Page 49 of Hockey Halloween
Body Check (BU Hockey, Season 2, #2- Dutton Wagner)
Haunted Hat Trick by Victoria Denault
Haunted Hat Trick
VICTORIA DENAULT
Copyright © 2025 Victoria Denault
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage, A.I. programs and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Editing: Brandi Zelenka at My Notes in the Margin
Cover: Winona Randall Designs
Proofing: OCA Proof Reading
Trope: First Love
Costume: Catwoman
Goalie Palmer Hudson is being haunted… by a player who keeps scoring hat-tricks against him. Ryan Moore is Palmer’s personal nightmare so when he shows up at a Halloween party in Vegas, Palmer feels more cursed than ever. Until his teammates tell Palmer to throw Ryan offhisgame - by hitting on his date. Little does anyone know the mysterious brunette dressed as Catwoman has had her claws in Palmer once before. Did Ryan steal his confidenceandhis childhood crush? Will this night end in regret or rekindled first love?
Palmer
18 years ago…
“When do your parents get here?” I ask, hoping the answer alleviates this growing sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. The only way it would is if her answer is‘In another lifetime.’
I normally hate when summer camp ends and I have to return to life in Rhode Island with my parents, but this year it's more than just the usual feeling of annoyance. It's this ache in my chest, and I know it's not just because I'll miss my camp friends, or because I'll have to spend a few awkward days with my parents before being shipped back to boarding school, where I'll get subpar grades and be the worst forward on my hockey team. It’s because I’ll missher.
“I don’t know. Matilda says they should be here in, like, an hour.” She sounds upset about it, which I’m hoping means she doesn’t want to leave here—me—either. She sighs and stares at the flat, shimmering water in front of us.
I've been coming to Camp Magog in Maine since I was eight, so the views of the crystal clear lake and the rolling Kelley green hills that rise into mountains with trees taller than skyscrapers don't impress me after six years. But this is Delaney's first year. Like me,she's from a wealthy family, but she lives in Colorado, not Rhode Island. And unlike me, she's not an only child. She has a brother and a twin sister. Well, shehada twin sister. Hadley died last year, which Delaney says is why she's here. Her parents can't deal with their grief and their children at the same time, so she's here improving her tennis game, and her brother is at some camp in Canada. That’s all I know. She doesn’t say much else about her family.
This bougie camp is filled with elite, billionaire, and millionaire offspring, and the rules are clear and strict—we don't exchange last names, we can't use or even bring cellphones, and there's no wi-fi. If we're to communicate with anyone outside of this camp for the eight weeks we're here, we do it by snail mail, like it's the 1800s. On top of sailing, archery and crafts, and specialized sports programs, we also have group therapy sessions and art therapy.
"Did you have fun this summer?" she asks as the wind lifts a strand of her brown hair, streaked blonde by the endless hours in the sun. It blows across her cheek, toward the lake.
I start to lift my hand off the rock we're balanced on to brush it away, but insecurity has me freezing, and I slowly put my hand back down on the gray surface between us. Her blue-green eyes finally dart my way, and I nod. "Yeah. It's been my favorite summer yet."
She sighs again. “I meant with me. Did you have fun withme?”
I stare at my knees that have faint scabs on them from a fall during ball hockey. “You’re the reason it was my favorite.”
My heart gallops like I'm running, but I haven't moved a muscle. She looks at me, but I can't look at her, scared that wasn't what she wanted to hear. No girl has ever shown interest in me. Last year I grew up, but not out. I'm five-ten, the tallest fourteen-year-old at this camp, but I'm also probably the skinniest. And there isn't a day I don't have a zit on my face. I'm not overrun with them, but there's always one. Today it's on my forehead, by my hairline, and thankfully, my floppy wheat colored hair that hasn't been cut since I got here is covering it.
“Then why haven’t you kissed me?”
Whoa. My racing heart comes to a skidding stop. She blinks and her cheeks turn the sweetest shade of pink—like they were the day after she got here and she went out in one of the canoes without sunblock. "I've… thought about it, but you told Geoff…"
My brain jumps back to that night two weeks ago when we were playing truth or dare around the campfire and someone dared Geoff to kiss Delaney. I was so angry I wanted to pick up the log I was sitting next to and hurl it at his face. He leaned in and she swiftly gave him her cheek, announcing, “I amnothaving my first kiss be at camp with some random. No offense.”
I was so relieved I audibly sighed. Luckily, no one noticed except Delaney, who thought I was just choking on a s'more.
