediting
Proof Reading by:
Patti Correa: shore2pleaseedits@gmail.com
Created with Vellum
Contents
Note From the Author
Praise for Playoff Beard
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Did you enjoy what you just read?
Unacceptable
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Cross Checked
Prologue
Chapter One
About the Author
All books by Kristen Hope Mazzola
Acknowledgments
Note From the Author
Thank you for reading Playoff Beard. In doing so, you have helped fulfill a very important goal of mine. From every purchase of any of my books, I donate to the Marcie Mazzola Foundation. The mission of the foundation is to "help better the lives of abused and at-risk children, and to build community awareness regarding the needs of children."
The Marcie Mazzola Foundation was established in 2003 by my family. On July 6, 2002, Marcie died tragically in an automobile accident. Although she was only 21 at the time of her death, Marcie had experienced many things and touched many lives. She was a beautiful young woman whose inner beauty surpassed even her physical beauty because of her compassionate nature and treatment of others.
At the time of her death, Marcie was involved in a civil lawsuit against a school bus driver who had sexually abused her when she was 11 years old. Prior to her death, it had been expected that the case would be won, but since Marcie could no longer testify, it was going to be next to impossible to win. Marcie’s attorney met with her family to determine if the suit should be continued. He advised the family that Marcie had confided in him her intention to donate her entire award to help sexually and physically abused children if she won the case. Once this was known, the family had no doubt that the suit had to continue.
The attorney’s strong commitment to Marcie prompted him to proceed with the case, and against all odds, it was won. Marcie’s estate was awarded a monetary settlement. With her attorney’s guidance and continued support, the family established a foundation as a tribute to Marcie’s life, which would continue her legacy to help children.
To learn more about The Marcie Mazzola Foundation, please visit: http://www.marciemazzolafoundation.org
Marcie Mazzola Foundation
158 Burr Road, Commack, NY 11725
phone: 631-858-1855 • fax: 631-462-8544 email: info@marciemazzolafoundation.org
Dedication
To the real-life Jordan Bates:
You’re a brilliant spark of joy, love and kindness.
Never let your fire burn out.
“Sometimes things fall apart so that better things can fall together”
― Marilyn Monroe
Praise for Playoff Beard
"Sweet and sexy all at the same time, Kristen Hope Mazzola kills it with Crosby & Jordan's HEA. A championship win in my book." - RP Fischer, Author
"When it comes to the Shots of Goal series, this is by far my favorite. Kristen let's the characters radiate off the page, and it leaves you blinded with love for them." - Words, I Need Words, Book Blog
This book is amazing, well written, and a beatiful story between best friend!! - Goodreads Reviewer
Prologue
Crosby
“Fuck you! You’re a cheating whore!” I bellowed. I couldn’t believe my damn eyes. I mean, how could I? How could that be my fucking wife lying in a hospital bed holding a baby that was clearly not the fruit of my freaking loins.
Her eyes grew wide as her jaw hung open. She had never looked more pathetic to me than she did right then. She sat there staring at me while I paced around the hospital room flailing around the papers I had just found, having a complete tantrum.
“You have to listen to me. I swear, Will—” Her shrill voice pierced through the stale air, fueling my rage and igniting the embers into an uncontrollable blaze of fury.
“It’s all right here, Mindie!” I cut her off. I pointed at the printout before throwing it at the foot of her bed. “In black and white, plain as day. I mean, these things don’t lie. It’s all mapped out in the damn paternity test you had done. Couldn’t have figured out a better hiding spot than the drawer next to your goddamn hospital bed?”
What am I going to tell my teammates and best friends? They were in the waiting room anxiously anticipating an introduction to my child. What a fucking ridiculous thought that was now.
“It was only one time,” she said quietly, trying to defend her sorry ass. “I don’t know how this happened.”
She was crying. The baby was crying. I was furious.
My stomach turned as I rushed into the bathroom connected to our room. Blowing chunks into the toilet while the bastard wailed only feet away was completely awful. Is this real life? When the hell is Ashton Kutcher going to jump out of the closet and tell me I’ve been punked?
Taking a few seconds, I stared at myself in the mirror above the sink.
You can get through this.
Just calm down.
I dampened a towel and held it to my face. My little pep talk was futile. There was no way I was going to be able to calm myself down from this shit. I stomped back into the room, heaving the towel into the corner of the room on my way.
I stopped at the foot of her bed, my heart thumping in my ears as my hands shook.
“Will, can we talk about this? Please?” She wiped her tearstained cheeks with the end of the baby’s blanket. Fucking pitiful.
“There really is nothing to talk about.”
“Can I at least explain?”
I shook my head, white-knuckling the metal footboard. “You were worried enough to get a paternity test to check it—what more is there to explain? And you had me sign the damn birth certificate anyway. Who the fuck is his father?”
I thought about strangling my wife as she opened her mouth to speak, but that would be too easy for her. She was going to have to pay for this in some other way.
“You don’t know him.” She looked so defeated. Her hair was in a messy, sweat-soaked bun, her skin was bright pink from crying, and she was shaking ever so subtly. Add in the hours-old child in her arms and if someone walked into that room, I would be taken out by the scruff of my neck for screaming at a woman in such a fragile state.
“It doesn’t fucking matter anyway. I’m leaving—for good. I’m taking these with me, and you will have divorce papers in your hands as soon as I can get them to you.” I scooped up the paternity test and stormed out of the room.
Being home alone was fucking awful. I just didn’t know where to go or what to do. Telling the guys in the waiting room was fucking ridiculous. Well, I barely told them. It was more of those guy-vague-conversations that they all knew to just take at face value.
I took a shower, tried to watch TV, bar
“Crosby, you look like shit.” Jordan was trying to be funny but all I could do was scowl and sit at one of the empty bar stools.
“Hey, Bates. How’s everything going?”
She shook her head. “I think I should be asking you that question. But first, what are you drinking?”
“Do you have a drink for finding out your wife just gave birth to someone else’s kid but lied to you the entire time and tricked you into signing the birth certificate?” Saying it out loud made my skin crawl.
“I think I have just the thing.” She poured me three fingers of Jameson neat and then looked over to her co-bartender. “Hey, Sara? I need to take twenty.”
Jordan ushered me to a table in the corner of the room, the green bottle of amber goodness still clutched in her hand. “At least this way we will have a little bit of privacy. Do you even want to talk about it?”
I ran my hand over my face. “Fuck, I don’t even know where to begin.”
She put her hand on my forearm. “You start by drinking that glass down and not worrying about finding the words. We don’t have to even talk. We can just sit here awkwardly for hours.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
We sat in silence for a little while and after Jordan gave me two refills, I was finally in a sharing mood.
“Did you know I was about to break up with Mindie right before we met?” I blurted out and Jordan’s eyes got wide.
“You two always seemed so madly in love. Why’d you even stay with her? That was fucking over five years ago.” Leave it to Bates to be as blunt as possible. That was actually one of my favorite things about Jordan – she was honest and blunt. Two perfect qualities for amazing friends and fantastic bartenders, and she was both.
“It was all an act. During my rookie season, I was traveling a lot and didn’t really want a relationship. Mindie and I were high school sweethearts and I was dragging my feet on breaking it off with her. The night I finally got the balls to end things, she told me she was pregnant.”
“Wait. What?” Jordan’s hand flew to her mouth. I knew she could do math and also knew that I did not have any children.
I leaned onto the table, chugging down the rest of my drink. “We got married the weekend after that at the courthouse and she lost the baby two weeks later. I should have cut and run then, but I had made a commitment.”
“You’re a good guy for honoring your word, Will.” Jordan’s eyes were filled with pity and concern.
“Well, look at what I have to show for it now.”
Chapter 1
Crosby
Five years later
“This is the night gents!” Gavin Hayes yelled as we got psyched up for another away game.
“Aye, cap!” we roared in unison.
“What are we going to do?”
“Give them hell!”
“Crosby!” Gavin hollered to me, “What are you going to do?”
I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Keep my glove up!”
Coach Hayes stood next to his son. “Let’s give ’em hell boys, and show these Chicagoans that they’re not safe in their hometown or anywhere!”
The team burst out of the locker room like hellhounds on a mission. We were ravenous beasts ready to tear our opponents limb from limb—whatever it took for another victory.
Cheering and booing greeted us as our skates hit the ice one by one. I loved leading the stampeding hoard into battle with our team’s captain, Gavin Hayes, right behind me. There was a thrill that washed over me before every game, and it burned a fury deep in my gut as I got ready to defend our honor—or rather, the net.
The first period began and I was consumed by it all—the chill from the ice, the weight of my pads, the roar of the crowd. Within the first minute there were two shots on my goal; one made me go spread eagle, but both saves were clean.
Harding skated behind the net to get the puck from me. “That bender looks like his ankles are going to snap under his own weight. He needs to get off the ice before I dangle him.”
“Make his life hell, kid. Fire a clapper—their tender is scared of them!” I waved him on his way as he bee-lined it into enemy territory.
Hayes and Cox controlled the puck for the better part of the rest of the period. Obviously, I preferred when my teammates were in control and taking shot after shot, but damn was it boring. I loved challenging games where I constantly had to be focused and on top of things.
The worst part of being the goalie was having to watch from the other side of the rink when shit was going down with my team and know there was little I could do to help. Jesse Hendricks was rushing the opposing net as an enforcer came up next to him, checking him into the boards harder than necessary. Just as the left wing from the opposing team got the puck, Hendricks screamed, hitting the ice hard. The referees flew to his side as he held his knee, writhing in pain.
“What the fuck?” I yelled as my teammates flocked to him. It only took a few minutes for the paramedics to get Hendricks on a stretcher and take him off to get an x-ray done.
Hayes skated behind my net. “It doesn’t look good.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I growled.
It was terrible to watch one of your teammates be taken out of the game like that, but Jesse was young and resilient. Here’s hoping, anyway.
Once we were up three to nothing, Coach decided to give me a break. Yeah, I was tired as fuck, but I hated when the second-string guy went into my net. It was mine, my responsibility, and I was forced to watch from the bench as Dereck Nilsson fucked up my shutout. I threw my gloves into the floor right before Coach Hayes snarled at me.
“Crosby, get your ass back in there.”
I hastily put my gloves back on and leapt out of the door. Nilsson skated past me with his head down and his tail between his legs. I wanted to curse him out, tell him how big of a fuckup he was, but he was going to beat himself up for the goal more than any of us could. All in all, I was proud to be on a team with him, but I hated knowing that eventually he was going to replace me. My expiration date was nearing faster and faster, and my aching joints reminded me of that every damn day.
Jordan
“Yes! That’s what I am talking about! Way to keep your glove up!” I yelled, jumping up and down behind the bar as my guests and coworkers cheered alongside me. One of the best parts of working at a bar – the game was always one.
“Hockey fan, I gather,” Billy remarked. He was my favorite of the bartenders I was training—fast, skilled, and ravenous to learn new techniques and recipes. He was young and hungry to be the best of the best. The only problem was that he wasn’t fast enough and remembering drink recipes was not his forte.
“Fan is definitely not the word. When your best friend growing up is Gavin Hayes, hockey is a way of life.” I was totally name-dropping and loved the shit out of it.
Billy was catching flies.
“Might want to go greet the new guests that just sat down at the end of the bar.” I motioned to the newcomers then watched as he picked his jaw up off the floor and did as he was told like a good little soldier.
“Oh! Em! Geeeeezzzeeeee! Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck.” I spun on my heels to see Bridget’s look of disgust as she pulled a dirty bar rag out from behind the sink. She was shaking it around, freaking out like a squeamish biology student on dissection day.
