Page 15 of Blocked Shot
Jesse Mitchell. The draft darling with the sob story that had every sports reporter reaching for tissues. His parents died in a car wreck when he was thirteen. His older sister gave up everything—college, social life, probably her sanity—to keep his hockey dreams alive while working shitty jobs to pay his league fees.
Jake remembers the photos from draft day: the two of them clinging to each other ugly-crying before Mitchell walked across that stage to accept his shiny new Mavericks jersey.
His stomach doesn't just drop—it falls through the floor, crashes through the basement, and keeps going until it hits China.
Natalie. Three jobs. Only in town for a couple days. And now that he's really looking at this green-around-the-gills kid, those honey-brown eyes are achingly familiar. Same heart-shaped face. Same stubborn set to the jaw.
Oh, fuck me sideways.
Jesse Mitchell isn't just some random rookie he's supposed to babysit. He's Natalie's little brother. Jake would bet his last NHL paycheck on it.
Of all the kids on the damn team, of all the rookies Barbier could’ve handed him, it had to be him. The same kid Natalie is here for. The same kid she was looking out for. The same kid whose sister he spent the night fantasizing about in ways that would get his ass kicked if Jesse or Barbier had any clue.
Jake forces himself to swallow the panic. His new assignment just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
CHAPTER 9
Natalie
Any news?
Jesse
no
Natalie
I’m here if you need me
NATALIE
Natalie shifts her weight from one foot to the other, rubbing her hands together for warmth as she waits outside the Whalers’ training facility. The early morning air has a bite to it, and she wishes she’d thought to grab a jacket before heading over. Jesse texted her to say his meeting wouldn’t take long, but she isn’t holding her breath. Hockey meetings, in her experience, were never short.
She crosses her arms, glancing at the double doors, willing them to open. The last thing she wants is to loiter out here any longer than necessary. She isn’t even sure why she came. Maybe she just needs to see Jesse in person, to reassure herself that he is okay.
Last night had been the second worst night of Natalie’s life. Shehad rushed to the police station, heart pounding, only to find Jesse already released. She found him out front, swaying slightly, looking drunk, sheepish, and way too casual about the whole thing.
On the Uber ride home, she vacillated between full-body rage and near-tears relief. Even now, her frustration with him lingers. Jesse had launched straight into damage control the second they got in the car, blaming everyone but himself. “It wasn’t even me,” he’d insisted, slurring slightly. “The other guys were acting wild, I was just chillin’. The bouncer was on some power trip. The cops wouldn’t even let us talk.”
His excuses—so immature, so infuriating—made her want to scream. She knows he’s young. But he has to be smarter than this. He has to start acting like an adult.
She sighs, stuffing her hands into the pouch of her hoodie. She is about to pull out her phone to text Jesse when movement catches her eye. Someone tall is walking toward her, with broad shoulders, a long stride, and a baseball cap pulled low.
Her stomach flips before her brain even catches up.
Then he steps under the lights, and her breath stutters.
Jake.
He’s in a plain crewneck and athletic shorts, casual as ever, with a black Whalers cap pulled down over his messy hair, which is tied back in a low ponytail. He looks effortlessly hot, like he just rolled out of bed looking that good. Her heart kicks into gear—something warm and reckless blooming in her chest.
But it isn’t the easy swagger of his walk that catches her attention.
It’s the damn hat.
A cold sweat prickles at the nape of Natalie’s neck as her chest constricts, her breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. Heat rushes through her, then vanishes, leaving her cold and unsteady.
The realization hits like a slap to the face.
