“That makes one of us,” I mumble, thinking how much easier everything would be right now if I had recognized Cam that night at the bar. But then I wonder whether I would erase what happened between us if I could, and I know I wouldn’t, even though my life is a giant pile of chaos and half-lies right now.

  “What’s that?” he asks with a grin.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. “Looks like they’ve got the ice and we won’t get to have our alone time, so we should just go. We can reschedule.”

  My dad shakes his head. “No way. We’re here, and we’ve got skates, and look!” He points to the ice. “I think I have a fan who wants to talk to me.”

  I glance up and snort out a laugh when I see Ethan pressed up against the glass surrounding the rink, hair damp with sweat and mouth half-open as he stares at my dad like he’s Taylor Swift or something. “No way does he recognize you. He’s ten, and you played a million years ago.”

  My dad pats me on the shoulder before pushing through the door. “Never underestimate hockey fans, Little Red,” he says over his shoulder.

  “I am a hockey fan,” I mutter, following him through the doors, regretting every life choice that has led me to this moment.

  “Oh my god, you’re Jeremy Wright!” Ethan practically trips over his skates in his attempt to get off the ice and in front of my dad as quickly as possible.

  “I sure am,” my dad says, smirking at me as if to say I told you so, before turning his attention back to Ethan. “Those were some sick moves out there.”

  “I play hockey,” he says breathlessly. “I had a game, but I wanted to practice more, and my dad got permission for us to stay on the ice longer, and then he and my sister came to skate with me too. What are you doing here? And what are you doing here?” he asks, turning to me. “How do you know Jeremy Wright? He’s, like, the best hockey player the Lightning ever had except for maybe his son, Oliver, but he hasn’t been playing long enough yet to know for sure.”

  I smile at him because his hero worship is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen even if I can practically feel my dad’s ego grow with every word out of Ethan’s mouth. “He’s my dad. Oliver is my brother, and you better not tell him you think he might be better than my dad one day. He’ll be insufferable.” Ethan laughs when I roll my eyes, but then he looks at me with something resembling awe.

  “I can’t believe Jeremy Wright is your dad.”

  I shrug, glancing up at my dad with a smirk. “He’s pretty annoying sometimes, but he’s mostly okay.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” my dad says with a grin, slinging his arm back around me. “She loves me because I taught her everything she knows about hockey. She led her high school team to state championships two years in a row and then went on to play in college.”

  “You did?” Ethan’s eyebrows disappear up into his hair, and then he turns to my dad. “Can you teach me stuff too?”

  My dad beams. “Sure, little man. Let me get my skates on and we can run some drills. I’ll have you NHL-ready in no time.”

  “Oh my god, seriously?” Ethan whispers, looking a little like he might faint.

  I stifle a laugh that dies completely at the sound of a deep, raspy voice that has my stomach swooping.

  “Hey, Wildcat.” Cam sidles up to us and comes to a stop behind Ethan, laying a hand on his shoulder. He’s dressed in jeans and a navy-blue hoodie, his skates giving him a few extra inches that make his already tall frame even more imposing. Or, it would be imposing if his flushed cheeks and eyes that sparkle when they land on me weren’t suddenly making it hard for me to breathe again.

  “Cam Lowry,” he says, holding a hand out to my dad.

  My dad shoots me a look at, I’m sure, the Wildcat of it all, before shaking Cam’s hand with a smile. “Jeremy Wright. I can’t believe we’ve never met before. You’ve done such great work with Kids Play.”

  Kids Play is the foundation my dad started after he retired from the NHL, and it’s one of the most powerful foundations in sports, its mission grounded in the belief that cost should never be a barrier to entry for kids in sports. Except… “I thought you worked with Gabe’s foundation?” I blurt out, unable to put a lid on my need to know things about him. Anything. All the things.

  Cam smirks at me like he knows exactly where my brain went. “I work with Kids Play too sometimes. I was a kid in sports, and I have a kid in sports. I know how fundamental sports are at young ages, and I like being a part of making sure every kid who wants to play can.”

  “We appreciate your dedication,” my dad says, glancing down at Ethan. “Anyway, like Maddy said, we were going to skate, and I would love to see what this guy can teach me.” He tosses Ethan a wink. “But we don’t want to take your ice time.” He gives me a side-eye that tells me he has already decoded this entire situation, and god, where are my emotional support M&M’s when I need them?

  “Oh my god, no, please stay,” Ethan gasps, pleading look on his face.

  “Yes, please come skate with us!” Riley calls, leaning over the boards. “I’m so tired of being the only girl. Don’t leave me with them.”

  “What do you say, Maddy?” Cam asks with a grin. “Want to come skating?”

  All three Lowrys look at me at the same time, pleas in their matching blue eyes, and for fuck’s sake. There’s only one answer because I’m a goner for all of them. “Why not?”

  When Riley grins, Ethan cheers, and Cam looks at me with warmth in his gaze, I think that there are probably a million reasons why this is a terrible idea, but at the moment, I can’t remember a single one.

  “Wildcat?” my dad questions with a wide grin as Cam and his kids head back onto the ice. “I didn’t realize you had reached the nickname stage with your players. Is there a nickname stage in the psychologist-patient relationship?”

  “Shut it,” I mutter, feeling my face flame. I grab my water bottle out of the side pocket of my hockey bag, taking a sip of the orange soda inside to stall for time.

  My dad bumps his shoulder with mine and, like he’s done for the entire time I’ve known him, he waits for me to be ready to talk. I sigh, feeling the truth bubbling up in my throat. My dad has always been the person I tell things to, so why should this be any different? “There’s…kind of a thing. But I’m trying really hard for it not to be a thing.”

  He turns to me, his eyes curious. “Why would you do that?”

  I huff out a laugh. “Are you serious right now?” I tick off the reasons on my fingers. “Number one. I’m a psychologist working for the team. He’s literally my patient, so holy ethics violations. Number two. My uncle is the general manager of the team, so it already looks like I’m drowning in the nepotism pool by getting this job in the first place, which will not be helped by the optics of this particular personal relationship. Number three. I’m a woman in professional sports. Can you imagine the blowback if this got out? No one thinks women belong in professional sports, and if I sleep with a player, I’ll just be proving them right.”

  My dad winces, pained expression on his face. “Okay, can we use another phrase? Any other phrase. I don’t want to think of my baby girl sleeping with anyone.”

  I roll my eyes. “Be serious, Dad. I’m thirty years old. You really think I haven’t slept with anyone?”

  I’ve slept with Cam is the only thought in my head. If you could call what we did sleeping together. I would call it other things. Like fucking. Dirty, filthy fucking.

  Shut it down, Maddy.

  Do not think about the dirty, filthy fucking when there are children and a dad present.

  “I’d prefer to inhabit a world where you haven’t. I’m a dad. Let me live, Little Red.” But then his eyes soften. “Look, I know better than anyone that when something is right, when it makes you happy, you should grab onto it with both hands and hold tight. All of your reasons are real and valid, but nothing is insurmountable. I promise. So, does it make you happy?”

  I glance over at the rink where Cam is shooting pucks at the net with his kids, and as if he feels me looking at him, he glances up. When his eyes meet mine, he shoots me a grin and a wink, and my entire body warms, despite the cold rink air. “I don’t know yet,” I lie.

  I do know.

  My dad looks at me like he knows I’m full of shit, but he lets it slide. “Well, if the time comes that you do know, I’m always here to talk. Don’t ever forget you have an entire family behind you who would go to war to make sure no one fucks with you and your happiness.”

  My eyes burn at this reminder—that my dad would know to give it to me—and my body relaxes fractionally at releasing some of this truth. “I know. But do you think you can maybe not tell anyone about this? Especially Uncle Brian. I want to figure this out on my own before I involve anyone else.”

  He nods. “It’s in the vault, Little Red. Not even my brother has access to the keys. Now, what do you say we go show those kids and their dad who can’t keep his eyes off you what the Wrights are made of on the ice?”

  When I look back over at Cam, his eyes are still fixed on me. He raises an eyebrow and tips his head in the direction of the ice as if to say What are you waiting for?

  And even though there are a million reasons to turn around and walk straight out the doors, there are three very important reasons not to. So, for once, I tell the protesting voices in my head to shut the fuck up and follow my dad towards the ice.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MADDY

  Pulling my hockey skates from my bag, I kick off my shoes and bend to slide my right foot into the boot.

  “Let me.”

  Before I can react, Cam is kneeling down in front of me, taking the skate from my hand.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my head automatically shooting up to determine everyone’s whereabouts, but no one is paying us any attention. My dad is occupied, explaining something to Ethan that involves, like, thirty pucks scattered at their feet, and, for reasons passing understanding, four hockey sticks, and Riley is flying around the perimeter of the ice, head bobbing to the music in her earbuds.

  “I’m putting on your skates,” Cam says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

  “I can put on my own skates. Former hockey player, remember?” I say, pointing at myself.

  He looks at me, eyes soft. “Of course you can. I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do. But I like doing things for you.”

  Well, Jesus.

  I don’t know what to say to that, so instead I say nothing at all. Cam smirks at me and lifts my leg, propping my foot up on his knee. Running his hand up my calf and back down again, his fingers ghost over the small strip of bare skin below my leggings, and I thank the goddesses I remembered to shave my legs this morning. His fingers slip under the fabric, his eyes locking back on mine as goosebumps explode over my skin.

  “So smooth,” Cam murmurs, his gaze dropping to where his thumb strokes back and forth over my ankle, and I was unaware until this moment that there seems to be a direct line from my ankle to my clit, which throbs with each pass of Cam’s thumb. “So pretty.” He lifts his head so his eyes meet mine again. “So perfect.”

  “You have to stop,” I plead. I’m thirty seconds away from purring like a goddamn kitten, and I’d like to maintain some semblance of dignity with this man.

  “Is that what you want?” he asks, and his gravelly tone has me gripping the front of the bench so hard my knuckles turn white. “Only what you want, Wildcat. I only want to give you what you want.”

  “I don’t know,” I say in a whispered lie, echoing my words to my dad earlier. I do know. I don’t want him to stop touching me. Ever.

  When he smiles at me, it’s quiet, his thumb still moving back and forth in that maddening caress. “I think you do know,” he says, reading my mind. “I also think you need more time, and that’s okay. I can wait.” His thumb stills, and his eyes go serious. “I think I would wait for you forever.”

  My heart gallops in my chest at his words, and I swallow hard past the ball of emotion that lodges in my throat. Being the focus of this man’s undivided attention while he tells me he would wait for me forever is a heady thing, and I’m going to need five to seven business days to recover from it. And when his thumb ghosts over the bottom of my foot, pressing lightly, an involuntary whimper escapes me, and I think I might expire right here in the Lightning’s practice rink with Cam’s hands on me.

  Not a terrible way to go, all things considered.

  I glance back out at my dad playing around with Cam’s kids on the ice, a huge grin on his face that hits me right in the chest, and then look back down at Cam, the ramifications of what we’re doing—or not doing—crashing over me all over again. “This is so complicated,” I say in a low voice, echoing my words from last week in Brian and Olivia’s kitchen.

  Cam just smiles at me and ties my laces, placing my foot on the ground and lifting the other to start on my second skate. “I know,” he says, and somehow, his admission that he feels the heaviness of this the same way I do has another weight lifting off my shoulders. “But it doesn’t have to be. At least not today. Today I just want to skate with my kids. I don’t always get to do things like this with them, so I want to take advantage of it when I can. And I want to skate with you, too, because you’re here, and I like spending time with you.” He shrugs. “I just like you, and today, that feels simple enough. We can save the complicated for another day.” Making quick work of my second skate, he places my foot on the ground and stands, holding out a hand to me. “What do you think, Wildcat? Will you skate with me?”

  His earnest look has everything inside me melting because I like him too, and even though I’m not sure there’s anything simple about it, I put my hand in his and let him pull me up, the electricity from where we touch buzzing up my arm.

  “Okay,” I say. “Take me skating, Cam.”

  The grin that explodes across his face is so gorgeous, so sincere, that I have to resist the urge to rub at my chest to make sure my heart hasn’t fallen right at his feet.

  “Goal!” Ethan yells when I deke past my dad and flip the puck into the net with a quick wrist shot that has him groaning and my heart thudding with adrenaline. Ethan raises his stick in the air as he skates down the ice, throwing himself at me. Laughing, I widen my stance to absorb his weight and wrap the arm not holding my stick around his shoulders.

  We’re playing two on two, Ethan and me against my dad and Cam, and it may have been a while since I’ve done anything but shoot around with my dad, but damn, I’ve still got it. “Oh my god, you’re so good!” he exclaims. “Why did you stop playing? If you kept playing, you could be in the PWHL right now and how cool would that be?”

  “That’s what I kept telling her!” My dad skates up to us and throws an arm around me. “She had the skills, but she was all, nooooo I have to be all brilliant and go to grad school and become a psychologist and stuff.” He makes a face at Ethan. “Boring.”

  “So boring,” Ethan says, wrinkling his nose.

  “Hey,” I say on a laugh, ducking out from under my dad’s arm. “Not everyone wants to be a famous athlete.”

  “If they don’t, they should.” Cam glides up next to Ethan, winking at me. “Being a famous athlete is the shit.”

  “Damn straight.” My dad fist-bumps Cam, and I can’t decide if I like the budding bromance between them or hate it.

  I roll my eyes. “Someone has to be in charge of making sure all your massive egos can fit into the locker room.”

  Cam grins at me a little wickedly. “It’s not a massive ego if I really am that good.”

  My heart thuds in my chest, and my cheeks heat at the double meaning in his words.

  Simple, Maddy. Keep it simple.

  I remind myself of Cam’s words before we got on the ice, but I’m afraid simple left the chat five weeks and a night of double-digit orgasms ago.

  “He really is that good,” Ethan says seriously. “My dad is the best offensive lineman the Renegades have ever had.”

  “Aw, thanks Eth.” Cam ruffles Ethan’s hair, and the look on Cam’s face when he glances down at his son is so full of love that my heart squeezes, and suddenly, I think I need to take a minute before I start spilling my own feelings all over this ice.

  “I’ll be right back,” I call, skating away. “Water break!”

  Ten minutes, one orange soda, and two packs of M&M’s later, I walk back towards the ice feeling like I’ve built my defenses back up enough to get through the rest of this skating session without either jumping Cam’s bones or falling face first in love with him and both of his kids. But before I can take a step back onto the ice, I see Riley sitting on the bench, phone in hand, muttering to herself, and shaking her head. She disappeared when we started playing, insisting that she had way too much homework to stay on the ice for even one second longer, but the look on her face doesn’t say homework to me.

  “You okay?” I ask, walking over to her.

  Her head shoots up at the sound of my voice, and she turns to me, blinking rapidly to, I’m sure, try and banish the sheen of tears, but I see them, and for the second time today, my heart squeezes for one of Cam’s kids.

  “I’m fine,” she says quickly, her voice taking on a harsh edge that is, I’m sure, meant to convey Go the fuck away.

  But when a tear escapes and slides down her face, I know there is nothing in the world that would make me walk away from this vulnerable teen right now. With a quick glance at the ice to make sure the guys are all occupied, I drop down onto the bench next to Riley, swinging one leg up so I’m facing her, even as she stares forward, her phone still clutched tightly in her hand.

  “It’s okay if you’re not, you know. You never have to say you’re okay if you don’t feel okay.”

  “It’s okay not to be okay?” she says with a half laugh.

  “Something like that, but with sincerity and, like, one hundred percent less cliché.”