Lucky Hit (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 1)

I’m smiling. Like I have been since last night. I don’t think I’ve stopped once. Not even when Oakley walked me to my car this afternoon and kissed me goodbye or when I sat in the passenger seat and listened to Tyler’s endless playlist of rock music for four hours.

My head is light, and my heart is soaring.

I should feel nervous being this happy, but I just can’t. Not yet. I’m going to live in this bubble of bliss for as long as I can.

The soreness between my legs is a reminder of why I’m so high in the clouds, but it isn’t the sole reason. Oakley is. God, the way that man makes me feel is something I certainly wasn’t ready for. Not by a long shot.

I wasn’t supposed to fall for a hockey player, let alone one with a future ahead of him that has a high probability of pulling us apart. But I can’t find it in myself to regret it. Not when Oakley is that guy. The guy with the wild heart that he wears on his sleeve and a protectiveness so fierce it’s almost lung seizing.

He makes me feel safe and loved, and I trust him more than I think I’ve ever trusted someone before. That’s probably ridiculous—it feels ridiculous to admit to myself—but it’s the truth. One hundred percent of it.

The apartment door is locked when I try to turn the knob, but before I can find my key, it’s being unlocked and whipped open.

“Thank God! I thought you would never get home,” Morgan squeals, ushering me inside.

“I was gone for one night.” I laugh. Shrugging off my jacket, I watch Morgan curiously. She’s bouncing in place, staring at me. “Did you do something bad while I was gone? You look weird.”

“Wow, thanks.” Her lips form a straight line.

“Oh, stop. You know what I meant.”

“Maybe I just missed you.”

I lift a brow. “Did you?”

“Of course I did. You want to hang out today?”

I laugh again. “See, you’re being weird. Since when do you ask me to hang out and not just demand it?”

She scowls. “You’re really out for blood today. Luckily, I’m in the mood for some gossip, and since I know you’re just brimming to your lid with it, I’ll forgive you for being so mean.”

Suddenly, it all clicks into place. “You want to know what happened at Oakley’s.”

“Well, obviously. You stayed the night.”

“I did.”

She huffs. “So? Are you down to hang out and spill the beans? We can go last-minute Christmas shopping like we love so much.”

I hang up my coat and drag my overnight bag to my room. Morgan is hot on my tail. “It’s Christmas Eve. Is anything even open?”

“The mall is open for a few more hours. Just drop the damn bag, and let’s go.”

I toss it on my bed instead and cringe when all of my clothes spill out the top. “Guess I forgot to zip it.”

Morgan turns to me, her eyebrows waggling. “Nice panties. Real sexy.”

“Shut up.” I haphazardly start pushing the clothes off my bed and into a makeshift pile on the floor. “And stop looking at my panties.”

“Okay, okay. It’s not like I’ve helped you pick out half of your sexy collection or anything.”

Ignoring her, I gather the pile of clothes in my arms and deposit them in my closet. Then, I swivel on my heels and leave Morgan laughing to herself in my room.

“Okay, I’m sorry. Sheesh, maybe you didn’t get laid like I thought.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, I definitely got laid.” As if summoned, the pain between my legs flares. “Great, now I’m sore again. Thanks.”

“You’re sore? Oh my God. Tell me everything!” she shrieks from behind me.

“I thought you wanted to go shopping?” I glance at her over my shoulder as I tug my mittens back on and laugh at the look of desperation on her face. “Come on, you’re driving.”

“Deal! I’m right behind you.”

Ah, it’s good to be home.

“Have you gotten Matt’s gift yet?” I ask when we enter the busy mall. There are so many people here my skin prickles with discomfort, but I suck it up.

As much as I didn’t really want to have to go to an overcrowded mall right after a four-hour road trip, I do need a gift for Oakley. I pushed it too far, but it wasn’t until yesterday that I knew what I was going to get him.

“Yeah. I got him some new sneakers and a framed photo of us from his cousin’s wedding because I’m that girlfriend. There aren’t nearly enough photos of us in that apartment of theirs. I think Braden has been hiding them so his one-night stands don’t see anything womanlike when he ends up shagging them on the couch or something.”

“You’re probably right. Matt loves having pictures of you all over the place, so it isn’t him hiding them.”

“I can’t wait for the day Braden finds a girlfriend. Good luck to her,” Morgan grumbles.

“Do you really think he’ll ever settle down? He’s like Tyler but worse.”

“Speaking of Tyler,” Morgan sings, and I groan. Walked right into that one. “Did he behave at Anne’s? Or better yet, did you?”

“He was very well-mannered and respectful, yes.”

She pinches my hip. “You damn well know I don’t really care how he behaved.”

I gasp. “Really?”

“I literally hate you.”

“No you don’t. Now, come out and ask what you want to know. You already know I slept with Oakley.”

She grabs my arm and pulls me to a quieter section of the mall. She stares at me with stars in her eyes. “But how was it? Do you love him?” I bite my lower lip, but my smile is hard to contain. It spreads of its own will. “You do. Oh my God. You love that guy.”

“I do.”

Her grin is wide enough to rival mine. “And? Did you tell him?”

“I did.”

“Stop with the blunt answers! I’m losing my cool over here, and you’re acting all relaxed and put together. Gah!”

I giggle. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m still getting used to it. It’s like an out-of-body experience.”

“Did he tell you it back? Please tell me he did.” She clasps her hands beneath her chin.

“He did. Isn’t that crazy?”

“What do you mean? You’re fucking amazing. How could he not love you?”

“That’s not what I meant.” I frown.

“Good. Because if anyone is lucky here, it’s him. He gets to be loved by you. The girl who loves with her entire fucking soul.”

My eyes mist with the heavy emotion swelling in my chest. This is my best friend right here. My ride or die.

“Thank you, Mo.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile says everything she doesn’t. You’re welcome. “Now, let’s stop standing around and get to work.”

Arm in arm, we head down one of the wings of the mall and come to a stop in front of a sports store. Morgan makes an excited noise while I fiddle with my purse strap, nerves stroking my spine. The sales associate is using one of those long pokers to hang Boston jerseys on a tall hook but quickly flashes us a smile when he sees us gawking in the store.

“Wanna head in and get a good long look at what a hockey store looks like before your man’s name is all over everything? It might be your last chance to browse without being mauled,” Morgan suggests with a shrug.

I twist my mouth. “Not exactly selling me on the idea. But I do need to go in to get his gift.”

“I’m just saying. It’s not a far-fetched idea, Ava—it more than likely will be a reality. Especially now that you’re serious.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.”

She gives me an analyzing look before leading us into the store. Without so much as sparing a glance at the basketball and baseball merchandise that’s only maybe a third of the store, she pulls me to the much larger hockey section before finally releasing my arm.

I find the Vancouver Warriors jerseys without player names on the backs and start riffling through the first row of them.

“What is it you’re getting Oakley, anyway? Doesn’t he already have a thousand hockey jerseys?”

“What size do you think he is?” I ask, ignoring her previous question.

She starts to look through the racks closest to her. “Giant size?”

I snort. “Thanks. That narrows it down.”

“Can I help you ladies find anything? Are you looking to customize a jersey?”

My head snaps up, and I find the same sales associate from when we first entered the shop standing a few steps behind Morgan. He looks around our age, with a very symmetrical facial structure and blond hair cut close to his scalp. His lips tug in a grin.

“Yeah. What size jersey do you buy for a six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-twenty-three-pound hockey player?” Morgan asks, spouting off the numbers like it’s nothing. When I stare at her in disbelief, she shrugs. “I know his stats. Sue me.”

The guy is quiet for a minute, seemingly as shocked as I am, before he recovers. “Is this for just daily wear or like over gear for shinny games or whatever?”

They both look at me, and I splutter, “Uh, it’s not really for him to wear.”

“What?” they ask at the same time.

“It will be more of a keepsake, I guess. I don’t know what exactly he’ll do with it.”

“That’s an expensive keepsake,” the guy mumbles, looking at me weird. I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from biting back. “Anyway, in that case, I would suggest ordering a size down from what he usually wears. They fit big, and if he’s not going to be wearing it over any gear, you shouldn’t need a bigger size.”

“Okay, and what size is that?” Morgan asks.

The guy furrows his brows, seemingly frustrated with our lack of knowledge. “You guys don’t know his regular size? Like his everyday sweaters or anything?”

“Well, neither of us are his mother, so no,” Morgan grinds out.

I swallow my laugh. “What would a large look like? I should be able to eyeball I if I see it.” Maybe if they didn’t have such weird sizing for hockey jerseys and instead just used the regular sizing system, this never would have been a problem.

He picks one off the rack and holds it in the air. It looks pretty big, but I’ll keep the receipt in case.

“Looks great. Thanks,” I say. He hands it to me. “How long will it take to get a name stitched on the back?”

“I can have it done on Boxing Day.”

Morgan comes to stand at my side. “When does he get back?”

“Late on Boxing Day.” Another two days, and I already miss him. Great. Turning to the sales associate, I say, “That works. Let’s do it.”

Morgan didn’t end up buying anything at the mall despite being the one to suggest last-minute shopping, but I sort of suspected that it was all a ruse to get info out of me.

She seems sated now, bobbing her head to an Ariana Grande song as she drives us home. The roads have been plowed and salted in the aftermath of the storm, but as I found out the minute Tyler and I got back into town, the storm was much calmer here than where we were.

The drive goes quickly, and soon we’re pulling up to the curb and I’m stepping back into the cold. The sun sets too early in the winter, and it’s dark on the sidewalk, only a few streetlamps casting a light. With careful steps, I head up the sidewalk, focusing on not slipping on any ice, when I notice Morgan isn’t behind me.

Looking over my shoulder, I spot her still in the car. I roll my eyes and stand there with my hands on my hips until she looks up and pulls her phone from her ear, showing it to me. She waves for me to head inside, so I do.

As soon as I get inside the building, I take the stairs two at a time until reaching our floor. When I see a woman leaning against the wall opposite my apartment, I quicken my pace down the hallway, curiosity nipping at me.

If this is one of Adam’s one-night stands here to ask me for information, I swear I’ll kill him.

As I get closer, I realize she’s way too old to be a one-night stand. Or at least I would hope so.

The woman’s hair is thin, and a dark shade of brown—nearly black—that highlights just how pale her skin is. Her green eyes are bloodshot as they move to stare back at me, hauntingly vacant.

“Hello? Do you need something?” I ask when I realize she’s standing directly in front of my apartment.

She pushes away from the wall and straightens herself, brushing her hands across her torn clothing. The sweatshirt she’s wearing isn’t exactly the most eye-pleasing piece of clothing I’ve ever seen. It’s stained and faded, and the yellow material hangs loosely on her thin frame.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, her voice rough and faraway. I raise my eyebrows and take a cautious step back from her, gripping my keys tight in my hand.

“Do I know you?” I murmur, panicked and unsure of what to say. The woman flinches back at my question. I want to ask her more but decide against it.

“You don’t know who I am?” she asks in disbelief, which only confuses me more.

The sound of the stairwell door slamming shut makes her jump. She steadies herself against the wall and looks in the direction of the noise.

I take my gaze off the woman to see Morgan making her way down the hall, her hands rubbing together due to her lack of mittens. Her eyes bulge when she notices our visitor. Glancing between the two of us, she mouths something at me that I don’t understand before pulling back her shoulders and walking right for the woman.

“Who the hell are you?” Morgan asks. She gets no response from her, just an emotionless expression. “Well?”

Still, the woman doesn’t speak. She just stares at me like she’s waiting for me to suddenly recognize her. I begin to feel even more uncomfortable when she bravely places her hand on my forearm.

I cringe and pull my arm back. “Can you just tell us who you are?”

“I want to talk to you alone. Without her,” she adds in a sneer, not hiding her dislike for Morgan.

“Yeah, right. Not happening.” Morgan laughs and points her house key at her. “I suggest you scurry away back to whatever hole you crawled out of. I’ll call my friends if I have to. My friend’s boyfriend here is quite the fighter, and you really wouldn’t want to be on the opposing side of his anger. Or mine, for that matter.”

I catch what looks like a flash of interest in her eyes before she blinks it away and steps back. She regards Morgan with cautious eyes before turning her gaze back to me.

“Is that what you want, Octavia?”

How does she know my name? My heart pounds in fear, hands beginning to tremble.

“Who are you talking about? We don’t even know an Octavia, you wack job,” Morgan lies smoothly. She steps in front of me as if to shield me and pulls her phone out of her coat pocket. “Last chance. All I have to do is send one message, and you’ll be in for a whole world of trouble.”

“Just five minutes. That’s all I want,” the woman pleads.

“For what?” I ask cautiously.

“I don’t want to talk about it here. Can we meet for coffee sometime?”

Morgan’s laugh is dark. “No. You can’t meet my best friend for coffee sometime. We don’t even know who the hell you are.”

The woman just continues to look at me, and my stomach rolls when I finally make out flecks of brown and dark blue circling her pupils. They’re too similar to the ones in my eyes, but also not enough to be completely positive.

That doesn’t stop my skin from flushing cold, though. Or the bile from creeping up my throat.

“Sure. Give me your number and I’ll call you,” I rush out. She needs to leave right now, and I know this is the only way to make sure she does.

“What are you doing?” Morgan asks me in a hushed tone. I ignore her.

The woman in front of me quickly rambles off a number, and I type it into my phone. When she finishes and I look up from the screen, I nearly keel over.

Leave, leave, leave.

“I’ll text you. I have to get inside now,” I mumble before I’m shoving my key in the lock and stumbling my way inside the apartment. Not even the familiar smell of home can soothe my stomach.

I don’t stop moving until I reach the bathroom. Dropping to my knees in front of the toilet, I retch and retch until the only thing coming up is memories of my broken childhood.