Lucky Hit (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 1)

I need a shower. Desperately. Before I pass out from a mix of overexertion and dehydration and end up needing my ass carried to the dressing room.

But right now, that’s the last thing I want to do.

Instead of ridding myself of the stench that’s wafting up from beneath my gear when I should have, I hung back to do another lap around the ice. A victory lap, if you will.

For most of my teammates, this is just the end of another winning season. For me, this is the last time I will ever skate in this arena, as not only a player but the captain of my hometown team, the Penticton Storm. I’m allowed to feel a little nostalgic. This arena has been my second home for the past three years.

The familiar cold of the ice nips at my skin through my jersey as I stare at the empty stadium like a wounded puppy. This old, outdated arena helped me rediscover my passion for hockey when the last thing I wanted was to slip on a pair of skates.

It’s where I watched my mom and sister scream at the top of their lungs, waving around their cheesy signs at every game.

And where I realized I could be a leader—a genuine force to be reckoned with.

Lines of fluffy snow trail behind me as I skate slowly around the rink, my breaths ragged as I push myself along the boards. It’s peaceful. The silence is unusual compared to the screaming crowds during a game or Coach’s colourful words after a loss.

By the time I haul myself off the ice and down the hallway leading to the locker room, my chest is tight, tense with nerves and a sense of loss that I wish I wasn’t already familiar with.

With a hard yank, the locker room door rips open, and I narrowly avoid smacking chests with my best friend.

The walking brick wall otherwise known as Andre Spetza flashes me a wide grin and clasps a hand over my shoulder. “I was starting to think I needed to go out there and pull you off the ice.”

“Any longer and you would have.”

He adjusts his grip on his hockey bag before simply tossing it to the side of the room and following me to my cubby. I arch a brow but don’t say anything. Collapsing on a bench, I start untying my skates.

“What? I’m going to wait with you. I need as much time in your superstar presence as I can get.”

“You make it sound like you’ll never see me again. This isn’t a breakup.” Despite my attempted joke, the hurt in his auburn-coloured eyes is obvious. He isn’t the only one hurting. “You guys can carry your own. With or without me.”

He forces a laugh. “Humility looks good on you.”

“Soak it up, big boy. Maybe you could learn a thing or two.”

This time, his laugh is genuine. “Nah. Me and humility aren’t meant to be.”

“You’ll have to force it, then, if you want to take my spot next season.”

His eyes widen. “Not happening.”

“I’ve nearly convinced Coach.” I shrug. “The team is going to need a new captain, and you’re the only one I trust to step up.” If he can manage to keep his dick in his pants long enough to actually focus on something other than sex.

He sits stiffly beside me. “I told you not to do that. The only thing I’m good at is throwing my fists around and snapping at the other D-men to focus. I can’t lead an entire team.”

“Just think about it, man. That’s all.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll think about it. But no promises.”

I nod. “No promises.”

The silence is heavy as I finish untying my skates and grab my bag from my cubby, stuffing them inside. I remove my jersey and gear, putting everything away before throwing on a T-shirt and sweatpants.

By the time I have my bag over my shoulder, Andre is typing away on his phone, a scrunch between his brows.

“You good?” I ask.

His eyes snap to mine. “Yeah. Just last-minute party prep. Friday night, remember? If you stand me up at your own going-away party, I’ll never forgive you.”

I swallow a groan. “I’ll be there.” Even if going to a party is the last way I want to spend my final night in town.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You know how much I love to party.”

“Your sarcasm is unbecoming,” he scolds.

I laugh. “Just try to keep the invites to a minimum. I’m not going to be in much of a party mood.”

There’s a devious look in his eye that has me fighting back a scowl. If it weren’t for the fact I know he just wants me to have a good time before I leave, I would have told him to call the entire thing off. But if it makes everyone else happy to get drunk in my name, I’ll suck it up and drag my ass to a house party for a couple of hours.

He stands and clasps his hands together. “That’s nothing a platter of Jell-O shots can’t fix, Lee. But you have my word I’ll be stingy with the invites. Now, let me walk you out of here for the final time. Wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

“Unlikely. You just don’t want to say goodbye,” I tease, standing and bumping his shoulder with mine.

“Damn right I don’t.” He shakes his head and collects his bag from the corner of the room before following me out the door.

The lights in the arena have already been dimmed, and our shoes echo through the halls as we walk. Silently, we pass the equipment room and the wall of team photos, from the first Storm team to ours this season, before coming up to Coach’s office. My feet falter, and Andre pats my back.

“You want to talk to Coach?” he asks.

I exhale a loud breath and debate walking through the door. It should be an easy decision. I should go in and say goodbye. But it won’t be that easy. There’s a lot more I owe that man besides a simple goodbye.

“What are you two talking about out there? Spetza, you better not be here to tell me you’re leaving too!”

Andre and I spin on each other, our eyes wide before Coach’s brash laugh fills the hallway. I swallow and steel my spine. “Go home, Dre. I gotta do this. Friday night. I’ll be there.”

He nods, and we throw our arms around each other in a tight hug. After a minute, I pat his back, and we break apart.

“Text me later. See ya Friday.” With that, he walks away, leaving me alone.

It takes me four steps to reach Coach’s office. Banner Yaras is sitting behind a large mahogany desk with one hand around a massive cup of coffee—regardless of the time—while the other scratches his overgrown salt-and-pepper beard. He grins when he spots me in the doorway.

“Hey, Coach.”

He motions toward the grey two-seater couch resting against the opposing wall and relaxes in his chair. “I was beginning to wonder if you snuck out of here without saying goodbye.”

I flop down on the couch and lace my fingers behind my head, kicking my legs out. “I was debating it. Goodbye doesn’t seem fitting. Not after everything you’ve done for me and my family.”

“That was all you, kid. I just lit the fire under your ass that got you out of a slump.”

“It was more than a slump, and you know it. But thank you. You have no idea how much it means to us. My mom especially. I owe you.”

He swipes a hand through the air. “You can thank me by kicking ass in Vancouver. They need the help.”

“Not you too. Please don’t give me the ‘why are you doing this’ speech. My mom has laid into me enough for it.”

Nobody is happy with my decision to join the Vancouver Saints and not the Ontario Rebels like I was expected to. They don’t understand why I would turn down an offer to play for a more successful WHL team instead, but I don’t need them to. Ontario is too far from my mother and sister, and that’s that. No discussion needed on the matter.

Vancouver is going to be my home until I get drafted into the NHL. It would be easier if everyone just accepted that now instead of trying to change my mind.

“Your mom wants you to have the best chance possible. She doesn’t think that’s the Saints.”

I narrow my eyes. “She doesn’t, or you don’t?”

Coach meets my stare with one of similar intensity. He’s the closest thing to a father figure I’ve had since I was young, and I know his heart is in the right place, but that only makes his doubt more hurtful.

He releases a tight breath. “You just turned nineteen. It’s this year or nothing. You wanted to wait to enter the draft until you were sure your mother could handle it, and I’ve always supported that idea. But we’re past that now. The teams know you’re eligible this draft, and I’m scared you could be throwing away your shot at the NHL with this team because you don’t want to leave your family.”

My stomach sinks and twists. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. But I’m not changing my mind. I need your support here, Banner.” I push a hand through my hair. “Please.”

He rolls his lips, looking torn. This is a man I’ve had shout at me for messing up my footing during drills but also bring leftovers his wife had wrapped in tinfoil containers to my house on nights my mom had had to work late. Sure, it helped that his wife is good friends with my mom, but they didn’t have to do half of the shit they’ve done for my family over the years.

Disappointing Banner is almost as bad as disappointing Mom.

After a few long moments, he relents. “I will always support you, Oakley. Always.”

A weight lifts from my shoulders. Suddenly, I can breathe again.

The sun has just about set by the time I park outside our small two-story home in my dad’s old, beat-up white Ford.

My childhood home is not grand by any means, but it’s home. A small porch with scuffed wooden steps sits in the centre, in front of a bright red door that Mom painted with Dad shortly after buying the home. It’s chipped and peeling now, but Mom refuses to repaint it.

A bay window sits on the right side of the house, in the middle of the living room, along with a wooden flower box that lies underneath, filled with yellow daisies.

Tilting my head back, I stare at the water pelting down from the grey, puff-filled sky and groan. It has been pouring rain ever since I left the arena, which isn’t that much of a surprise. April in British Columbia is nothing but goddamn rain.

I grab my hockey bag from the passenger seat, throw it over my shoulder, and run inside. “I’m home, Ma!”

I kick my shoes off and haul ass upstairs to deposit my bag in my room before Mom catches a whiff of the smell.

After I’ve disposed of it, I shut my door and plop myself down on my twin bed, sinking into the worn-in shape of my body on the mattress. My long frame makes it nearly impossible to keep my feet on the narrow bed as they dangle almost comically off the edge.

I look up at my open door when my mom knocks, catching her as she leans against the frame, her arms folded and her lips tugged up.

“Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?”

My mom looks exceptionally young for her age. Maybe it has something to do with how she always has her short blonde hair done up or how her crystal-blue eyes haven’t lost their sparkle over the years.

I got most of my features from my dad. Dark brown hair that swoops at the back of my neck, evergreen-coloured eyes, and long legs.

“It was alright. Hard to say goodbye, but I’ll be okay.”

“I would be worried if you weren’t the least bit sad, honey. Goodbyes are never easy.” Her eyes shine with tears before she blinks them away. “But you should also let yourself be excited. You’re so close to your dreams.”

She sits down on the edge of my bed and gives me one of her famous Anne Hutton smiles, her blue eyes bright. “I am so proud of you. I know your father would be too.”

Mom always has a way of smiling and lifting people’s spirits. Dad always called it her superpower. I didn’t understand how a smile could be someone’s superpower until after the crash.

Her smile was one of the few things that got me through it all. So, in my eyes, that does make her a damn superhero.

I sit up to look at her properly. “I am excited. What about you? Will you be okay? I’ll try to come home as often as I can.”

My promise is clear in my words, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep it. My new schedule is going to be crazy, but I would do anything for my family. Even driving four hours each way just to see that damn smile on my mom’s face.

She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shakes her head. “You need to stop worrying about your sister and me. You’re going to get grey hairs before you make it to your twentieth birthday. We will be fine. I promise.”

I frown. “Gracie is going to push you without me here. Have you seen the piece-of-shit car that’s been bringing her to and from school lately? It looks like it could catch on fire if the air conditioning and the radio are on at the same time.”

Mom just laughs. “It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? Mom, the exhaust is black.”

She stifles her laugh behind her hand, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Yes, I suppose that could be an issue. Maybe you should talk to her about it.”

I snort a laugh. “Right. She won’t listen to me. That’s a guys car. Have you noticed the tinted front windows? It screams troubled teen. Is she dating this guy? You’re not going to let that happen, right? There’s no way my baby sister is going to be dating a guy who can’t even take care of his own car. Actually, there’s no way she’s ever dating. Period.”

“Oakley, relax, sweetheart. You’re going to blow a blood vessel. Your sister is a teenage girl who’s spent her entire life under your protective wing. Let her breathe while you’re gone. I promise she’ll be okay. I might be small, but I’m mighty when it comes to my babies.”

Some of the anger leaches from my veins, and I nod. “I’ll try. But no promises. I would appreciate weekly updates regarding that boy and his . . . car. I don’t think it’s safe for her to be on the road in that thing.”

She smiles sadly and places a hand on my forearm, squeezing it. “I will. I’ll get it figured out. You’re right, she shouldn’t be on the road in a dangerous vehicle.”

I cover her hand with mine, not liking how cold it feels. “I love you, Mom. You know that, yeah?”

“I know. There are leftover burgers in the fridge if you’re hungry. I’ll leave you to relax. Good night, I love you.” She gives me one final squeeze before standing and heading for the door.

“Night, Mom,” I mumble as she leaves.