Fox

  A Hockey Romance

  Nana Malone

  Contents

  FREE READ

  Chapter 1

  Fox

  Chapter 2

  Sasha

  Chapter 3

  Sasha

  Chapter 4

  Fox

  Chapter 5

  Sasha

  Chapter 6

  Sasha

  Chapter 7

  Sasha

  Chapter 8

  Fox

  Chapter 9

  Fox

  Chapter 10

  Fox

  Chapter 11

  Sasha

  Chapter 12

  Sasha

  Chapter 13

  Fox

  Chapter 14

  Sasha

  Chapter 15

  Fox

  Chapter 16

  Sasha

  Chapter 17

  Fox

  Chapter 18

  Sasha

  Epilogue

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  Nana Malone Reading List

  About Nana Malone

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  1

  Fox

  I fidgeted on my skates, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I tapped the toe of my left skate with the oversized blade of my goalie’s stick.

  Two other goalies stood on either side of me as the coaches for the New York Brawlers deliberated over which of us they’d call up to fill the backup position for the upcoming season. I barely resisted the urge to shout, “Pick me!” Their former backup had been a free agent and signed with Dallas a week after the end of the previous season.

  I sized up the guys on either side of me as best I could without looking at them or acknowledging their presence. It was all part of the game. On my right was Henri Jacobson. He had come to the United States to play just a year earlier when he was seventeen, having already been on one of Sweden’s professional teams for two years. On my left was Bobby Jones. He’d just graduated high school and had a scholarship to Boston College waiting for him if the Brawlers didn’t choose him.

  I was twenty-one and had been kicking around the minor league farm system since my own high school graduation three years earlier. I had been offered places on the hockey teams at several colleges. Some had even offered me a little scholarship money, but I’d turned them all down, opting for playing semi-professionally right off the bat.

  I’d never been academically inclined, and there was nothing I wanted to do except play hockey, so college seemed like a waste of time.

  Now I wondered if I’d made a mistake. I’d underestimated how difficult it would be for me to distinguish myself as a goalie. It wasn’t a position with a lot of turnover or flexibility like forwards or defensemen. Most teams had their main goalie and a backup—maybe two—who got ice time for one game in four or five. I had thought I’d play one season in the farm system before my call came, maybe even less. But it had been three years and still I hadn’t been called up. Instead, I was starting to see players younger than me getting offered contracts. True, few of them were goalies, but it still made me feel older than I thought it should. Fuck, had I screwed up my life?

  When I looked at my older brothers, or hell, at my sister Echo, and saw where they were with their careers, I felt like I was a lost cause. The Coulter who had failed.

  Bryce had several major doubles tennis titles under his belt with his wife, Tami, and was famous for the comeback he’d made after a serious injury. Dax had just signed a contract extension with Jacksonville’s pro football franchise, and the team was continuing to improve under their new coaches. They had made it all the way to the AFC Championship last season before getting knocked out by the Broncos on their way to the Superbowl. Echo was an Olympic silver medalist in track, and had started transitioning into an entrepreneur and fashion designer. Shit, even my little brother Gage was more successful, with his scholarship to San Diego University and a prominent placement on their basketball team. The commentators who were already hyping next spring’s March Madness brackets were speculating that he might even be better than our father, who was a legend in his own right. Hell, his season hadn’t even started yet.

  The coaches deliberated out of earshot, and I began to feel the cold radiating off the ice, even under the layers of padding. I started going over each mistake I’d made during the skills demonstrations we’d run through.

  The scrimmages had gone well enough. I knew I was solid when there were five men on the ice working with me. They had my back and were counting on me to have theirs as well. I was quick to pass the puck when I got it in the trapezoid behind the net and made it back to block the net easily. There were quite a few saves I’d made that had clearly impressed them. The team had impressed me as well. Fuck, I wanted this. But there had also been more than a few missed saves that I should have had; basic fake-outs I’d fallen for, and would continue to beat myself up over. Penalties were my biggest weakness. One-on-one, as players lined up to take unimpeded shots on me in practice, I was able to stop about half of them. In a shoot-out situation, my numbers dropped by more than half. And I hadn’t done any better than that during the scrimmages the coaches had orchestrated.

  If I was honest with myself, I knew what was coming, but I still tried to steel myself against the blow. Henri had done better than me, and his experience in Europe carried more weight than the Coulter name and legacy in this situation. My father’s and grandfather’s connections didn’t extend into the hockey world.

  I had always been the odd one out in my choice of sport. The lone child of winter while my siblings had all played in the warmth of summer—or at least indoor warmth. But I loved working up a sweat to combat the chill of the rink.

  Of my brothers, I was the only one who had taken to a defensive position. Tennis required a bit of both, but with Tami at Bryce’s side, the pressure and responsibility were halved. Dax and Gage both enjoyed the glory of being the ones scoring points for their team.

  I bore the weight of the goals scored against mine. If the other team scored, it was my fault, because I was the last line of defense. I had little control over my teammates’ success in scoring, but I was the one between the pipes, making sure that whatever they did score truly counted.

  The coaches emerged from the bench area and approached Bobby first, thanked him for showing them what he could do and wished him luck at BC. They assured him that they’d be keeping an eye on his college career, and that they were sure they wouldn’t be alone in that. Then the eighteen-year-old skated off the ice, leaving just me and Henri with the coaches.

  I took a deep breath and puffed up my chest, praying their eyes would go to the younger man at my right.

  They looked at me. Fuck.

  “Fox, you’re a talented and knowledgeable goalie. The team you’re with now is very lucky to have you,” Coach Tremblay began. “This was an incredibly tough decision to have to make, and we wish we could extend an offer to both of you. But given the schedule we’re facing and the competition in our conference, we’re going to have to leave you where you are for the time being.”

  Coach Tremblay indicated for me to follow him a short distance away while his assistant coach tried to explain what was going on to Henri, who was still working on his English. My pads suddenly felt like they weighed five hundred pounds, but I moved my legs and leaned on the stick to keep myself upright as Coach Tremblay continued.

  “We’re going to be keeping an eye on your numbers during this season, and if your clinch numbers improve a bit more, I promise you we’ll be paying you another visit. It’s just that we’re anticipating a tough race in the conference to make the play-offs. The Rajun Cajuns are going to be tough to beat. We’re going to need those ties to be overtime wins and…it’s just not your strongest area. But improve there and in penalty kill goals, and we won’t be the only team showing an interest in you for long.”

  I forced my mouth to move. “Thank you, sir,” I managed to say as we reached the boards, and Coach Tremblay held out a hand for me to shake. Moving my stick and tucking my gloved hand under my other arm, I pulled my hand free to shake the coach’s before turning and heading down to the locker room. I didn’t let myself sag until I was safely inside.

  Bobby had already cleared out by the time I got there, so I had the place to myself. Thank fuck. They’d held the goalies for the end, of course, so the other players had gone home to celebrate or commiserate.

  I checked the messages on my phone, knowing there would be texts from my friends for me to join them. Most of them had been through the process enough times that they were familiar with the disappointment. Or they’d already had their brief time in the big leagues and were on their way down again because of injuries or age.

  Many had simply gone home to their wives and children, but they weren’t the teammates I was closest to. Most of my closest friends had been picked up to play the preseason with the team, and while I desperately wanted a drink, I wasn’t in the mood to drink with any of them. I didn’t want their pity or their reassurances. Not this time.

  And I wasn’t ready to go home. It hadn’t been the same since Echo moved out some months before. I’d been crashing with my teammates more often than not. My trust fund had kicked in on my twenty-first birthday, and unlike the rest of my siblings, I had actually started dipping into it regularly. They all had other sources of income to fall back on, endorsements, spokesperson gigs, and paid appear
ances. And then there was Echo, who was developing her own athletic wear line.

  I needed to move out. And while my minor league salary wasn’t enough for the kind of place I wanted, my trust fund would make up the difference…if I let it. I didn’t want to rely on that money. Not in that way. It was tantamount to admitting failure. And I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. Or admit that to anyone. Especially not my family. I was the only Coulter to never reach my full potential. Congratulations to me.

  Sasha

  * * *

  I knew better than to answer the phone when assholes called, but this particular asshole couldn’t be avoided. I answered on the third ring. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Where are you? I called your office and was told you weren’t there.”

  I bit my bottom lip to keep from groaning. I hated it when he checked up on me. It was as if he thought I was a child who needed his protection, or worse, his berating.

  “I’m just waiting to see a friend. I’ll be headed back to the office in a little bit,” I replied with a sigh. I shouldn’t have answered. I didn’t have the patience for this conversation right now.

  “Why you insist on working there is beyond me. It’s like I never taught you better,” he scolded.

  It was times like this when I truly hated him. Ever since my mother left, I had been my father’s special project. The man seriously needed his own hobbies.

  “Dad, we’ve been through this. This is what I want to do.”

  “We both know you’re not going to listen to me anyway. When have you ever done that? Exhibit A: that loser you’re dating.”

  This was such a tired conversation. We’d had it a million times, and nothing was ever going to change. My father was an old-school misogynist who believed that the only place for a woman was in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.

  How my mother had dealt with him for so long, I had no idea. After all, my mother was a traditional debutante. She was the whole package. But eventually, the pressure of having to be the ‘perfect athlete’s wife’ had gotten to her, and she’d left when I was eight years old. At this point, I understood why my mother had left, and didn’t blame her. What I didn’t understand was why she had left me behind. Whatever, it’s water under the bridge now.

  The problem this time, though, was that my father was right about my loser boyfriend. Ryan was a total dipshit. I knew it. His jealousy had gotten out of control lately. I needed to do something about it, but right now I was in avoidance mode.

  You know how, you’re just too lazy and tired.

  Man, was I tired. Between my internship at TVN television network, my job at the restaurant, and my schoolwork, I didn’t have time to breathe. Let alone cater to my boyfriend’s every whim. Or my father’s, for that matter, even though he was right. Ryan was convenient and available. He’d long outlived his welcome, but I was too exhausted to make any changes.

  Yeah, like that’s a good reason.

  “Dad, you don’t have to tell me how you feel about him every time we talk. I already know.”

  But my father was no longer listening. “What I find exasperating, is that you refuse to do anything about it. Even when you have better prospects. Fox Coulter has been sniffing around since you guys were kids, and you still haven’t pulled the trigger on that. You’re missing out on a prime opportunity you won’t have forever. God knows I’m not giving you a trust fund or college fund. You have to leverage what you have, because nothing else is coming for you.”

  As if there is a college or trust fund to be had. The whole world knew he’d squandered the fortune given to him by my grandfather. He’d also squandered what he had earned from his own football career. Although what he earned hadn’t gone far—my father liked to spend as though there was an endless pool of cash coming his way. And a lifetime of injuries had kept him from playing again.

  “I know, Dad. Listen, I have to go. I’m waiting on Fox.”

  “You got that boy on a hook. You better get yourself a piece of that Coulter money, because I’m not gonna take care of you.”

  “Yeah, I got that,” I bit out.

  I hung up the phone and shoved it back into my pocket. I didn’t want to think about my father. I hardly ever saw him, but I couldn’t help but answer when he called because the guilt ate away at me. If I didn’t answer the phone, then who would? Lord knew the man didn’t have anyone else. And as much as I disliked him, he was still my father. My sense of obligation was usually what got me into trouble. That’s why I had been with Ryan for this long.

  I set those thoughts aside. I wasn’t here for either of them. Right now, I was here for Fox. I hoped and prayed that he had made it this time. I knew how it killed him to get this close but not quite make it. He’d be devastated, and I never knew how to help.

  Fox was good. Really, really good. Watching him skate and play was like a revelation. Everyone from his family to sports enthusiasts said it and had high hopes for him. Fox’s biggest obstacle was that he always managed to psych himself out, always getting too much into his own head. I knew that better than anyone, because I had been his best friend for the past ten years. This time, I prayed he would get everything he had ever dreamt of.

  He worked harder than anyone I knew, even in high school. He would always be on the ice before anyone else, practicing long before he had to be there. There was nothing Fox wanted more than to be on the ice.

  I prayed hard that this time, he would get his dream. Simply because it killed me to watch him beat himself up when shit didn’t go his way.

  When the side doors opened to the arena, I watched as one of the biggest men I’d ever seen lumbered out with a bag on his shoulder. No denying it, this guy was one of the players. One by one, I watched as huge tree trunks of men filed out. I prayed that he wouldn’t come out of the door next.

  I looked at the sign I had brought; it was our thing. One side said Congratulations, Let’s Get Drunk! And the other side was the dreaded Fuck Them. I hoped I wouldn’t have to flip my sign over.

  The door opened once more, and again, I silently pleaded for it not to be Fox. I knew the longer he was in there, the better the news. But it was. Even if the San Diego sun wasn’t shining brightly in the sky, making his numerous tattoos stand out, I’d recognize his build. Still, I held onto hope. I held up my sign of Congratulations, Let’s Get Drunk! with a bright smile on my face and continued my silent prayer.

  Please, please, please God. Please, please, please let him have made it.

  As he approached, I knew that his dreams weren’t coming true today. No one was hearing my prayers. But I refused to give up on him.

  I held my sign high and yelled, “So, where’re we drinkin’, superstar?”

  Fox shook his head. “We’re not. They went with Henri.”

  My heart sank. I wanted to run up to him, cradle him in my arms, and say that everything was going to be okay. I knew better than to do that, though. Instead, I kept my smile in place and turned my sign over to the side that said, Fuck Them, Let’s Go Drink.

  “I see you changed it.” Behind the sorrow, I saw a glimmer of humor. My Fox was in there somewhere.

  I had changed up the sign. He’d been going on more and more tryouts, just to come home disappointed each time. I didn’t want to seem predictable, so I kept trying to come up with one that would make him laugh.

  “Well, I can’t let you figure me out. You don’t want me to get boring, do you?”

  Fox shook his head, “Thanks Sash, but I kinda want to be on my own tonight.”

  I could see the shadow pressing on his shoulders. “Look, it’ll happen, Fox. Just believe me, I’m never wrong.”

  He gave me a weary smile, “I know. Still, I’m just gonna head on out.”

  When he got like this, there wasn’t much I could do except wait for him to come around. “I hear you. But obviously, you know, if you need to talk—” I stopped. He doesn’t want my pity.