Chapter 1

Dan

I reach for the remote to silence the game on TV as I listen to my former teammate and mentor, Troy Hart, on the other end of the line. I’ve been lounging on my oversized sofa as I recover from my latest PT session. Being benched for a left wrist injury during the Chicago Blizzard preseason wasn’t exactly the way I planned things to go this year, and I’m frustrated I’m not fit to be out on the ice with the team.

But Coach’s word is law in my world, and he’s benched me for the next five or six weeks.

I’m about as happy about it as a polar bear in a sauna.

I put the phone on speaker and sit upright. “Wait. Did I hear you right, Troy? You want me to come back to Maple Falls to play hockey for a kids’ charity team called the Ice Breakers?”

“That’s what I said,” he replies.

“But there is no kids’ charity hockey team in Maple Falls.”

“There is now, thanks to me and Zach, my loaded brother. He’s matching the sponsors’ donations, and all proceeds from the games will go to charity.”

Zach Hart, billionaire. Huh. The idea of that fancy guy in my small hometown in Washington state is almost laughable.

“Which charity?” I ask.

“Happy Horizons Ranch. Angel Davis runs it. She’s a local here in Maple Falls.”

“Angel Davis? I’ve known her just about since birth.”

Troy laughs. “Maple Falls sure is a small town. Angel does a great job helping disadvantaged kids learn outdoorsy skills on her ranch. Kids come from all over the county these days.”

A worthy cause for sure.

“You know I’m down with an injury, right?” I ask, instinctively rotating my left wrist to assess the pain.

Yup, there it is.

I hurt it at practice last week, smashing into the plexiglass in an uncompromisingly aggressive hit from the team rookie. It turns out plexiglass is a lot tougher than my wrist. I told Coach he was overreacting when he benched me, that it was just a sprain. But he wasn’t listening. Said I was too important to the team to compromise. Said he’s got his eye on me as captain once our current captain, Carter, retires.

I should take it as a compliment. All I am is frustrated.

Time on the ice back in my hometown sounds more than tempting—once my wrist is healed.

“I do know you’re injured. I also know you desperately want to play, and you’re benched with the Blizzard.”

“Do you know everything?” I joke.

“Yup,” is his straightforward answer. “I can give you ice time as captain of the Ice Breakers, right here in your hometown. Perfect, right? Game time and family time.”

I always went on about how great my hometown in Washington state was when Troy was on the team, and clearly, the guy was listening. He and his wife, Kelly, bought an arena when they moved there not that long ago.

As he is older than me and was already a gold medal Olympian and top NHL player by the time I joined the team straight out of college, I’ve always looked up to Troy. He was the elder statesman of the team. If Troy says come home and play hockey for a kids’ charity, I’m not going to question the guy—particularly when he’s offering to clear it with my team management.

“Keep talking,” I tell him as I lean back against my seat, the cream leather groaning against my bulk. What can I say? We hockey players aren’t exactly known for our small frames. I’m 6′5″ with a decent amount of muscle and shoulders my high school coach once described as wide enough to block out the sun. I’m no ninety-pound weakling, and if I were, I wouldn’t be able to do what I do for a living.

“It’s a six week commitment, including practice time and five games against the Canadian Lumberjacks. And it’ll be great for your state of mind. Being benched for an injury is no picnic.”

“You got that right,” I grind out.

Troy laughs. “I remember the days when not playing a game felt like the end of the world. But trust me, Dan, there is life outside of hockey.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“I want to be out there, playing my part. This season we’ve got as good a shot as any team of winning the Cup.”

I’m not being arrogant. I know I’m a good player. I got drafted in the first round, right out of college, and I’ve got a seventy-six-point average per season. Not bad for a small-town boy whose hockey-obsessed dad had to take a second job at the gas station to afford my sport.

Now, being able to pay off my parents’ mortgage, as well as take them on a cruise of their choice each summer, is my way of paying back their sacrifice, despite the fact they’re always telling me their pride in my success is more than enough.

I know I totally won the family lottery, from my actor brother, Ethan, right down to our book-obsessed kid sister, Emerson, aka Emmy. Mimi, our grandmother, lived just down the street, always feeding us delicious baked goods from her kitchen, and instructing us not to tell our mom. We’re close, supportive of one another, with a set of parents who might not have had much when we were growing up, but who went beyond the necessities for each one of us. For me it was hockey lessons and running me around for games, for Ethan it was acting class, and for Emmy it was an endless supply of books.

“I get it. Hockey’s your world right now,” Troy replies. “Which is why coming back to your hometown to play is so perfect for you. I can work things out with your team management to get you the time off, and we’ve got an excellent PT. She’ll get that wrist back into shape before you know it.”

“I’ve got to admit—it’s tempting.”

And besides, there’s another reason for going back home, and it’s kind of a big one. Keira Johnson. My Kiki. Only she hasn’t been my Kiki for ten years now.

Just the thought of my high school girl—the girl I left behind—has my pulse kicking up a notch or ten.

Keira is the girl I’ve never been able to forget.

Sure, there’ve been other girls. It’s been a long time and I’m no saint. Women tend to throw themselves at you when you’re an NHL player, particularly when you’re known as the pretty boy of the team. Those puck bunnies, as they’re sometimes called, simply come with the territory—and it’s fun territory, believe me.

Of course, the fact that my kid brother is the current heartthrob on the hit Netflix fantasy show, It Came One Winter, doesn’t exactly hurt, either.

But here’s the thing: Most of the women I meet are only interested in me because I’m Dan Roberts, center for the Chicago Blizzard, brother to the guy they love to watch on TV. Relationships for me tend to last a few weeks, a month, tops. My lifestyle means it’s hard to hold down a relationship. And besides, those women aren’t interested in plain Dan Roberts, the hockey-obsessed kid from Maple Falls, who worked his butt off to make it to the NHL.

So, my heart has been safe, never forgetting my first love. Keira.

An image of her springs into my mind. She’s laughing at something, her gray-blue eyes dancing, her blonde hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. Her smile is framed with those cute dimples of hers, the dimples I used to get to brush soft kisses against.

I took her for granted when I had her. I was a dumb kid, only seventeen when we broke up. I figured there’d be other girls, other loves. It’s been ten years since we broke up for me to take my hockey scholarship at Yale, literally the other side of the country from her. But I know if I ever got the chance to be with her again, trust me when I say I would leap at it.

“When do you need me?” I ask, my mind made up.

“Seriously? Dan, that’s awesome! Having the great ‘Dan the Man’ Roberts, hometown hero and famous NHL star, on the team would mean even better media coverage and more money for the kids.”

I laugh. “And I get to have some of my mom’s home-cooked meals.”

“On that, it would be good if you could stay with the team. Me and Kelly bought the Maple Falls arena as well as the lodge. You might remember it. The Hawk River Lodge?”

“The one on the edge of town with the big pool. Yeah, I remember it.”

“I don’t have to tell you it’s nothing too fancy.”

“There’s nothing much fancy about Maple Falls,” I say on a laugh. “But that’s part of its charm.”

“You’re so right. Can you get here by the end of the month?”

My entire schedule consists of physical therapy and gym workouts. Occasionally, I catch up with the guys from the team, but it’s hard when I’m not training with them, getting ready for the season.

Truth be told, I spend more time alone than I’d care to admit. I guess I’ve been so busy chasing success I’ve not created the life I actually want. But I tell myself that will come in time. Right now, it’s all about hockey. I’ve worked too hard for it not to be.

There will be time for a wife, kids, a place that feels like a real home. As slick and spacious as my house is, it’s never felt like a real home to me. Not like where I grew up.

Don’t get me wrong: my life isn’t exactly horrible. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and I’m reaping the rewards, from the huge paycheck to the fame, and everything that brings.

As ungrateful as it sounds, it’s not enough for me.

I want that special someone, someone to have a family with, someone to grow old with, someone who loves me for me and not the fame or the money.

And a big part of me has always wondered if that person is Keira. She still lives in our hometown. That much I know.

Spending a full six weeks in Maple Falls might just give me the answer.

 

 

Chapter 2

Keira

 

The market is a riot of early fall colors. The lush greens and bright hues of summer are fading, replaced with oranges and rusts and reds, not only in the changing leaves on the surrounding trees, but in the produce in the market stalls: gourds and pumpkins and butternuts everywhere.

It’s my favorite time of year here in Maple Falls, so named for the maple trees planted here by the town’s founders, that well over 200 years later still reach majestically toward the sky. Their foliage provides shelter from the hot sun and rain clouds in the summer, and a veritable tapestry of rust and red and orange now in the fall.

I chew on my lip as I eye the empty stall, nestled between the Maple Falls Meats and Callie’s Cupcakes. Where once Willy Watson sold his caramel walnut fudge now stands an empty counter, surrounded by the same cream canvas of all the Maple Falls Farmers’ Market stalls.

It’s only been empty for a week, but that’s seven days too long in my books. I know. I’ve been running the Maple Falls Farmers’ Market for the past four or so years, and the rent on these stalls is vital to its overall success. Busy stalls equal greater cashflow, and I need the market to make a healthy profit. I love this job and the last thing I want to do is let down my employer, Geoffrey Goldblatt and his son, Martin. I’m really hoping the Maple Fest gives the coffers of both the Farmers’ Market and the city the boost we need.

“You’re looking pretty serious there, Ms. Keira Johnson,” Brian says, pulling my attention from the empty stall. Brian’s the proprietor of Maple Falls Meats. He has a store on Maple Road and a stall here at the farmers’ market each weekend. He’s a hardworking, burly, friendly guy, commonly found wearing a white apron over his round, plaid flannel-clad belly.

I smile. “I’m working out who we’re gonna put in this stall now that Willy’s retired.”

Willy Watson was a farmers’ market fixture, kind of a Maple Falls local legend. It was he and his wife, Nancy, who first suggested expanding the Maple Falls Farmers’ Market from simply selling fresh produce, flowers, and plants to include items from local businesses, such as baked goods, coffee, and ice cream. The waffle stand is particularly popular, and I can’t say I’m adverse to the treat, smothered in cream and strawberries, at the end of a long day. Willy brought in local bands that lend a relaxed and fun atmosphere to the market, and people can be found wandering around each weekend morning, clutching their coffees and hot chocolates, munching on bacon sandwiches and pastries, folk music filling the air.

Did I mention I love my job? Where else can you work in such idyllic surrounds?

After graduating college in Seattle and coming back to Maple Falls, I worked at the coffeehouse in the bookstore my friend Emmy runs, until this job came up. Although I was tempted to do what my college friends were doing—moving to big cities to pursue exciting careers—I knew I needed to be back home. My sister, Clara, and I lost our parents in a car wreck when I was a freshman at college. And then, disaster struck again when she got so sick with chronic fatigue syndrome, aka CFS, that she could barely get out of bed, and her scum of a husband left her and her two young kids for another woman.

She needed family. I was all she had.

Of course I wanted to try out a different life, at least for a while. But it wasn’t in the cards. So here I am, twenty-seven years old, living in my hometown, with no plans to ever leave.

Don’t get me wrong: I love living back here. The place has got heart, just like a small town, only with some of the amenities of a much bigger place. I mean, what small town has an ice arena? Other than Maple Falls, that is.

It’s so picturesque here, and many a tourist can be spotted at this time of year, lapping up the local scenery and snapping shots of the pretty leaves. And attending the Maple Falls Farmers’ Market if I’ve done my job right.

“Those sure are some big shoes to fill, Keira,” Brian comments, bringing my wandering mind back to the market. “Willy was an integral part of the fabric of this place.”

I pull my lips into a line, feeling the pressure. “I’ve had a few applications, so I’m trying to work out what fits best between Callie’s and your stalls.”

Let’s face it, raw meat and freshly baked cupcakes aren’t exactly a match made in heaven. The applications I’ve received so far have been from a butcher from a neighboring town, which Brian will spit tacks at; a local florist, just starting out; a small local olive oil business; and someone who wants to sell those little rubber things people clip onto their Crocs.

“I’m sure you’ll make the right call, just as Willy and Nancy always did before. You got this.” Brian beams at me before his attention is diverted to a customer.

That is my cue to leave and take a mental note to offer the stall to the olive oil business first. That ought to provide a decent oily buffer between meat and cupcakes, if you’ll excuse the pun.

It’s almost closing time for the Saturday market, and I’ve got to ensure all the vendors are fully packed up before my team and I can secure the stalls, ready for an early start come Sunday morning.

Saturdays are always a rush for me because I need to get my eight-year-old niece, Hannah, to her figure skating lesson across town. I take her six-year-old brother, Benny, along with me, too. Even though he gets bored sitting in the bleachers watching his sister and her classmates skate, it’s the perfect time for Clara to get some peace and quiet. Clara’s juggling a lot with the CFS and being a mom, so I do everything I can to help her out, which includes a lot of running around after my niece and nephew.

That’s what families do for each other.

Just over an hour later, the vendors have all left for the day, the market has been packed up, and I get home to the house we grew up in with just enough time to herd Hannah and Benny out of the house for Hannah’s lesson.

Balancing two bags of groceries from the fresh produce stalls—and a half dozen cinnamon rolls from Maple Grounds Bakery, because life’s too short not to eat cinnamon rolls—I let myself inside, turning a blind eye to the exterior walls’ peeling paint, and the fact that one of the porch steps still needs fixing. Both are in the “too hard” basket for now—along with too many things to mention. I’ll get to them. Someday.

The curtains are still drawn when I make my way down the hall into the living room, and I can tell Clara had a bad morning. She was still asleep when I left earlier, and I always say a little prayer on my drive back home that this day is a better day than the last.

I find my sister lying on the sofa, a crocheted blanket our mom made draped across her slim body. She opens her eyes and blinks at me a couple times before she pulls her lips into a smile.

“Hey, Kiki. All done for the day?” she asks as she begins to push herself up.

“Don’t get up. Relax. I got this.”

She slumps back on the sofa. “You’re too good to me.”

I place the bags of groceries on the coffee table and pull the blanket up over her chest. “I’m just doing what anyone would. Can I get you anything before I go? I picked up some supplies. We were running low.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve been an absolute saint since Dwayne left.”

“Don’t mention that jerk,” I say softly, referring to her ex who decided the best course of action to deal with his wife’s illness was to skip town. Oh, and run off with Clara’s best friend, too.

I’m certain there’s a special place in hell for people like him.

Clara’s eyes brim with tears. “I wish I’d never married him.”

“But without Dwayne, you’d never have had my beautiful niece and nephew.”

Her lips lift into a soft smile. “You say that every time.”

“That’s because it’s the truth. Where are they, by the way? It’s way too quiet in here.”

“They’re outside in the tree house.”

“I’ll go get them. But first, I’m going to make you a cup of herbal tea. Chamomile or peppermint?”

“Coffee?” she asks with her nose scrunched up, ever hopeful.

I shake my head. “You know the caffeine is not good for you.”

She sighs. “I know, but I thought I’d try anyway. See if I could catch you off guard.”

I busy myself with putting the groceries away in the kitchen as I make a cup of tea. Spotting the kids out the window, I see that Hannah is already in her figure skating outfit, and when I wave at them, they rush back into the house with excited squeals, almost bowling me over with their enthusiasm.

“I’m the captain and you’re my prisoner!” Benny exclaims.

“You’re not going to make me walk the plank again, are you?” I ask.

“The plank! The plank!” he chants in response.

“Let me get my swimsuit first,” I tell him as I tickle him under his arm, and he falls down giggling.

I notice a tear in Hannah’s tights. “Honey, how did this happen?”

“It got caught on a twig,” she replies, placing her hand over the tear. “It’s not my fault.”

“Do you have another pair you could go change into?”

She shakes her head mournfully, and I make a mental note to buy her a new pair next time I’m in town.

“We don’t have time to sew it up now, but I’ll fix it tonight and get it back to you before your next lesson, okay?”

“Thanks, Aunt Kiki,” she replies dutifully, although I’m sure she doesn’t want to wear patched up tights when some kids in her class have brand new everything.

We’ve got to make do with what we can afford. With Clara not being able to work and her idiot of a husband not only out of the picture, but only providing erratic child support and alimony, it’s up to me to hold this family together—and more than just by making tea and hand-sewing up tears in tights.

Supporting my sister and her two kids might not be the way I saw my life turning out, but you do what you’ve got to do for the people you love.

“I’m going to deliver this drink to your mom, and then we’re ready to go. Go get your warm clothes. Layers are our friends on the ice,” I tell her. That and cinnamon rolls. I stuff three into a paper bag to take with us to the arena.

Hannah dashes from the kitchen in a blur of excitement, trailed by Pirate Benny, still ha-haring as he goes. Hannah loves her figure skating class, and I’m so lucky my friend and ice-skating teacher extraordinaire, Ellie Butler, gives us a hefty discount on both the classes and her skates. Figure skating is an expensive sport, and with Benny chomping at the bit to try ice hockey, I’ll take whatever discounts my fellow townsfolk are willing to offer.

You only get one childhood, and I want to make theirs the absolute best it can be.

A few minutes later, I’ve delivered Clara’s tea, made her more comfortable on the sofa, grabbed my current read from my nightstand, and the three of us have headed to the arena. Once there, Hannah runs in through the door in excitement, her blonde ponytail flying, and we follow after her, Benny far less enthusiastic to have to watch his sister’s class.

A brisk chill wraps around us, a stark contrast to the relative fall warmth outside. The air carries the distinct scent of ice, mixed with a hint of hot chocolate drifting from a nearby stand. I can hear Ellie’s encouraging tones, mixed with the crisp scrape of blades on ice as she stands in the middle of the rink, her breath fogging the air as she teaches a class of older kids.

She notices me and throws me a quick smile, and I wave back.

“Did Hannah help you with your homework?” I ask Benny, holding his hand in mine as we make our way to the bleachers. Hannah is a typical older sister: like a little mom-in-training who loves to boss her brother around.

“I hate math. It’s so hard,” he complains.

“What’s hard about it?”

“Everything. It hurts my brain.”

“I know what. I’ll help you with it. I’m not the best at math, but I know enough.” And how hard can first grade math be? I’m banking on not hard at all.

“Can I go to Levi’s house to play when we get home instead? He’s a pirate, too.”

“Of course you can, but how about we give this math thing a shot first? I promise it’ll be fun, and you might even be surprised with how much you already have in that big brain of yours.”

He pulls his lips to one side, not convinced. “I guess.”

I help Hannah lace up her skates as she chats eagerly with her classmates, ready for her class. I kiss her on the head and tell her to have a good lesson before I find Benny and me a spot alongside the group I’ve labelled the Mom Squad in my head.

“Hey, everyone,” I say as I sit, the cold metal of the bench instantly beginning to seep through my clothing. I pull out a coloring book and crayons from my purse and hand it to Benny, who begins to color.

“Hey, Keira,” says one of the moms, a woman called Nell. She was a few years ahead of me at Maple Falls High and is now married with a couple of kids. She glances at the book in my hand. “Watcha reading this time?”

“Wuthering Heights. I read it back in high school, so it’s a reread for me,” I reply. “It’s good, despite its doomed love story between the two main protagonists, Cathy and Heathcliff.”

“Yeah. Sure.” It’s clear Nell has zero interest in my book. “Have you heard the big news?” she asks, her eyes bright with excitement.

I put my bookmark in my book and close it. “What news?”

“Well, you know how Troy and his billionaire brother are hosting those charity games coming up soon?”

Of course I’ve heard about it. It’s the biggest thing to happen to Maple Falls in … well, forever. Zach Hart has come to town and invested in Troy’s hockey team, which means a bunch of top hockey players will be here to play a bunch of charity games to raise money for the Happy Horizons Ranch. It’s a worthy cause, and I plan to attend all the games, like the rest of the town.

“I live here,” I reply with a light-hearted roll of my eyes. “What’s the latest?”

“Dan Roberts is back here right this very minute, ready to play on the team. The Dan Roberts, as in hometown hockey hero and NHL superstar? My friend who works reception at the Hawk River Lodge told me. Can you believe it?” Nell’s expression shows me just how thoroughly excited she is by this news.

Me? My heart seems to have stopped at the mere mention of his name.

So, the rumors were right. He’s back in town.

Dan Roberts.

My ex.

I had called Ellie a couple days ago in a panic when I first heard he may be on the team. She’d teased me about him, suggesting we could rekindle things while he’s here.

But, you see, the thing is, Dan Roberts might be our hometown hockey hero, he might be big news in the NHL, but to me, he’s always been my what if? The one that got away.

Only he didn’t get away, exactly. I let him go. Back in the day, we were high school sweethearts in the flush of first love when he won a hockey scholarship to Yale. I was going to college at the University of Washington, so I would be at the other end of the country from him. Everyone told us a long-distance relationship would never work, particularly because we were so young.

There’ll be other guys.

There are plenty more fish in the sea.

So, even though it broke me, I told him to go. We broke up.

I told myself at the time I had big plans of my own. I might not have been on a sports scholarship at a top school, but I knew I wanted to make something of myself. When everyone tells you at seventeen your high school sweetheart is only your first love and not your last, you believe them. And besides, I didn’t want to be the one to stand between Dan and his dreams. Breaking up was the right thing to do.

Or so I thought.

It turns out they were wrong.

Dan was my first love, and although it’s only been ten years since he left Maple Falls, no one else has even come close.

Breaking up with him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and my heart has never recovered.

And now he’s a big star, big goal scorer for the Chicago Blizzard. He’s talented. Famous. Women love him. He leads this crazy, glamorous, exciting life. A life I know nothing about.

Me? Not famous. I glance down at my jeans, sneakers, and red puffer jacket. Definitely not glamorous. What’s more, I’m still living in the small town I grew up in. I’m just plain old Keira Johnson—never changed, and probably never will.

Dan’s a big hockey star, coming home to play on the Ice Breakers team, and I’m just his high school girl.

I haven’t seen him since we broke up. Not officially, anyway. As embarrassed as I am to admit it, I saw him last winter. He was at the diner downtown, enjoying a meal with his family, home for the Christmas holiday. I was in a booth in the back with Hannah and Benny, and as soon as I laid eyes on him, I slid down in my seat so he couldn’t see me, making it a game for the delighted kids. Then as he was posing for selfies with fans, I bundled the kids up and snuck out the back as quickly as I could, much to the surprise of the kitchen staff.

Mature, right?

But when the guy you’ve never been able to forget turns up in town, looking irresistibly handsome and thoroughly happy with his life’s choices, you do what you’ve got to do and, in this case, that involved me pretending with Hannah and Benny that we were spies and needed to ninja roll and then crawl—quite literally—out the back door. Shirley May, our regular server and a kindly resident of the town, unlocked the door for us, and we climbed into my car, and slunk away without even switching on the headlights.

The kids thought it was super fun. I thought it was super necessary.

I knew seeing him could stir up a whole load of feelings that would be far from helpful. And seeing him so happy? Well, I needed to protect my heart. Pure and simple.

And now, today, I know it makes sense that people are excited about him coming back home to play on the charity team. Dan’s the local guy who went off to play in the big leagues. He’s our hometown hero, Maple Falls’ answer to Sidney Crosby. He’s big news around here.

The fact he’s also the ex I’ve never been able to forget? Well, that’s really only big news for me.

 

Chapter 3

Dan

 

I admit it’s weird to be back in my hometown for a full six weeks, rather than for just a handful of days. Of course, I’ve been back since I left: holidays, birthdays, stolen long weekends when I could fit them in. My parents, Emmy, and my grandma Mimi, all still live here, and sometimes it’s nice to have a place to retreat to when I need to get away from the NHL and everything that goes with it.

But in all those visits, I’ve not met up with Keira, not even once in all the years since I left. I’ve not even bumped into her accidentally. Maple Falls isn’t a big place, so it’s weird, almost as though she’s been actively avoiding me.

But that makes me sound paranoid. I guess the truth of the matter is, our paths simply haven’t crossed.

If I have my way, all of that is about to change.

I park on the leafy street outside my parents’ house, the home I grew up in. The big tree in the front lawn still has a swing hanging off it, and the white picket fence, although freshly painted, is the one I used to jump over after school each day.

Sometimes it pays to be tall.

The front door swings open and out strides my dad, trailed by my mom. Their faces are beaming, happy to see their oldest son home.

I climb out of my rented SUV and bound over to them, jumping right over the white picket fence, just like I used to. I collect both my parents in a bear hug.

“Mom, Dad.”

“It’s good to have you back here, son,” Dad says as he slaps me on the back.

“Let me take a look at you.” Mom holds me at arm’s length, looking me over. “How’s your wrist, honey?”

“It’s getting better.”

“I wish you’d have let us get you from the airport,” Mom scolds.

“I had to pick up my rental anyway. I saved you the trip,” I explain.

“Do you have time to stay a while? I know you’re busy,” Mom says.

“Your mom made her famous pumpkin pie,” Dad adds.

As if I need convincing.

“Is that my grandson?”

I turn to see Mimi standing in the doorway, her silver-gray hair tied up in a neat bun at the nape of her neck where her habitual string of pearls rest, her face crinkled into a wide grin.

“Your favorite grandson is home, Mimi,” I say as I place a kiss on her forehead, breathing in her familiar floral scent.

“I don’t see Ethan,” she replies with a wink, naming my brother.

“You always were the comedian of the family, Mimi,” I reply with a smile. “Is Emmy here, too?”

“Your sister is too busy running that bookstore,” Mimi pronounces. “She works too hard, and then she spends the rest of her time looking after me.”

I wrap my arm around her waist, and together we walk into the house. “It’s only because she loves you. How’s your arthritis?”

She waves my concern away. “Oh, you know how it is, sweetie. Any day I’m upright is a good day.”

“How about that pie, honey?” Mom asks when we reach the kitchen.

My mouth waters at the thought of one of Mom’s home-cooked pies. “Sounds good to me.” I look around the kitchen, at the old linoleum floor, the tired cabinets, and the old-fashioned oven. “The place hasn’t changed. You know I’m happy to buy you a new kitchen.”

“Spend your money on yourself, son,” Dad says, his chin held proud. “You’ve done more than enough.”

“Your father is right. You’ve done a lot for us,” Mom agrees.

I open my mouth to protest, but we’ve been down this road before. I’ve offered to replace their kitchen many times, but the answer is always a firm but polite “no.” It’s a miracle they allowed me to pay off their mortgage for them. It’s a small win, but I’m taking it.

“Now, we’ve not told your sister you’re in town yet because we thought it’d be nice for you to drop by the bookstore and surprise her,” Mom says as she slices up her pie.

“I’ll drop by tomorrow.”

“Oh, Emmy will be thrilled,” Mimi says.

We sit around my parents’ kitchen table, catching up on each other’s news over Mom’s delicious pumpkin pie until it’s time for me to go.

“Your old bedroom is waiting for you if you want it, honey,” Mom says as I ready myself to leave.

“I know, Mom, and I promise I’ll come back and visit whenever I can. But Troy wants the team together to bond quickly, since we’re only playing five games total.  We all play on different teams, so there will likely be some rivalries. It kinda goes with the ice hockey territory. I know this isn’t the big leagues, and all the money we make is going to charity, but you know me. I want to win our games. We’re more likely to do that if we know how the others tick—at least on the ice.”

“We’re so proud of you coming home to play to raise money for the Happy Horizons Ranch,” Mimi says. “It’s such a worthy cause, teaching disadvantaged kids farm skills and the like.”

Dad asks, “Will you be able to play with your wrist injury?”

“That’s the plan, Dad. I’ve got a month to fit in as much physical therapy here as I can before the first game. My PT back in Chicago seems to think it’s doable, and Coach gave me the go ahead to come here to play for the Ice Breakers, so if all goes well, I’ll be fine for the first match.”

“You’re the captain of the team. You need to be fit and ready to lead,” Dad says.

“Yeah.” I know there’s a lot riding on me being fit and able. I just hope I recover fast enough.

“Don’t we have such wonderful children?” Mom says with a smile, her eyes glistening. “We’re lucky to still have Emmy here in Maple Falls, though we don’t see enough of you and your brother.”

“I watched Ethan on that show of his,” Mimi declares, and we all look at her in surprise.

“But Mom, it’s a violent fantasy show. I wouldn’t have thought it was exactly your cup of tea,” Dad says.

“But Ethan is my cup of tea. I watched it on the Netflix,” she replies proudly.

My grandma watches It Came One Winter on Netflix? And she calls it “the Netflix?”

“How, Mimi?” I ask.

“Emmy showed me how to watch it on television. I’m hooked,” Mimi says, her eyes bright.

“It is a good show,” Dad agrees, shooting me a look.

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and give her a squeeze. “Good for you, Mimi.”

Soon, I tell them I need to get going, and promise to catch up with them all again soon. I wave goodbye and head to the Hawk River Lodge, the place Troy and his wife Kelly own, and where they’re putting up the guys on the team.

Like my family home, it hasn’t changed.

When I push through the glass door to the lodge’s reception, there’s a brunette at the front desk, who begins to flick her hair and adjust her top when she spots me.

I don’t recognize her, but it’s clear she has some preconceived ideas about me. In my line of work, I get that a lot.

Glancing at her name tag, I smile as I place my suitcase on the tiled floor beside my feet. “Morning, Denise. I’ve got a booking for—”

“Dan Roberts,” she finishes for me, her eyes bright. “I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. You’re ‘Dan the Man.’ Dan Roberts. Chicago Blizzard center. Maple Falls born and bred.”

“Thanks,” I reply as she gives me my life story. I never know how to respond when people say things like that. And anyway, what exactly am I thanking her for?

Thanks for knowing who I am?

It’s great that I’m famous enough for you to recognize me?

Nope.

“It’s so good to have you here as part of the Ice Breakers, Mr. Roberts.”

“Dan, please.”

“Dan,” she repeats, letting out a giggle. “Everyone is so excited that you’re here. You’re one of the first player to arrive, in fact, Dan Roberts,” Denise continues, weirdly using my full name.

“I like to be early. Get the lay of the land before all the excitement starts.”

“Get the lay of the land? You grew up here, Dan Roberts!” she points out.

Why does she keep doing that?

“True, but I’ve never stayed here at the resort. And you can call me just plain Dan, you know. It’s only one syllable. Nice and short.”

She winks at me, her face starting to shine. “Sure thing! No one told me you’d be funny, too.”

When she continues to grin at me, her face warm enough to fry eggs, I ask, “Do you need me to sign something to get the room key or something?”

“Key. Right,” she exclaims as though just now working out that I might need one of those to access my room. “Coming right up.” She rummages around behind the desk until she produces an actual key, attached to a large wooden key chain in the shape of a maple leaf.

“Wow. An actual key. You don’t get those a lot these days,” I say as I inspect it. It’s surprisingly heavy.

“We’re old school here. Oldee worldee charm and all that.” She pauses before she adds, “Dan.”

“Sure. Well, thanks, Denise. You’ve been real helpful.” I turn to leave.

“Don’t you want to know where your room is? I gave you the best one at the lodge. The billionaire guy isn’t staying here.”

She must mean Troy’s brother, Zach Hart, the billionaire involved in financing this whole thing. I’ve met him a few times. He’s a good guy, and not what you’d expect a self-made billionaire to be.

“I appreciate that. Where is it?”

She tells me the room number and says, “You’re right next to Dawson Hayes. Do you know him?”

“Sure do. We played on the same team back in college.”

It’ll be great to see my old college teammate. He played for the Carolina Crushers last season, but I heard he’s moving to a Seattle team next. It’ll be like old times, out there on the ice with the guy.

“Nice. Your room overlooks the river. I could take you there, if you like? Everyone here knows you’ve got an injury.”

“They do?”

“Of course they do. Your team coach mentioned it and now everyone knows. You’re our hometown hero. We pay attention to that kind of news.”

I give her a self-effacing smile.

“Let me carry your suitcase.” She stands bolt upright, her chair crashing to the floor behind her in her haste.

I raise a hand. “No, it’s fine. You’re needed here, I’m sure, and I’ve got two hands.”

She beams at me as though I’ve said something incredible. “You bet.”

“Has Dawson checked in yet?”

“Not yet. Most of the players are booked in from tomorrow. I can check, if you want?”

“No need. Thanks.”

She grins. “Sure.  Will you be heading to the arena after? Check it out again after all this time?”

“Absolutely. A lot of great memories at that rink.”

“I know. My mom told me.”

Her mom? How old does that make me? I’ve only just turned twenty-eight.

I throw her a smile before I turn to leave. “That’s … err … great. Thanks.”

“Have a great rest of your day, Dan.”

After locating my room, I drop my bags, grab my hockey bag, and head to the arena. I haven’t caught up with Troy in quite some time, and I’m eager to see him—and the rink where apparently Denise’s mom remembers me playing.

I really admire Troy and I’ve always viewed him as a mentor. He’s very generous with his time and his resources. I’ll never forget how kind he was to me when I was starting out as a rookie. He’s a good guy. One of the best.

When I enter the arena, there’s a kids’ figure skating lesson going on, taught by a pretty brunette I recognize from my high school days, Ellie. I catch her eye and wave at her, and she grins back at me.

I glance around until I locate the offices. Figuring Troy will be there, I make my way around the rink. As I approach a group of people, who I assume are the figure skating kids’ moms, there’s an audible titter among the group, and every eye seems to land on me.

“Hey, there,” I say with a smile, to more tittering.

“Dan Roberts, as I live and breathe,” says one of them, a woman with dark blonde hair, probably in her early thirties. She’s holding her hand over her chest, her face beaming. “Would you look at you.”

Which is exactly what she does, her eyes roving over my hoodie and tracksuit.

“Well, aren’t you the hometown hero come back home to roost,” she declares.

I’ve got no idea what that even means.

“We are so pleased you’re here, Dan,” another woman says, this one older, with salt and pepper hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

“Mrs. Nelson?” I ask.

“You remember me,” she says with a smile.

“How could I forget you? You taught me all I know about Shakespeare, which isn’t a whole lot, I’ll admit,” I say to my old high school English teacher. “Do you have a kid skating right now?”

“A granddaughter. That’s my Violet in the fuchsia.” She points at the group of kids, and I spot a short, dark-haired girl in pink, concentrating hard on her teacher’s instruction. Beside her is a girl with a tear in her tights, performing a pretty dang-perfect-looking turn.

Not to be outdone, the woman with dark blonde hair says, “My daughter’s the one with the bright yellow headband. Dani’s her name. She loves figure skating, and we all love hockey, especially you, Dan.”

There’s a murmured agreement among the ladies.

“That’s so kind of you to say, and I’m so happy to be back here, playing for such an important charity,” I reply, and they all titter some more, agreeing with me.

There’s a sudden thud and a woman screeches at the back of the group, half laughing, half in shock. “What are you doing?!”

A few heads turn, and I think I spot a couple of sneaker-clad feet, under the seats.

“Why are you lying down? You’re silly!” a young boy says with a laugh.

“Is someone hurt?” I ask, dropping my bag and bounding up the steps two at a time.

There’s an audible “Shhh!” before someone mutters something I can’t quite hear.

“Keira? Are you okay?” says a woman with curly red hair, sitting directly in front of the sneaker-clad feet as she turns to see what’s going on.

Wait. Keira?

“I’m fine,” comes a muffled but stern and familiar voice.

Is that …? Could it be …?

Keira’s here? My Keira? Well, not my Keira anymore, but you get what I mean.

With my pulse quickening in my temples, I climb the final step to see a figure lying flat on her back beside the bleacher, a hood obscuring most of her face, some sort of baked good that looks a lot like a cinnamon roll clutched in her hands. But what I can see of her mouth, the cut of her jaw, the blonde hair falling down her shoulders, I know it’s Keira.

What I can’t work out is, what the heck she’s doing, lying down on the cold, hard floor between two benches of the bleachers, surrounded by a group of chortling moms, here at the arena on a Saturday afternoon.

 

Do you want to read more about Keira and Dan? Pre-Order your copy of The Rebound Play here! It’s out Aug 29th, and it will also be in Kindle Unlimited