Page 75 of One Pucking Surprise
“Alright,headsup!”Icall, flicking the puck across the ice to a scrawny twelve-year-old who scrambles to catch it with his stick. “Good hustle, Connor, but keep your head up. Eyes on the play.”
Youth hockey camp is chaos in the best way. Kids buzzing around the ice, sticks clattering, and the sharp slice of skates cutting across the rink. I do this every year—one weekend dedicated to coaching the next generation. Some of these kids are naturals, others just need confidence. Either way, it’s one of the few things in my life that feels straightforward. A game. A goal. A clear direction.
But not today. Today, my focus keeps slipping to the woman standing just off the ice, laughing as she helps set up cones for drills. Lainey.
She agreed to come with me this weekend, which surprised the hell out of me. After everything—after her hesitations aboutmoving in, her constant insistence that she didn’t want me doing this out of obligation—I half expected her to tell me to deal with the camp on my own. But here she is, in jeans and a loose sweater, her hair pulled back, looking so effortlessly beautiful it hurts to watch her.
I’m screwed.
“Coach Zach!” A kid’s voice snaps me back to the ice as a puck whiz past me, narrowly missing my skate. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” I reply, shaking my head and grinning. “You’re supposed to aim at the net, not my feet.”
The boy blushes and skates off, and I glance back at Lainey. She’s crouched beside a kid who’s holding a mini stick, showing him how to angle it just right. The kid beams up at her like she hung the moon. And damn if I don’t feel the same way.
The morning passes in a blur of drills, passing plays, and breakaway practice. Every time I catch Lainey out of the corner of my eye—laughing, encouraging the kids, or shooting me a playful look—I feel something tighten in my chest. It’s not just that she’s here. It’s the way she’s here. Like she belongs.
When the kids finally shuffle off to the dining hall for lunch, Lainey walks over to me,brushing a strand of hair from her face. “How’s it going, Coach?”
I smirk, grabbing a water bottle from the bench. “Not bad. Though I think you’re stealing my thunder. The kids seem more interested in you than the drills.”
“Maybe they just like my coaching better,” she teases, her eyes sparkling.
“Careful, Lainey,” I say, stepping closer. “I might start thinking you’re flirting with me.”
Her cheeks flush, and she glances away, but not before I catch the small smile tugging at her lips.
We find a quiet lounge inside Montgomery Hall, the dorm building where the camp kids are staying. It’s small but cozy, with a couple of couches, a coffee table, and a floor-to-ceiling window that lets in soft natural light. I spread out the blanket on the carpet, setting the sandwiches, chips, and bottled water between us. The room is cool and quiet, the perfect escape from the chaos of the rink.
“This is nice,” Lainey says, sitting cross-legged on the blanket and unwrapping her sandwich. She glances around, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Feels like our little hideout.”
I sit beside her, leaning back on my hands. “Figured we could use some quiet before the chaos starts again.”
She takes a bite, nodding thoughtfully. “You’re good with them, you know. The kids. They look up to you.”
I shrug, trying to play it cool, but her words hit something deep inside me. “They’re good kids. They just need someone to believe in them.”
She looks at me for a moment, her expression soft. I feel like she’s about to say something else, something important, but she just shakes her head and takes another bite. I watch her, the way her lips curve as she chews, the way her eyes flick toward the window, distant but calm. Damn, she’s beautiful.
“Lainey,” I start, my voice breaking the silence. “About moving in—”
“Zach,” she cuts me off, her tone firm. “I don’t want to move in just because I’m pregnant.”
“That’s not why I’m asking,” I say quickly, leaning forward. “It’s not just about the baby. I want to be there for you—for both of you.”
She shakes her head, her expression conflicted. “But what does that even mean? Are you doing this because you want to or because you think you have to?”
Before I can answer, a familiar voice cuts through the air, sharp and unwelcome.
“Wait. What do you mean you’re pregnant?”
I look up to see Clarissa standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and her face a mix of disbelief and anger. My stomach sinks. Of course, she’d find a way to show up. She always does.
“Lainey,” I say quietly, “give me a minute.”
Lainey nods, her lips pressed into a tight line.
“Let’s talk,” I tell Clarissa firmly, grabbing her arm as gently as I can while guiding her toward the hallway. She protests, of course, but I don’t give her a choice. The last thing I need is for this to escalate.
