Forgiving You: Hockey Stars of Taylor

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FORGIVING YOU
HOCKEY STARS OF TAYLOR RIDGE: BOOK 1
BROOKLYN KERR
Copyright © 2023 Brooklyn Kerr

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission
requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below:
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ISBN: 978-1-922623-19-5 (Paperback)

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the
author’s imagination.

Cover design: The Hatters

Editing: Hundred Proof Services.
Proofreading: Lindsi Labar

Beelieve Publishing, Pty Ltd

PO Box 407,
Woy Woy, NSW, 2256
Australia
 C O NT E NT S

1. Kiley
2. Kiley
3. Ilya
4. Kiley
5. Ilya
6. Kiley
7. Ilya
8. Ilya
9. Kiley
10. Ilya
11. Ilya
12. Kiley
13. Kiley
14. Kiley
15. Ilya
16. Ilya
17. Ilya
18. Kiley
19. Kiley
20. Ilya
21. Ilya
22. Kiley
23. Ilya
24. Kiley
25. Ilya
26. Ilya
27. Kiley
28. Kiley
29. Kiley
30. Ilya
31. Kiley
32. Ilya
33. Kiley
34. Ilya
35. Kiley
36. Ilya
37. Kiley
Epilogue
Kiley

Team Rosters
Acknowledgments
 D E D I C AT I O N

To my husband – my heart will always be yours forever and always

1
 K I LE Y

T he clock ticked loudly, mocking me with each second. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience
and we were going to be late.
“You realize we’re supposed to be there in fifteen minutes, right?” I hollered down the
hallway.
“It only takes ten minutes to drive, doesn’t it?” my daughter, Molly, yelled from behind the closed
door. “Besides, I’m worth the wait.”
I shook my head at her sass, forcing the words on the tip of my tongue to stay behind my pursed
lips. I would not give a snarky reply. This was a really big deal. She was just nervous.
“I’m going out to put your equipment bag in the car.”
Pulling my sweatshirt from the back of the dining room chair, I hauled my purse off the counter
and tossed my phone in hoping it wouldn’t see the mess in there and jump back out. Granola bars,
lotion, hand sanitizer, an extra t-shirt and yoga pants, a headscarf, hair spray, pepper spray, pens, and
a mini notebook, not to mention all the wrappers and hard candies that sunk to the bottom, were
shoved unceremoniously into my “mom purse,” as my best friend, Joy, called it. Good grief! When
did it get this bad?
As I tossed my things in the car, I wondered what was keeping her. She must be nervous, but
maybe her leg was sore, too. It had been over a year since her surgeons removed a chunk of bone
from her leg and inserted the metal rod, but I knew it still bothered her. Not because she told me, but
by the limp or deep massages she gave herself. I wished she would tell me how she was feeling, but I
knew from past experience she wouldn’t.
After hoisting the fifty-pound equipment bag into the back hatch of my twelve-year-old green
Subaru Forester, I brushed my hands on my jeans. When I looked up, taking a breath to yell for her
again, there was Molly standing in the doorway wearing her black compression shirt, goalie pants,
and a scowl.
I took a few steps toward her. “This is supposed to be exciting. What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
As Molly headed to the passenger side of the car, I watched for the slight limp that often plagued
her gait on sore days. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but got lost in thought. She caught me
watching and whirled around to glare at me. So, I gave her a goofy grin. She huffed at me pretending
not to laugh, but she never stayed mad at me for long when I resorted to silliness.
Piling in, we both took a deep breath and then took off for the Muskatoon Finance Center, home of
the Taylor Ridge Raptors.
Rolling down my window a little to feel that warm September air, I smiled. “I’m sure you’ll have
a great time today, Molls!”
She stared out the window sulking. “Yeah, a bunch of professional hockey players are gonna
wanna spend time with a gimpy girl,” she snapped, her hand drifting to her left thigh, rubbing errantly
at the site of her scar. I knew it still pulled sometimes. Massaging it seemed to help or maybe had just
become a nervous habit.
I couldn’t help barking out a laugh at her description of herself. It was the most ridiculous thing I
ever heard. It also had the added benefit of focusing her glare back on me. “Is that what all this
scowling is about? Good grief, kiddo. You are so not a gimpy girl! Yes, you had a rough surgery and
needed a lot of PT, but they removed the cancer. You did it, sweetie! You made it through chemo,
radiation, rehab, and look at you… you’re strong. You’re a force to be reckoned with, and you’re an
awesome goalie. They’re lucky to have you practice with them.”
She snorted and stared out the window. “I know I’m awesome.”
I shook my head a little, thinking others might misinterpret her words as sarcastic. But I knew
better. Not with Molly. She knew her value, embraced her worth, and wasn’t afraid to sound less than
humble.
No one had been more surprised than me when the Taylor Ridge Raptors, the local hockey team,
agreed to help fulfill Molly’s wish to playing hockey with them. She was over the moon when they
said she could watch them and play with them at a practice.
Molly has been a Raptors fan for years, keeping track of trades, injuries, and call-ups to her
favorite league team, the Charleston Cavaliers. She made it her life’s work to know the two teams
inside and out. So, for her to actually be on the ice with them as their goalie, it was really a dream
come true.
In my head, I was torn about the wisdom of allowing her to do this. Part of me was terrified
they’d treat her like their usual goalie, Angus MacNeill, or the backup, Gustav, and be too rough. But
the other part of me was afraid they’d treat her like a fragile little girl and she’d be disappointed in
the experience. Not that she’d let them get away with that, though. She was nothing if not vocal on the
ice. On her kid hockey team, the Arctic Flames, it almost seemed that she did as much coaching as
their coach.
As the personification of my heart jiggled her good leg in the seat next to me, I realized we
arrived. I steered us into the parking lot at the backside of the Center as Landon, the coordinator
suggested. Molly’s sneakers hit the pavement almost before the car stopped.
With only a minute to spare, I threw on my sweatshirt, hoisted her goalie bag out of the car, and
rolled it to the rear entrance.
Molly was several steps ahead of me, already “in the zone,” which meant she didn’t even
remember I existed. So, rather than hold the door for me, she let it slap shut a foot from my face. I
stopped short, bit back a curse, and took a deep breath. When I reached for it, though, it magically
opened.
“Allow me,” a deep voice said.
I spun around at the sound and narrowly avoided barreling into a broad-chested man at least a
foot taller than me wearing a polite smile. His wavy dark hair, captivating brown eyes, and nicely
trimmed beard held my attention a moment longer than was probably appropriate. His well-defined
muscles popped through the front of his tight gray t-shirt. I’d seen muscular men before and my body
never reacted. So, why when I saw his arms threaten to burst the seams of his t-shirt sleeve was my
brain on pause?
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
 Looking up at him, where he held the door right next to my nose caused a new problem, an
intoxicating scent emanating from his body. I felt completely overwhelmed by some sort of creamy
woodsy scent like sandalwood but mixed with something. Something divine.
The next thing I knew, my whole body burst out into a prickly sweat. It was probably a mistake to
put the sweatshirt on before I went inside. It must have been giving me a hot flash. Was I too young for
those?
“Ah, yes. Thanks.”
I didn’t recognize this feeling in my stomach when I looked up into his eyes. Some sort of flip-
flop like when I went on roller coasters as a kid. That feeling when I ratcheted up to the very top, the
little flutters, and then that wild, out of control feeling before falling down the other side. I clutched at
my stomach, willing it to be calm.
He smiled again, readjusting the skates slung over his shoulder. “I didn’t catch your name.”
I returned his smile, unable to look away from his chocolately eyes. “Kiley.”
“Mom! Where’s my stuff?” Molly screeched.
Her voice snapped me out of whatever spell I was under. “I’m coming, sweetie,” I yelled back.
“Excuse me,” I said to the man as I ducked under his arm. With a practiced move, I lugged the bag
over the raised metal threshold and rolled it behind me through the dimly lit backstage area toward
the lighted rink.
Molly stood with hands on her hips. “There you are. I need my bag!”
Passing her the handle, she took it and moved to an open area to suit up: lower pads first, right to
left, tied around the base of the skates, and then uppers in the same order before putting on the arms
and chest plate. Everything had to be done a certain way, the same every time. Oh, the superstitions
involved in this game!
“She yours?” the same man asked standing right next to me.
I felt a little prickle at the back of my neck and crossed my arms smiling. “Yeah, she’s mine.”
He blew out a whistle. “Must be fun at your house.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well, she’s a prodigy in some areas, a regular kid in others.”
I watched Molly grab her mask, gloves, and stick, then take to the ice, immediately barking at two
of the defensemen skating toward her. Inside, I cringed. She doesn’t even know those men. But I knew
it didn’t matter to her. She knew her mind and wouldn’t treat them any differently than the kids she
played with since her days of peewee hockey.
“Feisty one, huh?” he asked as Molly swatted at one of the forwards heading toward her blue line.
I nodded. “She knows her stuff.”
He raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see.”
I couldn’t help but watch his long legs as they crossed to the locker room. It wasn’t until I realized
that I was staring that I shook my head at myself and looked for a good seat. I needed to be close
enough to Molly to watch for signs of overexertion, but not so close that she’d bitch me out. And yes,
she really would.
Standing next to the boards, I couldn’t help but stop and watch Molly stretch and skate, warming
up with The Raptors’ goalie, Angus. He was too big not to recognize. The backup goalie, Gustav, was
no shrimp, but Angus was from the Scottish Highlands and six-foot-seven. He dwarfed Molly, but you
wouldn’t know it from the way she acted around him. They already joked and spoke to each other like
old friends.
“Ms. Hannigan, I presume?” a man asked, extending his hand to me. He was classically
handsome, seemed trim enough, and was probably somewhere between forty and fifty years old.
 “Kiley, please,” I clarified and shook his hand. “Wait, you’re the General Manager of The
Raptors, aren’t you?”
He smiled. “Cade Malone. May I direct you to your seat?” he asked pointing to another section.
I narrowed my eyes at him, not wanting to move away, but seeing his insistence, I complied. “Of
course.”
“Men! Huddle up!” a man with a clipboard hollered. The guys skated up to him, formed a semi-
circle, and knelt. “Today, we have a guest goalie, Molly Hannigan, and her mom, Kiley with us. Be
respectful. Play hard. Now, get to it! Laps!”
A loud bellow arose as the men grunted their response, pushed up, and took off.
Cade and I watched the guys circle the rink, trying to outdo each other, pushing at each other. A
few I recognized from when Molly yelled at the TV at them during games. When they organized for
drills, the team and Molly played together. Well, maybe together wasn’t the right word. They all
played, but it looked like a free-for-all. But Molly was in fine form, catching most of the pucks
coming her way, barking orders at the defenders, and taking charge on the ice like usual.
He raised his chin. “She looks strong today.”
I nodded. “She’s in remission. It’s been months since treatments were over. The leg still bothers
her more than she wants to admit, but she’s in her element on the ice.”
His lips quirked into a smile. “Oh, I see that.”
I laughed. “We’re Irish. We don’t hold back.”
To accentuate my point, Molly shouted at one of the forwards. He skated by her and around the
back, seeming to listen to what she had to say.
Cade stopped and leaned forward. “What’s she saying?”
I looked at her giving instructions to the men. While I couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying,
it was clear they listened to her.
He shifted farther forward on the seat, draping his crossed arms over the seat in front of him. “She
can’t seriously think …” but he trailed off because yes, she did think that and yes, it was working.
Things seemed to be going well until Molly snatched her mask off her head and threw it at one of
the men as she ripped into them for taking it easy on her.
Cade stood. “What’s she doing?”
Knowing what was wrong, I stood and followed him down to where Coach Streya Buchoskya
stood along with the other coaches and drill instructors. Coach was a tall, broad-shouldered, older
Eastern European man with more salt than pepper in his hair. He stood tall, proud, and usually devoid
of expression, but now he wore a deep scowl. Between the drill instructor, the offensive coach, and
the defensive coach bickering over what to do next, the two cents of the teammates surrounding them,
and Molly’s defiant shouts, it was hard to tell who would receive his wrath.
“Quiet!” he bellowed. Then he twisted to look at Cade. “Malone! Mollinshka wants hits, direct
attacks. Not good idea,” Coach explained in his thick accent while gesturing with his left hand. “They
shoot faster than safe to drive car!”
A lump formed in my throat. This was the part where I was supposed to advocate for my kid to get
beaten up by pucks or she’d have a rotten time. I wrung my hands quietly trying to figure out what to
say.
Cade looked back at me.
“Let her play,” I said, my voice stronger than I thought it would be.
He raised an eyebrow in hesitation. “Ms. Hannigan, she’s recovering from major surgery. We did
have you sign waivers, but we still have to be cautious.”
 I swallowed hard. “I just mean give her a meaningful practice. She came here for that. It was what
she wanted.” I nodded to her standing next to the posts with her hand on her hip. “Still is.”
Cade nodded, then spoke quietly with Coach while everyone else all spoke at once. Coach put his
fingers in his mouth to create the most ear-piercing whistle I’ve ever heard, his signal for the team to
stop talking and listen. The men knelt awaiting their instructions.
Cade took a deep breath. “Look, the girl can play.”
Coach nodded. “Don’t go full bore. Give 50-75% of what you can do. More bark, less bite to
hits.”
“Avoid her driver’s side leg, though,” I cried, desperate to make sure she has fun, but just as
desperate to avoid the need to repair her leg again.
“Upper or lower leg?” number 92 asked, and I noticed he was the man who held the door for me.
I narrowed my eyes. “Upper. Why?”
He gave a smile showing me he was missing a tooth. “Believe it or not, we do have control over
where the biscuit flies.”
The other men laughed, some in agreement and others rolling their eyes. I let out a huff and bit my
tongue, trying to stop myself from making a smart comment. Now wasn’t the time. I wouldn’t
antagonize them before they were hitting pucks at Molly.
From the ice, Molly fidgeted looking annoyed. “Come on, guys. What’s taking so long?” she
griped. “Wait, are you afraid of a girl?”
A few of the players put on a game face that frankly had me concerned.
Coach whistled for the men to go, the drill instructor barked something at them I didn’t
understand, and my stomach was in knots. I hugged my arms around myself hoping I made the right
choice.
Cade chuckled at her taunts. “They really do have more control over the location of the puck than
it seems,” he said trying to reassure me. “They’re professionals, not gangly teenagers.”
I really wondered if I should watch as they increased the intensity of their play. But at this point, I
was drawn to it like a train wreck. I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t.
They worked a drill as if it were a real game, with the team divided to play each other five on
five. Molly stood at one goal while Gustav took the goal on the other side of the ice. Angus stood
behind Molly, there to guide her, be there as her ally. As the drill progressed, Molly wasn’t quiet
about calling out to the defenders to do their part to protect her, barking out orders like a general in
battle.
When they took a break to exchange team members and have some water, Molly lifted her mask
and smiled. Really smiled like she was a kid without a worry in the world. It was the smile of a
champion having the time of her life. Seeing her this way made all the snippy remarks, all the barked
orders, and all my frayed nerves absolutely worth it.
Throughout the break, she razzed the players like she was one of them and it surprised me when
they treated her the same way.
When they got back to it, I saw number 92 with a breakaway and heading right toward Molly. She
was down in a crouch on the side of the goal closest to me, tensed and ready to pounce on the puck,
but at the last second, she popped up with her glove at the ready. Everyone sucked in a breath.
“He wouldn’t,” Cade whispered.
I felt my heart rate ratchet up again. “Wouldn’t what? What’s happening?”
Cade shook his head quickly. “No, the only reason she’d be in that position is if he …”
And then we saw the puck flying through the air toward the opposite side of the goal. And it was
high. Above her head. Completely out of reach!
But this was Molly.
With an unparalleled determination, she squatted low then pushed up to leap for it. My body rose
involuntarily when I saw the way she pushed off her skates. With the weight of the pads, this was too
much for her. I knew her body wasn’t ready for it. She probably did too, but it wasn’t in her to let it
go. She had to give it her all.
I was already making my way to the aisle when I saw her muscles strain. Pain contorted her face.
She gave the cry of a warrior, but she couldn’t get to the other side of the goal fast enough to snatch it
from the air. The puck sailed into the net behind her. Molly landed with a crash, falling flat on her
face.
“The fuck, man?” Some players shouted to number 92.
I was already at the boards, following the medic onto the ice. “Molly? Molly, are you okay?”
But all we heard was a groan.
2
 K I LE Y

“M olly?Molly
My name is Donnie,” the medic said, “did you hit your head?”
pushed up a little to look at him. “No. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I said and offered her an arm, which she rejected.
Donnie tried again. “What hurts?”
Molly sighed as she took off her mask. “My pride,” she said wincing.
I huffed. “Clearly, it’s more than that, sweetie. Talk to Donnie so he can assess you,” I insisted,
using my mom tone. “Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
Molly glared at me. “Don’t you dare. I’m fine!”
Donnie looked up at me. I pled with him with my eyes to go through a full assessment. This was
important. This was her ability to walk.
Coach skated out, looked down at Molly, and bellowed. “Panchenko!”
I looked up to see number 92 look genuinely confused. “What? I stayed away from her leg.”
Nope. That was it. The pressure of her diagnosis, her suffering during chemo and radiation, and
her attitude as she healed all mixed together with this new terror about her well-being fueled my
impending explosion.
Pushing up from where I was crouched by Molly, I lunged at this jackass, Panchenko. “You stayed
away from her leg? Are you kidding me right now?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I didn’t hit her leg was all I meant.”
I gave him a shove and raged. “Didn’t hit her leg. She’s on the ground! You think hitting her in the
leg was the only way she could be reinjured? What were you thinking hitting that far from her? You
didn’t think she would jump to try to catch it?”
“Well, sure, I—” he started.
But I wasn’t done. “You’ve seen her determination since she arrived on the ice today! And you
know the goal is six feet wide. She was at the opposite side. The only way for her to block that shot
was to jump. And you choose where you put the puck, right, hotshot?”
He crossed his arms around his stick and huffed. “She didn’t have to go for it.”
I kept advancing on him, shouting. “She didn’t have to? You didn’t think she would?”
“No, well, yes, but I didn’t think it would bother her leg.”
I shook my head at him, staring him down, then caught his eyes with mine. “You didn’t think
landing with the extra weight of her pads might create a problem for her leg, you genius? It’s held
together with a metal implant, some well-earned muscle, and a weakened bone! Did all those
concussions in your career steal your common sense? Or do you just not give a shit if she breaks the
implant and needs another surgery?”
 At some point it occurred to me that he could have held his ground. But whether it was because he
was on skates or out of self-preservation, he let me advance on him until his back was to the boards
next to the penalty box.
Panchenko sighed and looked defeated. “Look, it was just practice for her. She should practice
catches to the sides, too, not just ground stuff. I didn’t want to treat her like a kid. And I didn’t think
—”
Any semblance of holding my temper was gone as I poked him to accentuate my rage. “That’s just
it. You didn’t think! And now I have to talk her into going for an assessment,” poke, “that she’ll fight
me tooth and nail on,” poke, “just to make sure your brilliant shot,” poke, “didn’t undo a brutal
surgery she had to cut out a part of her femur,” poke. “And if her bone fractured around it, her surgeon
will be discussing plans for amputation.” I looked up at him seething. “Do you feel good about
yourself now? Bullying a thirteen-year-old girl recovering from bone cancer?”
I opened the penalty box door beside me and with one last shot with both hands, I pushed him
inside. Well, he had to take a step back or fall on his ass. With him distracted, I used the opportunity
to throw the door shut in his face. He almost looked repentant for a minute, but I didn’t care. I raced
across the ice to get back to Molly. She was sitting while Donnie had her doing a few stretches.
“If there’s pain, you might have a little strain there,” Donnie said, “but I don’t detect any major
breaks. Without taking you for x-rays, I can’t tell if the bone and implant are intact or not. There could
be a hairline fracture. Should we get you up and see if you can stand?”
Molly huffed. “Of course, I can stand.”
“Just take it slow,” I cautioned.
Molly threw me a glare, then clutched Donnie’s arm to balance herself as she rose. Angus stood
next to her, offering her a hand which she took. His eyes showed he was assessing her, silently
supporting her. When she was up, the other guys started applauding. She took a little bow, then
Donnie had her do a few more stretches and a couple moves in front of the goal.
Molly looked over at me. “See? I’m fine. It was just a rough landing.”
Donnie searched her face for signs of pain. Unfortunately, she had become incredibly good at
hiding her grimaces and winces from medical professionals. He had her perform a few more stretches
and then stand square on the leg. Even though she tried to hide her pain from me, I knew from the
tension in her face that she felt some amount of pain. Problem was I had no idea how bad it really
was and I knew she would never admit to it.
So, I had a choice. A crap choice. I could either insist she stop practicing and she would hate me
forever or let her play hurt and risk serious damage.
I was about to call her away when Molly took charge. “All right boys, let’s go!”
Her voice carried with such strength the men responded with hoots and hollers, everyone racing
down the ice, heading right for us. Donnie, thank goodness, pulled me out of the way before I was
trampled. A puck whizzed by my head. When I tracked where it came from, Panchenko gave me a
wolfish grin.
As he rapidly approached me, he yelled. “You do realize the penalty box doesn’t lock, right?”
He skated by me so fast, his tailwind almost knocked me down.
Donnie steadied me and threw him a scowl. “Fucking showoff.”
I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me off-kilter. “A serious design flaw that should be
remedied,” I yelled back at him.
“Panchenko! Behave or meet bench,” Coach growled.
He gave Coach a middle finger. I supposed these things were encouraged in a sport this brutal, but
Coach didn’t look pleased.
Trying not to show I was affected by his antics, I found my seat and pulled out my phone. I had a
missed message from Joy. Probably checking on us. I’d see her later. I snapped a few pictures of
Molly practicing, chatting with Angus, and looking like she was having a blast, then put it away.
Looking at Cade, I tipped my chin toward the ice. “What’s the deal with 92?”
He sighed. “Ilya Panchenko. Back to skating here with the Raptors after a shoulder separation last
year during a Cavaliers game. He’s rehabbed it, but now he feels he has something to prove, I guess.”
I sighed, now not as able to stay irritated with him as I originally intended. When something hit
hard and got you down, you felt like you had to prove the experience made you stronger. You’d do
anything to avoid the pity, the stares, the patronizing pats on the head. Molly did it every day. And
maybe I knew a little something about it too.
Cade had his eyes glued on the practice. Without looking at me, he asked, “How is she?”
“She’s hurting but too stubborn to stop. Kind of how life is with her every day.”
But he didn’t even acknowledge me. I wasn’t even sure he was listening. He was staring at the ice
with the utmost concentration, staring like he’d never seen it before.
While they played, a cool breeze rushed over the arena and with it some sort of shift in the
atmosphere. I shuddered and rubbed my hands on my arms. Molly spoke to the guys in her usual
imposing way. Quips went back and forth. Corrections and opportunities did too.
With the way she was playing, her laser focus on the puck, her comments, and her way of doing
things, an air of respect settled over the ice. But not just with her. It was between the players too.
Without interference from instructors or coaches, everyone just stood watching the guys working
together, passing the puck and trusting each other to defend and attack when necessary.
Looking over at Cade, I saw he was lost to the world, in an awe-filled stupor. “It can’t be,” he
murmured. “It just can’t be.”
I didn’t know what he meant, so I gave him a minute. Something had him all worked up and I
couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it was. They were just playing hockey.
His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out.
I placed my hand on his arm. “Are you okay, Mr. Malone? Should I get Donnie?”
When Coach turned around and made a gesture to Cade, he finally started breathing again. “This
is it. It’s finally happening,” he said, scrubbing his hand over his jaw.
“What’s happening?” I asked, seriously confused right now. I saw exactly what he was seeing, but
they just looked like hockey players practicing to me.
Cade flopped back in his seat. “I can’t believe it. They’re finally acting like a team.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What? Haven’t they always been a team?”
He shook his head. “For the last several years, we have individual players who come together to
play hockey. But now, what I’m seeing here? We have a team. They’re doing what we’ve been trying
to get them to do. They’re passing, working together, not just trying to get the stat.”
I cleared my throat. “You mean they don’t always play this way?”
Cade pulled his attention from the ice to look at me. “Not once last year in pre-season, practice,
or games until now.” He turned back to the ice and shook his head slowly in wonder.
Coach looked back at him pointedly. Something passed between them, but I couldn’t tell what.
Cade looked to me again. “This is what we needed. She is what we needed.”
I thought he was being a little dramatic, but the look on his face told me he was completely
serious. There was no denying the guys were working well together. Could they really attribute that to
Molly, though?
 “Don’t go offsides, you asshole!” Molly shouted, pulling our focus back to the ice.
Cade chuckled. “Does she always talk like this?”
I nodded. “Only when she’s playing hockey does she have a horribly foul mouth. But it started
after she survived cancer and started thriving again. So, I try to be grateful for everything, including
the mouth she’s developed. Even when it spews,” I stopped when I heard Molly taunt one of the
players and shouted an obscenity at another, “well, that.”
Cade gave a hearty laugh. “She’s good for them. And look, they’re good for her too.”
Molly fell down on the puck, then tossed it to one of the coaches acting as a referee. I nodded.
There was nothing that made her happier.
Cade moved to the edge of his seat, leaning forward to the seat in front of him again. Without
taking his eyes off the ice, he spoke. “Would you consider bringing her back?”
My mouth dropped. “Wait, what?”
Cade turned to look at me. “They respect her. She pushes them. Would you bring her back to do
more of this?”
“You can’t be serious,” I blurted.
His gaze was intense. “Very serious.”
My brows furrowed. “I-I don’t know.”
I looked out and saw Molly slapping Angus on the arm with collegial familiarity while shouting
at, oh goodness, was that Bobby Halster, the star forward of the Raptors?
I twisted the gold sunflower necklace my aunt gave me. “Like once or twice?”
He shook his head. “For the season.”
I gasped. “But she has school, playing with the Flames. What do you mean ‘for the season’?”
He sat back and crossed his arms. “Look, our guys benefit from having her around. She likes it
too. Maybe she comes a couple times a week. Does some more of this, on or off the ice. You know
she’d want to.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. I was a master at recognizing guilt and manipulation when I heard it
and that was exactly what was happening.
Molly snatched the puck out of the air in her glove, then released it to one of her team members
with a sassy remark. The guys responded and passed the puck back and forth all the way down the
ice.
Cade whooped and rubbed his forehead in wonder. “Look at them!” he hollered. Then he looked
back at me. “Just bring her back. Let them have fun!”
I knew she would love to do it, but what would it mean? What would be her role? If she was
some sort of a consultant, she knew her value and deserved something for it. But no one mentioned
putting her on the payroll. Did they expect her to volunteer her time? Do this for free?
But I also saw the value of this experience on a future career in coaching, if it was what she
wanted to do someday. Would she want to work in the league someday coaching or assisting? Would
this be an internship or stepping stone toward a future career for her? Whether she was paid or not,
this work experience would be incredible for her future resume.
Then it hit me. Future. Molly’s future. It had been so long since we could stop and look forward to
her future. The thought was completely overwhelming as it manifested in this quasi-job offer.
Surely, she would want a future where she had choices. Where she had school and friends. Why
would she want to shackle herself to a hockey team when she could be out socializing with her
friends? The friends she had to stay away from while she was in treatment because they carried too
many germs? The friends she isolated herself from because she was too sore and exhausted to get out
of bed? Shouldn’t she have a chance to be a normal teenager?
No, she could watch them at games, idolize them from afar, and still be that carefree kid. I
wouldn’t even tell her about the offer. The answer was no.
Clearing my throat, I turned to Cade. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Malone, I do, but we won’t be
coming back. Molly is very busy with her studies. She’s still catching up from how much school she
missed when she was sick.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “What about weekends?”
I shook my head. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” I said rising. I turned and headed
down to stand at the glass away from the pushy General Manager. I’d had enough of Cade Malone for
one day.
3
 I LYA

L ast week, when Coach said a teenage girl was coming to play hockey with us, we all thought it
was a joke. The guys laughed about it, calling it “Bring Your Daughter To Work Day.” But
within the first hour of meeting Molly Hannigan, we realized she was no joke. There was
nothing amusing about her determination to play despite her circumstances. There was nothing funny
about the way she dove and reached for the puck better than a lot of grown men I’ve seen. And there
sure as hell was nothing humorous about the war she waged against cancer and won. Hell, I wanted to
be like Molly when I grew up.
As practice wore on, we could all tell she was tired, but she was a force of nature. Only when she
chose to end her part in practice did she leave the ice. Her mom stood nearby in case she needed help
taking off her gear, but Molly never asked. She wouldn’t. She was so fiercely independent. It hit me in
the chest when I realized that’s probably what helped her beat cancer. Such a strong will to survive,
to persevere in the face of adversity. I looked at her with awe.
Coach whistled to us to line up. We knelt before him to listen. “Now that was good skate. Why?”
Several guys shouted out what Molly taught them.
Coach nodded. “Mollinshka. Remember what you learned. Now that she rests, keep it up.”
After Molly’s pads were off, I raced to check on her and let ice fly with my abrupt stop.
Tipping my chin to her, I checked in with her. “You’re good after the fall, right?”
She huffed. “Good gravy, not you too. I’m fine!”
I lifted my right shoulder. “Good, hate to think I made you feel worse.”
“Aww, don’t worry,” she said with a sneer. “I’m the only one making people feel worse today.”
I chuckled. “What’re you doing next? You want to determine who’s the best or something?”
She smiled sweetly. “Oh, no. Not ranking. This isn’t really a competition or anything. You know,
just rating how your drills are going,” she said looking like the picture of innocence.
With her gear packed up and stowed out of the way, she brushed past her mom like she wasn’t
even there. I couldn’t help letting my gaze linger on Kiley, though, as she rummaged in her purse,
pulling out a long-sleeved t-shirt. She turned and started following Molly to the coaching section.
Molly’s pronounced limp as she made her way to the coaching staff made me wince. Had I done
that to her? I’d apologize about it, but she would just yell at me. And I wasn’t sure why, but I really
didn’t like when she yelled at me. It made me feel like I disappointed her.
After she threw on the t-shirt Kiley handed her, she settled onto the coaching bench with her legs
kicked up on the boards like she’d been with us all her life. Then a staff member arrived with a white
board for her to use. As she settled in and got cozy on the sidelines, her little innocent act evaporated.
“Aw, no. Hell, no,” I muttered when Phil handed her a red marker. “You gave her red?”
 Without playing favorites, she scored our speed, footwork, and posture. And she was not
impressed. I thought back to her sweet smile. That right there should have tipped me off. There was
nothing innocent about her when it came to hockey. She was as brutal as some of the enforcers I’d
encountered.
I couldn’t stop myself from looking up at Kiley, sitting just a couple rows above Molly. She was
trying to keep watch and yet give her some space. Even from the ice, I could see a rosy blush stain her
cheeks at the way Molly spoke to us. It was nothing we weren’t used to hearing, startling sometimes
to hear the litany of profanity gushing out of a teenage girl’s mouth, but it wasn’t the words that were
problematic. Something about displeasing Molly twisted something in my gut. The other guys said it
too. We wanted to skate our best, and do everything in our power to earn a smile from her.
When I wasn’t focusing on a drill, my gaze kept returning to Kiley. While she looked close to my
age, twenty-eight, she had to be older. Coach told us Molly was thirteen. If Kiley was my age, then
she would have only been a teenager when she had Molly. She was so uptight, so prim, so proper
crossing her ankles like a queen. She looked older, acted older, and with the moxie she had to stand
up to me, she had to be at least somewhere in her mid-thirties.
She wasn’t my usual type, but I couldn’t help but watch her. There were these things about her I
noticed. She had a necklace she pulled out of her shirt and twisted. Did it mean something to her? Was
she nervous? Then there was the way she took me on earlier. Tossed me in the damn penalty box.
Well, I sort of let her. She seemed like she needed to unleash on someone and I could handle it.
I really hoped Molly’s leg was okay, though. I hadn’t meant to harm her with that goal. I was just
trying to give her something outside her comfort zone, not the softballs the other guys had sent her
way. If she was seriously trying to get back to being a great goalie, she needed something more
challenging. I was just trying to be the person she needed to help with her rehab.
My gaze was drawn back to Kiley again. While I was disappointed her sweatshirt didn’t let me
see her shape more, I stared at her longer than appropriate trying to discern it for myself. She seemed
fit and curvy in the right places. But what I really wanted to know was just how far her blush traveled
down her chest. My fingers yearned to investigate further. A little voice in the back of my mind
wouldn’t shut up about where it would end. Would it stop at the top of her chest or pinken her breasts
too?
But wait, why did I care? Just as I was trying to shake the thoughts about Kiley Hannigan blushing,
Molly gave me a five on posture. A goddamn five!
“Step it up, Peter Pan!” she shouted.
Five? What the hell?
I sunk down a little deeper into my skates and pushed harder, kept my focus, then heard her give
Bobby a nine-point five.
I stopped so fast I sprayed ice. “Now wait a minute!” I complained, turning my head to see what
he could be doing to charm Molly. He wore a broad, shit-eating grin.
A defender and friend of mine, Hank Allen, popped me in the arm as he flew by. “You born tired
or suffered a relapse, man? Come on, get moving!”
My feet were already moving as I dashed ahead.
I raced around in front of Hank, pushing as hard as I could down to the end of the ice and scoring.
Then held my hands up to Molly as a “how was that?” expression. Her face went from approving to
terrified in half a second. My eyes tracked hers and I realized too late why.
“Ooof,” I grunted, slamming into Vlad, one of the giant defenders. He was a Russian behemoth
whose size and ability to turn on a dime were valuable near the goal, but not in the middle of drills.
 Vlad stood over me, watching me from above. I, however, was flat on my back and stunned, my
bucket skittered yards away. “Ilya?”
I forced myself to sit up as Donnie raced over. I squeezed my eyes closed, pressing my fingers
into my eyeballs to stop the pounding. “I was checking my rating.”
A deep chuckle resonated throughout the rink from Vlad’s laughter as he held out a hand. “Only
seven, my friend. Should motivate you, no?”
It was far truer than I wanted to admit.
After Donnie fussed over me for a few minutes, I shooed him away and skated around a bit to
shake it off. While I didn’t fall on my left shoulder, it jarred me more than a little. I felt the familiar
rush of panic and forced myself to breathe through it.
Then I heard Molly’s voice. “Peter Pan! Front and center!”
I gave her a chin tip to let her know I was on my way, my panic attack safely stowed away for
now.
As I skated over to her, I noticed Kiley tucking some hair behind her ear. Nervous habit or was
she wondering what would come out of Molly’s mouth this time? Approaching Molly, I reached for
her hair to give it a good mussing, but she batted my hand away. “Don’t touch the wig!”
I pretended not to be startled at it not being her real hair and gave her my brightest smile. “What’s
up, solnishka?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “That better not be derogatory.”
I shook my head smiling. “It’s not.”
“What happened to you back there?”
“Just ran into Vlad. No worries.”
“No, after that. You’ve been injured before.” She didn’t ask it as a question. She knew.
I looked out at the ice. “Upper body injury last season. Everyone knows about it.”
Kiley rolled her eyes. “And he’s humble too.”
I huffed out a laugh at her comment, shifting my focus to her. Her greenish-gray eyes locked on
mine for a moment and I noticed her dark auburn hair was long enough to wrap around my hand.
Twice.
Molly wouldn’t let it go, though. “Peter! Right here, focus! I had Ewing’s sarcoma. My leg hurt so
bad I couldn’t stand it, especially after games. Went on for a couple months before I collapsed during
a game. The MRI showed a tumor in the bone and the surrounding tissue. Within a few days, I was on
chemo to shrink the tumor, did that for three months, then went into surgery where they took out a
chunk of my bone and put in a metal rod. So, what happened to you?”
She was playing I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Smart kid.
I took a deep breath and met her eyes. “Took a hard hit where I was smashed into the glass by two
guys, then slammed to the ground where they pummeled me for a while. Shoulder separation. The
joint between my shoulder blade and collarbone tore, grade four AC separation. Hurt like a—”
Kiley cleared her throat and raised her eyebrow at me with a warning death glare.
I threw her a lopsided smile. “Like crazy. Shoulder swelled twice its size, and turned black and
blue. So, I needed surgery too. Twice. Put a screw in it for a while to hold the joint back in place,
then had to go in again to have it removed a couple months later.”
Her face scrunched up. “Why?”
“They said the screw would break eventually and cause more damage if I didn’t.”
She snorted with derision. “Stupid doctors. Like they couldn’t find a way to put something in there
that wouldn’t need to come out. Sadistic bastards!”
 “Molly!” Kiley gasped. “Those doctors saved your life. Have some respect.”
But Molly just rolled her eyes.
I chuckled and locked eyes with Kiley while I spoke to Molly. “I happen to agree with you on that
one, Molls.”
Molly ignored her mother. “Do you still go to PT?”
Looking back at Molly, I nodded. “A few times a week.”
Molly nodded to the ice. “You aggravate it out there?”
I kept my face neutral, looking up at Kiley. “Nah, falling is part of the game. It’s not gonna gripe
every time I take a hit.”
When I looked back at Molly, she looked at me like she could see my thoughts. Like she was
reaching into my mind and extracting the truth herself. She wrinkled her nose as if disgusted by
something.
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
She gave me the side-eye. “Lying doesn’t look good on you.”
Kiley shifted nervously and reached for her purse. “Surely, we’ve overstayed our welcome. You
must have things to do outside of a teenage girl’s presence.”
I felt a new type of panic rising I couldn’t place. I flashed her my trademark smile to try to get my
way. “Practice is for another two hours. You’re both welcome to stay and watch.”
Kiley was flustered, so she babbled. “It’s been a really great experience for her to play with you
guys and see practice, seeing how things are done at a higher level. I don’t want to get in the way,
though, and it seems her rating system might be more of a distraction than a help.” I watched her
curiously as she flung her large purse over her shoulder and nervously left, still chattering.
Molly didn’t release me from her gaze, though. She kept staring at me until I gave in and met her
eyes.
I sighed. “Look, what’s the difference if it hurt? I still have to play.”
She shrugged. “I’m no expert, but pretty sure being honest with yourself about your injury is
important.”
“Pot, kettle, kiddo,” I said raising an eyebrow.
She was undaunted. “This is only practice. What would it matter if you took a rest, iced it, then
went back out and did better after taking care of your body? You’re not even into the season yet.”
I leaned in on my good side, lowering my voice. “This is just preseason. I’m trying to prove I’m
healed so I get called back up to the Cavaliers. Now is not the time to show weakness.”
Her eyes widened in understanding and she sat back. “Then you better get back to it. The others
are showing you up today in a big way. If your goal is to go back to the Cavaliers, you better bring it.”
I barked out a laugh at her brutal honesty, then gave her a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
She gave me a nod, letting me know I was dismissed, so I skated back to drills.
Once the team was divided into groups, Bobby and I worked together on some Quick Turn Up 2
on 2 drills with two of the defensemen, Nicco and J.T. We only practiced on half of the ice so more of
us could play at a time. Two forwards, two defensemen, and one goalie on our side. Same on the
other. During drills, Bobby was all about showmanship, the sneaky little bastard, and it pissed me off
more often than not. Nicco was a beast of a defenseman, more of a shutdown operator, while J.T. was
an offensive defenseman, a little smaller and a little faster.
And then there was Angus, our goalie. He was steadfast and true, often the difference between the
team having a confident game or not. We called him Angus the Bull because of his size. He was built
to block, as he was deceptively fast and laser-focused on the puck like it was a red flag. The goalie
on the other side, Gustav, was formidable, but smaller and younger. More immature, but learning
rebound control and cutting down the angle to the shooter that Angus did so well.
For the drills, the rest of the guys stood in the middle watching us, along with the offensive and
defensive coordinators, Phil and Rocco, and drill instructors, Parrelo and Bela. Bobby and I pushed
off, crossing to get some speed as we came through the neutral zone. Phil barked out orders at us,
posture would have been for me and footwork was probably for Bobby. Nicco was guarding me
while J.T. was up in Bobby’s grill. Bobby passed me the puck, then I held onto it, circling back,
looking for an opening. When I was working on lining up a shot, Nicco grabbed it from me. I let out a
snarl, chasing him down, but Bobby snatched it back.
“Gotta keep passing, man,” Bobby growled at me, then passed it back. Together, we kept pushing,
moving forward, until Bobby saw an opening and made it just past Gustav for the goal. Then we
skated back to the middle for the next group to start their drill.
“Not bad,” Bobby panted, “for a puck hog.”
I flipped him the bird, hating how winded I was. I’d gone back to running every day, but I’d been
hesitant to do much weight training with my upper body. The puck work of the practice with Molly,
the warm-ups, and just a few minutes of these two-on-two drills zapped my energy more than it
should have. I had to get back to the weight room, to my regular training, if only my shoulder would
tolerate it.
While I should have been completely self-involved, listening to Phil and Bela go over some
things they noticed about my posture, my attention was caught by Kiley. She was talking with Coach
and Cade. Someone bumped my arm, probably Sam, a defenseman and good friend, but my eyes were
glued on her. I couldn’t look away. There was something about the way she held herself with
confidence and fear all at once. Some sort of instinct drew me to her. Something was wrong.
After our practice today, we needed Molly. We needed her wisdom, her insight, her sass. Kiley
was the key to allowing Molly to come back here to work with us. But from the looks of things, Coach
and Cade needed to use some fucking finesse before they drove her away.
Then I noticed Kiley’s body language changed. For the worse. Her arms were crossed in front of
her chest. With the motion, I could now see more of her outline, revealing a rather ample chest. I
shook my head to clear it. It was the wrong time to think those thoughts. She was standing firm against
something they wanted. But what?
When I saw Kiley shake her head, like she disagreed with whatever they were saying, she turned
to leave. My stomach flipped. What was happening?
Then I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. As Kiley turned away from Cade, he reached out and
grabbed her right wrist, pulling her around to face him again. The rest seemed to happen in slow
motion. Something flickered in Kiley’s eyes. Something like a fiery fury of a thousand suns. She
ripped her hand free from his grasp, made a fist, and punched him so hard her purse whipped around
and into her back before it hung limp at the crook of her arm. Cade’s hand pressed against his cheek
as he yelped in pain.
“Don’t you dare touch me!” she screamed, then rushed over to collect Molly. “We’re leaving.
Now!”
Molly looked over at me with sad eyes, but she didn’t protest or speak back to her mother. She
stood obediently and followed her to the door. That wasn’t like Molly. This was bad. Fuck!
My feet were moving before I knew what was happening. “Cade, what did you do?”
“I-I’m not sure. I asked for a schedule to have Molly come back regularly, but Kiley had concerns.
She wanted to think about it. Before she left, I just wanted to get in one last word, but when I touched
her, she snapped. It happened so fast.”
I blinked a few times, trying to absorb how much I was feeling. Furious with Cade, worried for
Kiley, scared we wouldn’t see Molly again, panicked at losing the Hannigans. I pressed a hand to my
chest aching at the unbelievable loss of both Kiley and Molly. How could that be? I just met them
today. I couldn’t possibly be attached to them already, could I?
Looking around, I saw the rest of the guys clustered around me. Their faces looked like I felt—
destroyed.
“Looks like that went to hell in a handbasket,” Hank declared.
Sam set a hand on my shoulder. “What can we do?”
I looked down at the concrete at Cade’s feet, searching for answers as I tried to get a handle on
the wave of nausea I felt.
And then I saw it. A cell phone laying upside down under the benches.
The din of voices around me grew louder. “Hey, everyone shut up!” I yelled. “That phone yours,
Coach? Cade?” I asked, pointing to the cell phone on the floor barely visible.
Cade bent down and picked it up. He pushed the home button of the phone and showed us a
picture of Molly sticking her tongue out. It had to be Kiley’s.
Before anyone could object, I snatched the phone from Cade and skated at full speed to the exit
closest to the outside door. I raced out to the parking lot, but the car I saw Kiley getting out of earlier
was gone. I raced back inside, tearing off my gear on the way to the locker room. Stowing the phone
while I showered and dressed at lightning speed, I snatched it and my own, then ran to the parking lot.
In my truck, I texted Coach for Kiley’s address.
A call came through on my Bluetooth the moment I started the engine. It was Coach.
“Can’t give you address.”
I huffed. “Bullshit. I have her phone and I need to return it to her. She’s got a kid. She can’t be
without a phone, right?”
Coach sighed. I could tell he was debating the options, so I revved the engine on my Dodge Ram.
“Fine. Cade says don’t stay.”
I grunted noncommittally. “Think you two have done enough to screw this up today. Better leave it
to me now,” I sniped and disconnected. There was no way I was making any promises not to try to fix
what Cade did.
The text came in by the time I reached the end of the parking lot, so I plugged the address into my
truck’s GPS. I was only five to ten minutes away if they went straight home. Kiley didn’t seem like
someone who would run home with her tail between her legs, but something Cade did brought out her
need to defend herself. Home seemed like a logical choice and the only place I knew to find her.
Now, I just needed a way to get through a conversation with her that didn’t involve her punching me.
Well, she could if she wanted. She could rage at me if she needed to so long as I found a way to work
this out. I couldn’t say exactly when or how it happened, but something changed this morning. I
needed them in my life. And I had to find a way to get them back.
4
 K I LE Y

O h, this was bad. Really, really bad.

I tossed the door to the rink out of my way, pushing Molly through first as I carted her bag
behind me. I cringed as it slapped against the building behind us, but kept moving forward.
When was this adrenaline going to stop making all my actions feel so aggressive? How could I make
it leave my system? I stared up at the sky and turned in a circle once slowly, trying to find some peace
so I could just be me again.
“Mom?” Molly asked hesitantly. I noticed her voice was off and was glad she didn’t touch me. I
really didn’t want to be touched right now. It would make me flinch and sometimes that felt as bad as
a slap across the face.
I kept my voice steady. “I’ll be fine, honey. Let’s just get in the car.”
Molly nodded.
Since fighting cancer, there were very few times in my daughter’s life when she wasn’t horribly
defiant and oppositional about everything. She needed control. I understood it. I did. Because the
times when someone violated my boundaries, I needed control, space, and for her to follow my
instructions.
After I hefted her bag in the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat, I cranked up the air conditioning,
aimed the vent right at my face, and tried to force away the embarrassment. I can’t believe I just
punched a man. In my defense, he grabbed me. But now, all I felt was intense shame. Were my actions
justified? The longer time marched on, the less sure I was. Did I need to take an action that drastic?
Could I have just pulled away and left? I mean, I didn’t have to punch him.
But then my anger flared again. Why should I have to tolerate what he did to me? No man had the
right to touch me without my permission. I think, right?
I mean, if we were talking about my need to defend Molly, I wouldn’t even be questioning my
judgment. But it was me. All this trouble just because I didn’t like that he touched me? Was I worth it?
My head told me there was no difference between us, but the guilt started at the top of my head and
filtered down through every cell of my body until I felt so stupid, I could hardly stand it.
Peeling out of the lot, the car just sort of steered itself to French’s Funeral Home. While I was so
mortified I could die, I wasn’t that dramatic. French’s was where I worked as an assistant embalmer
and funeral cosmetologist for the recently departed.
Joy came racing out the back door of her home slash business as I pulled up to my spot in her
parking lot. She had been waiting for us since she knew how much today meant to us. Molly pushed
open the car door to try to head her off at the pass.
Joy danced around Molly. “You’re back! How was it?” she asked, already hug-jumping with
Molly. “I bet it was awesome! How awesome was it?” But halfway through her little jumping party,
Joy’s arms fell to Molly’s upper arms, searching her face. Then she glanced at me and back to Molly.
“No! Tell me you ran your mouth and got booted out or something because this looks bad.”
Molly winced. She gently extricated herself from Joy’s hands, closed her door, and towed Joy by
the arm toward the door. “Come on, Joy. I’m really thirsty after all that skating. Maybe you could get
me some iced tea in a pineapple cup and I’ll tell you all about my practice with the team.”
Joy turned her head to look at me, narrowed her eyes, then yelled back to me. “You have fifteen
minutes to sit there and wallow, but then I’m coming to get you.”
I gave her the little two-finger salute in acknowledgment of her words, but I couldn’t look up
again. My shame fully encased me now. I placed my left arm on the steering wheel and rested my head
on it. My right hand still throbbed. Cade’s jaw was really hard. Focusing on my breathing, I tried
counting down from seventy-five by twos, just to keep my brain focused on a task other than self-
flagellation. But it was too late. Tears streamed down my face. Oh, good. We were at the letdown
stage.
Without trying to make myself feel better, I focused on what it would take to be forgiven for this
outburst. An apology email? Cleaning toilets at the rink? Community service?
Oh, no! My chin popped up at the next thought. What if Cade filed charges against me for assault?
I could go to jail!
I brushed the tears from my cheeks, sniffed a few times, and cranked the air again. I couldn’t leave
town or even hide. I didn’t have the resources for it. And I couldn’t take Molly away from her
doctors. Maybe I should set up a guardianship for her with my parents. Molly would hate me for
leaving her with them, but they could support her financially. My father was a doctor. He could
monitor her condition, and make sure she received good medical care.
Maybe a letter would be enough for my parents to care for her in my absence. I could write a
letter without any legal action. There was no way I could afford a lawyer, but writing a letter was
free. I needed paper.
Bursting into Joy’s office, I held my hand out. “Paper! I need paper!”
Joy came up to me, having left Molly in the kitchen to deal with my crazy, and stared at me with
her arms crossed. She narrowed her eyes at me. “What for? I’m not helping you with a suicide note.”
I snorted a laugh. “No, I have to write a letter for my parents to take guardianship of Molly when
the police arrest me for assaulting the Raptors’ general manager.” I rushed toward her desk and held
out my fingers in a grabby motion.
Joy plopped down in her office chair, crossed her arms across her purple mandala t-shirt, and
shook her head. “I have absolutely no reason to believe you’ll need anything of the sort. Now, what’s
going on?”
I was having trouble breathing now, panic fully engulfing me. “I have to make arrangements and
make sure Molly’s taken care of, Joy. Paper!”
She stood, rounded the desk, and perched on the front of it, giving me the sign to take a breath.
“Spill it, Ky.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t say it out loud. Not yet. Maybe never.
She plopped in the chair next to me. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
Molly appeared in the doorway. “She planted her fist in Cade Malone’s cheek, the general
manager of the Raptors,” Molly supplied helpfully with a proud smile. She strutted in with two
glasses of iced tea in yellow and brown plastic pineapple cups with a yellow-striped straw. She
handed me one before she leaned against the front of the desk, taking the weight off her bad leg.
 Joy playfully smacked my arm. “That’s so cool! Any particular reason?”
I let my fingers run over the pyramids that jutted out all over the cup, then pressed a finger to my
temple. “There were so many witnesses. It was in front of the guys.”
Molly set her glass down on a stack of folders. “Mom, he touched you without permission. Cade
won’t report you because he knows he was wrong. Or, if he didn’t know it then, he knows it now. The
guys looked murderous when we left. Especially Peter. They hated him for doing something to make
us leave.”
Joy’s gaze turned feral. “Wait, the GM of the Raptors touched you?” Then she looked to Molly
with a wolfish grin. “And some guy named Peter looked murderous about it?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. My mouth felt desert-like, so I took a long gulp
of iced tea.
“He grabbed her wrist,” Molly supplied. She looked at me and her voice softened again. “He
shouldn’t have done that, Mom. He was wrong.”
It felt so good for Molly to be standing up for me, but I had to make sure she understood. “But my
reaction was wrong too.”
“Ah, excuse me,” Joy said waving her finger and standing. “No, it wasn’t. You have every right to
take an action just short of death when a person grabs you without permission. That’s on him, not
you.” She paused thinking, crossing her arm and tapping her finger. “What did he want anyway?”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “The last word, I guess. He was trying to convince me to dump the
woes of their team on my thirteen-year-old daughter recovering from cancer. They loved her feedback
today. She helped the team come together so much they want her to come back regularly. To
practically be a coach. I told him that was a lot to ask of her and I had to think about it, but he kept
pushing, making excuses, trying to manipulate me into agreeing.”
Molly straightened a little. “I could handle it, you know.”
I sighed and reclined back in the chair wishing I could melt into a puddle. “I told Mr. Malone no,
but he didn’t like that answer. So, I appeased him and said I’d have to think about it, but he kept
pushing. I was firm, then asked him to back off, but he just wouldn’t let it go.” I paused, trying to catch
my breath from the onslaught of emotions the memories brought back. “Maybe if I called and
apologized, he wouldn’t try to have me arrested.”
“He won’t try to have you arrested!” Joy and Molly said together this time.
“And you have nothing to apologize for,” Joy added.
“I’m sorry, Molls,” I murmured. “This was going to be a dream come true and I made it a
nightmare. I’m so sorry.”
“Enough,” Molly said, standing. “You did nothing wrong. And you were kind of awesome.”
I forced a weak smile. “You were too, sweetie! Angus and Gustav were fine and all, but you
definitely had the best goalie moves.”
Molly puffed up a little. “That’s true. They could do so much more if they would just communicate
and talk to the other players. Which is why …”
“Oh no,” I started, wagging my finger at her. Then I held my tea firmly on the chair arm and
scrunched my eyes shut. It was coming. She was going to land a blow of her own any second. I wasn’t
ready for it.
“I want to go back, to help them this season.”
“What?” Joy screeched. “You want to go back after the GM grabbed your mom? And what about
the violence of hockey? The womanizing? And, you know, the showering and stuff?”
Molly rolled her eyes at Joy and sighed, then took a second to organize her thoughts. “They have
so much potential, but they’re missing something. Something I helped them see a glimpse of today. If I
stick around, I could get them to be more cohesive, to work together better. And then, well,” she
trailed off.
“What?” Joy asked.
Molly nibbled on her lower lip. “Maybe they’d actually reach their potential and win a few
games.”
Joy’s eyes practically popped out of her head. “Good grief! I leave you two alone for a morning
and look what happens!” She gestured at me. “You’ve had to employ self-defense techniques,” she
said and pointed at Molly, “and you want to be the muse of the Raptors. What am I going to do with
you two?”
Molly stalked toward Joy with her eyebrow raised. “You’d like the guys, Joy,” she started, using
her powers of reading people for evil instead of good. “There’s this one, Bobby, who is so your type
and single. Or so I heard,” she said waggling her brows.
A little sound escaped Joy’s mouth, like a cross between a pant and a gasp. “My type?” she
squeaked, “and single?”
“And you could come to practice with me sometimes. Get to meet the guys. Maybe even come to
the games too as my special guest.”
Joy was practically drooling.
I leaned forward and put my hand on Molly’s arm gently. “Why do you want to do this?”
Molly lifted a shoulder. “I’m ready to do something that matters.”
I sighed. “You want to help them through this rough patch and then what?”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mom.”
“What if your teachings make a huge impact on their playing and they reach the pinnacle of their
careers because of you? And you run out of energy to deal with them and school and the Flames?”
Molly dropped her arms to clutch the desk. She leaned forward a little and looked smaller, more
vulnerable than I’d seen her since recovering from surgery.
She shrugged. “I dunno, Mom. I’ve never felt worthy of planning for a future. Having cancer stole
that from me.” She paused. “I know we live paycheck-to-paycheck and I hate that my bills and my
health make our reality even more bleak.” I started to argue, but she held up a hand. “I guess if you
agreed to let me work with them, I could ask them to pay me. Do my PT every day, still get my school
stuff done, and I could actually earn a salary as a consultant. I don’t know if they have any money to
pay me, but I want to help with the bills. It seems only fair.”
“Fair?” I screeched. “You don’t have to pay for anything, Molls!”
“Ah, girls,” Joy interrupted, jumping up and clicking a pen incessantly. “I hate to burst anyone’s
bubble, but there are these things called child labor laws. Federal stuff. Very serious. They say she’s
too young to work for anyone as anything more than a babysitter, corn detasseler, or selling baked
goods online while pretending to be fourteen.”
Molly closed her eyes in defeat, then rubbed her temples in an action so familiar, it reminded me I
was doing the same thing.
“I don’t expect you to work off your medical bills, Molly. Getting sick wasn’t your fault. You
don’t have to do this for money.”
“And it wasn’t your mom’s fault I have shit health insurance, pardon my French,” Joy growled.
Molly looked at me with her wide, pleading eyes.
“Please don’t give me the eyes,” I begged. “Let’s table it for now and I’ll decide when I’ve had a
chance to think on it. And maybe I’ll send Cade an email apologizing for the way we left. I just need
to calm my nerves enough to get Mrs. Jansen ready for her five o’clock viewing.”
Molly nodded. “I won’t push right now. You’ve had a rough day. I won’t start my campaign of
guilt and manipulation until at least ten o’clock tomorrow.”
I laughed, reaching into my purse for my phone. “Fair enough.” Then my brow furrowed. My
phone was usually on top, but it wasn’t there. I lugged the purse up to my lap and started pawing
through, but no phone. “Where’s my phone, Molls? Did you take it?”
She held up her hands. “No.”
Dumping the contents of it on the floor in front of me, Molly helped me paw through it, but still no
phone.
And then it hit me. My phone must have fallen out of my purse at some point at the hockey rink.
“No, this can’t be happening.”
Molly looked up into my eyes from where she sat on the floor, her dark brown eyes sparkling, and
not at all trying to hide her excitement. “It has to be at the rink.”
I shook my head refusing to believe it. “I was upset when I was sitting in the car. It probably fell
out there.”
Molly snagged my keyring from the floor. “I’ll go check.” Gingerly, she stood and jogged-limped
out to check the Subaru.
Joy snickered. “What will you do if it’s at the rink?”
I stood, throwing some trash from my purse away, then paced a minute. “It can’t be. The world
wouldn’t be that cruel, would it?”
“Nope, not there,” Molly said huffing and puffing at the doorway, a smug grin on her face. “Guess
that means we’ll have to go back to the rink later.”
I shook my head. “Nope, it sure doesn’t. I’ll report my phone missing, have it switched off, and
get one of those cheap monthly unlimited talk and text plans.”
“A track phone?” Molly whined. “Mom, that’s embarrassing!”
I scoffed. “No, what’s embarrassing is facing all those men again who saw me completely lose
my mind with Cade. I can’t go back there.”
Molly sighed dramatically. I could have sworn I heard her mutter something under her breath, but
I was too exhausted to care what it was.
Joy rested her hands on the arms of her chair. “I hate to ask you to work at a time like this, but are
you steady enough to take care of Mrs. Jensen now? I can call Patty if you’re not up for it.”
I gasped. “No! I’m fine. Don’t call Patty. Mrs. Jensen was a sweet lady. She can’t be at peace if
she looks like a whore.” I gasped and cringed. “Her words, not mine.” I mentally shook my head at
myself. “I’m okay, really. And Mrs. Jensen will look respectfully conservative, just the way she
planned.”
Now, if something would only go the way I planned.
5
 I LYA

P ulling into what the GPS said was Kiley’s neighborhood felt like I entered a land of despair. A
few houses were giant three-story dilapidated shitholes with rickety stairs running up the back
leading to higher floors. Looked like there were different families living on each floor, so they
all needed their own entrance.
The rest of the neighborhood was packed with matchbox houses held together by unsightly
patches, duct tape, and chewing gum. Most of the houses couldn’t have been more than eight hundred
square feet. Those with siding were missing more than a few pieces of it. Some of it had come undone
and flapped in the breeze, scattering flakes of paint. The brick houses seemed to have the best chance
against a strong wind.
When I pulled up to the address for Kiley, I was relieved to see it was a dark red brick house
with oatmeal-colored mortar. The house itself looked relatively stable. With the tornadic activity we
often had around here, at least it didn’t look like it was about to collapse.
But the yard! Tall, sickly grass, or weeds really, almost blocked the view of the house from the
street. It was the middle of September and it was hard to tell if the lawn had been mowed more than
once since the snow melted. They didn’t need the city fining them, so I made a mental note to check on
what she planned to do about her yard.
I parked on the street in front of her house. Her car wasn’t in the driveway but she had a garage
almost the size of the house, so it was probably already parked inside. I grabbed her cell phone and
hopped out of my truck, then trekked up her driveway to the front door.
The railing leading to the door was rust-colored, leaning, and probably was black once upon a
time. One of the house numbers had fallen upside down. Out of habit, I pushed it upright, but it just
swung down again. Must need a screw there. That would drive me crazy if I lived here.
I rang the doorbell and stood for a few minutes waiting. No barking. No footsteps. No voices. No
whispers. Nothing.
I rang it again, but nothing.
“Can I help you?” a man asked standing at the point where the sidewalk met the driveway.
I spun at the voice and tried to ignore the fact that a man in his sixties just got the drop on me. “I’m
here to see Kiley.”
He looked me up and down. “She’s gone for the day. Is there something I can do for you?”
As well-meaning as he probably was, it really wasn’t a good idea for him to tell a stranger she
was out for the day.
I smiled deciding to pry a little, just to be sure. “What about her husband? Or a man of the
house?”
 “Husband?”
“Is he at work too?”
The man’s eyes furrowed and the scowl on his face would have frightened a lesser man. “There is
no man living here. Now, who are you?”
No husband? Something in my heart took flight, but I couldn’t help but wonder where Molly’s
father was. “My name is Ilya. I was just with Kiley and Molly at the hockey rink. Kiley left her phone,
so I was just here to return it.”
“I’ll take it,” he said, reaching for the phone in my hand.
I snatched it back. “Ah, thanks, but no. I’d rather give it back to her in person.”
“Look, I don’t know who you are, but I don’t believe your story. That phone looks like any other
phone I’ve ever seen. You could just be making up a story to hurt those girls, so you need to get outta
here.”
“Sir, look, my intentions—”
“Don’t mean squat to me. You leave or I’m calling the cops!” he threatened, pulling a handgun out
of a holster at his back. “You don’t think I came over here without having a way to defend myself, did
ya?”
I threw the phone under my arm and held my hands up. “I don’t want any trouble, sir. I’m a
friend.”
He backed up and gestured with the gun toward my truck. “If you were a friend, you’d know more
about these girls. Now, you’d best be on your way.”
Holy shit! I wasn’t going to turn my back on this guy, so I did as he told me. He still aimed the gun
at me, so I carefully walked sideways back to my truck. Once I was at the front of it, I rounded it
quickly, hoisted myself into the driver’s seat, and raced away. In the rearview mirror, I saw the man
cross the street and open the screen door of a faded green house missing several pieces of siding.
I took a few breaths to calm my racing heart.
The Bluetooth blaring a song snapped me back to the present. I pressed a button to accept the call.
“Hey, you find her yet, Pan?” Sam asked.
I cleared my throat trying to calm my shaking hands. “I found her house and a neighbor with a gun,
but no Kiley or Molly.”
“Wait, what?”
I barked out a laugh. “Yeah, I could’ve used your Jersey ass here to even things out or smooth
things over. Not sure which I would have preferred.”
Sam laughed. “Not everyone from Jersey carries, you know.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Maybe not, but you do.”
He ignored me. “So, you didn’t find her?”
I scrubbed my jaw. “They weren’t home. The neighbor sounded like they won’t be for a while.
I’m not sure what to do. I wanted to wait in my truck until she came home, but I don’t think that’s
going to be an option with an armed neighborhood watch on the prowl.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess try back a little later. What’s her place look like?”
“It’s about ten minutes from the rink in a pretty bad area of town. Rundown. Neglected homes.
Hers too. It was basically a brick closet with grass up to your hip and a list of repairs a mile long.”
“Ouch!”
“Yeah,” I agreed, then felt myself get lost in thought. Maybe we could spruce her place up a little,
prove we were good guys. Make some repairs, mow her lawn. “Do you still have that old push
mower?”
 “Ah, yeah, the one someone left in the garage when I bought the place. I think it works. Why?”
I stopped at a light a few blocks away and looked back. “I have an idea. I’m headed to your
place.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “Bring two footlongs and a gallon of iced tea, then I’ll be at
your service and protect you from the mean old neighbor.”
“See you soon.”
Sam lived on the far west corner just outside Taylor Ridge. I stopped at a food truck park on the
way and grabbed a couple of meatball subs, then stopped at a convenience store for the iced tea and a
giant bag of salt and vinegar chips. With my haul, I drove to Sam’s place.
Sam ran out his front door to meet me at the truck. He padded out barefoot and I gave him a
scowl.
“What?”
“This isn’t the shore, Sam. You could step on something and mess up your footwork for a month.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You worry too much.”
“Injuries are nothing to laugh about,” I countered, but then I realized I shared too much.
Sam gave me a concerned look, so I brushed past him and went inside his mansion. Well, maybe it
wasn’t exactly a mansion, but it had four bedrooms, five bathrooms, and lots of land with a pool out
back.
The day was nice enough that we could sit out on the back deck overlooking the pool.
“How’s the pool this year? Keeping it warm enough?” I asked, hopefully changing the subject.
“Good, I’ve been in just about every day. But I haven’t used the solar heater. I’m used to cold
water.” He gave a strangled face and I knew he must be talking about that girl from the food truck he
was pining over day and night.
“How many bacon-wrapped things have you eaten already this week?” I teased. “You’re going to
ruin your figure if you don’t leave her alone. She’s just being polite to you because you’re a
customer.”
He scoffed and took a bite of his sub. “There’s chemistry, Pan. I can feel it. And she doesn’t have
to smile at me just because I’m a customer. She doesn’t smile at everyone. I just have to be patient
and wait for her to make the first move.”
I shook my head at him. Poor bastard was in a constant state of blue balls lately. Nothing would
shake his belief that he and the cashier at the bacon food truck, Harmony, were meant to be. “What’s
the name of that truck again? All About Bacon?”
He rolled his eyes at me. “At Your Bacon Call. It’s whimsical and I love it!”
I chuckled. “Of course, you do.”
“Shut up! You like it too,” he huffed a laugh. “Now, what about you? Who do you have your eye
on these days?”
I shrugged my right shoulder. “No one really. Just been working out, spending time with Roscoe.”
“How’s the old boy?”
Roscoe was my three-year-old Black Labrador and German Shepherd mix. He was my constant
companion when I was home, pushing me to get outside and take him for walks on my six-acre
property then hogging my bed at night.
“Shedding like a maniac. It’s a good thing he’s so loveable. This time of year, he’s shedding his
summer coat and there’s hair everywhere. Today, he pouted when I was getting ready to leave, so I
left him with Katya. That’s why I was a couple minutes late to practice. She was chatty.”
Sam crunched on a handful of chips. “How is your baby sister these days? In her last year of
college this year, right?”
“Yeah, she finished summer courses and she’s trying to graduate early for this job she thinks will
come open in January. She spent the extra money on a full summer schedule so she could graduate in
December and start work at this company the first of the year.”
“Sounds expensive, but perfect,” he said through another giant bite of his sub.
“Too perfect,” I muttered.
Sam held his glass of tea. “What do you mean?”
I shook my head. “When something seems that good, there’s usually a catch. I just don’t want her
to plan her whole life around something that’s a scam or doesn’t work out. They haven’t promised her
the job. I just don’t want to see her set all my money and her hopes on this one company and lose her
confidence when it doesn’t work out.”
“She is a bit dramatic,” he said, a smile spreading across his face.
I sighed. “Yeah, well, she’s so happy about it now, it’s contagious. She had Roscoe practically
dancing at her feet today as she was telling me about her summer scores.”
Sam chuckled. “It’s good for him. Good for both of them. Try to be optimistic.” He grabbed a
handful of chips. “Now, what should we do about Kiley and Molly?”
I put my tea on the table and crossed my ankle over my leg. “At the very least, I need to mow her
yard and fix a few things on the outside of the house. I just need to load up your mower and some
tools, then stop at the home improvement store for some supplies. Would you come with me? Watch
my back so I don’t get shot while I help her?”
Sam sobered. “For Molly? Anything.”
We held each other’s eyes for a moment at the mention of Molly. What was it that had us devoted
to her already? We already knew we would do anything for her and we’d only just met her. I guess
there were some people who came into your life who you just knew were special. In our silent
communication, we acknowledged that, then finished our lunch and headed to the garage.
Once the mower and tools were loaded in the back of my truck, we hopped in and headed back
toward Taylor Ridge. Sam and I found a home improvement store where we bought more supplies
than we planned on including flowers. With nothing cheerful anywhere in the neighborhood, we
decided to make them a fall garden. Sam even found a few hanging pots and some hangars for brick
exteriors.
When we pulled up to Kiley’s house a second time, I drove down the block checking for
neighbors. Seeing none, I turned around and parked on her side of the street. I left the driveway open
just in case Kiley came home while we were here.
Sam filled up the mower with gas and tackled the front yard while I made the repairs. As I hauled
a toolbox from the back of the truck, a blonde woman not much older than my sister with bright blue
eyes and a big smile came up to the truck. I braced for the worst.
She placed her hand over her eyes while she squinted. “Hey, you a friend of Kiley’s?”
“Yeah, we both are,” I said pointing to Sam. He raised his hand from the mower in a wave and
gave one of his signature full-wattage smiles.
She smiled back, her dimples popping. “Boy, isn’t she lucky? Landlords around here aren’t big on
doing their part. Kiley’s renting to own, you know.” She peeked in the back of the truck. “Oh, and
you’re going to plant a garden? Kiley and Molly will just love it!”
I couldn’t help but smile at the mention of Molly. “We weren’t sure of her favorite colors, so we
just bought a little of everything.”
She held her hands up to her bosom. “So sweet. I live just across the street, ah, there,” she said
turning and pointing to a three-story house with a leaning staircase in the back. “I’m Maddy West.
Hope you haven’t had any trouble while you’re out here. Henry gets a little, well, protective of the
Hannigan girls.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “He the one with the gun?”
She winced through a smile. “Yes. Geez, I was hoping I was the first one you met around here.
Henry means well.”
I smiled. “Ah, yeah. I’m sure he does. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to repair.”
She twirled her curly blonde pigtail. “I’ll bring you some lemonade in a while. You’ll surely be
thirsty by then.”
I gave her a chin tip and hefted the large toolbox to the front door.
I started with the “5” in her house number that kept falling upside down. It bugged the hell out of
me. I added a small black screw and instantly felt better.
Then I took a level and a couple bolts to reattach the railing and prepped it for painting.
Spreading a tarp under it and grabbing some sandpaper and the quart of black paint I bought at the
home improvement store, I got to work. Her railing wasn’t very long, just wrapped around her small
patio and down the short sidewalk to the driveway. After a little sanding and painting, it looked much
better.
Next on my list was the garden. Sam and I took turns digging a two-foot section in front of the
porch railing over to the driveway. It gave her a small but nice garden. We hauled the extra grass
layer and dirt off to the side, planted the flowers, and mulched.
When we spread the mulch, all fifteen bags, we stood back to look at our work.
“How can one little garden take so many bags of mulch?”
Sam sighed and swiped his brow. “One of the world’s greatest mysteries.” Pointing toward the
back of the house, he took the mower and headed toward the gate. “I’m gonna go mow the back yard
and find the hose to bring around so we can water these in.”
Just as Sam went through the gate to the back yard, a little pixie of a woman with curly black hair
and a small child attached to her shirt raced up the driveway toward me with a broom held out in
front of her and fire in her eyes.
“What the fuck you think you’re doing at this house?”
I sighed and held my hands up. At least she wasn’t carrying a gun. “We’re helping Kiley with her
yard and fixing a few things. We’re not here to rob her.”
She stalked forward with the broom in front of her, eyeing me with suspicion. “Where’d the other
one go?”
Just then a lawn mower started in the back. I kept my hands up, but pointed my thumb to the sound
in the back yard. “Mowing the lawn in back. That’s all, ma’am.”
The woman jabbed her broom at me a few times from a distance and glared at me, but didn’t
move any closer. “This lady can’t afford a yard service. What the hell are you doing here? This don’t
count as community service.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Community service? We’re not criminals.”
“Katy, they’re hockey players,” a familiar voice said. I looked over and saw Molly rounding the
front of a green SUV with her hands out in front of her. “We know them, Katy. It’s okay.”
“Oh my gosh, Katy!” Kiley said in a panicked voice. “Put the broom down, sweetie!” She was
standing at the door of the car, looking afraid to make any sudden moves.
“Kiley? Is that you?” Katy asked, not looking away from me for a second.
Kiley’s eyes were wide as she approached her slowly from the side. “Yeah, Katrelle. It’s me,
sweetie. Put the broom down. He’s not a danger to us or to you. Isn’t that right, Ilya?” I saw Kiley’s
eyes pleading with me to play along.
I cleared my throat, as it suddenly felt like I might be in more danger than I realized. “That’s right.
No danger at all. I’m Ilya. May I call you Katy?”
“No! You don’t need to call me anything!”
Well, that backfired. Now she was downright hysterical. Her young son held onto the hem of her
shirt the entire time, tugging on it slightly like a Morse code, communicating to his mother that he was
there and okay.
“Hey, Apollo,” Molly said. “I like your shirt.”
The kid looked down at his shirt, then back to Molly, but he didn’t say anything. The scene was
too intense.
I crouched down to put my tool down at my feet, then put my hands up as I rested down on my
knees, sitting my butt on my heels. “That’s fine, ma’am. I’m no threat to you or to the Hannigans. I’m
just here to return Kiley’s phone and help out a little around the outside of the house. Sam is too.
We’re new friends of Kiley and Molly.”
She lowered the broom a half an inch and it felt like a victory. “That true?” she asked them,
chancing a quick glance back at them.
Molly gave a wide berth around Katy, walking through the yard, and eventually stood in front of
me. “Yeah, Katy. This is Ilya Panchenko. I call him Peter Pan. He’s our new friend. I played hockey
with him today. Remember the hockey thing I’ve been talking about?”
Katy nodded slowly. “Kiley?”
Kiley gave me a warning glance, then looked at Katy. “I’m right here, Katy. Why don’t you take a
few steps back and come to me? I’ll walk you back to your place, okay?”
When she put the broomstick up in the air, I realized she had the end of it sawed and sanded into a
very sharp point, like a shiv. I probably should have noticed it when she was aiming it at my neck. I’m
just glad I didn’t reach for the damn thing.
Katrelle and her terrified son, Apollo, took a few steps back, then surrendered the broom to Kiley
so she could scoop up her son and speed-walk next door to the first floor of a large gray three-story
house. I finally put my hands down, resting them on my thighs, but I didn’t get up yet.
Molly gave me a lop-sided grin. “Hey, you okay, big guy?”
I scrubbed at my jaw. “That was intense. How close was I to getting run through?”
She lifted one eyebrow. “She saw you going into the back yard?”
I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. “Sam went back there to mow the grass and bring out the
hose. That’s all.”
Molly sucked in a breath. “Well, let’s just say if Mom had stopped to get dinner like I’d asked, we
would have arrived to you bleeding out in the driveway.”
I winced. “That bad? What happened to her?”
She let out a ragged breath. “A lot of really bad shit.”
Sam shut down the mower and I heard him unwinding the hose.
“Lemonade break!” Maddy shouted crossing the street. She was back wearing a white cropped
tank top with spaghetti straps with the word “Cutie” scrawled in purple glitter across the boobs and a
purple bra visible underneath. She wore low-riding distressed cutoff jean shorts with a big gold belt
buckle. The flapping of her flip flops echoed off the house as she came up the driveway. “Time for a
lemonade break, boys. You’ve been working so hard!”
Just then, Sam reappeared in the driveway with the hose, completely oblivious to everything. He
gave Maddy a bright smile and accepted the cup she held out to him. She held one out to me too. He
took a long drink, then made a squishy face, so I held mine rather than drink it.
Sam coughed a few times. “Oh, hey, Molly. How do you like your new garden?”
An exhausted Kiley trudged up the driveway visibly cringing.
“Maddy, sweetie, what’re you doing here?” Kiley asked as Maddy handed her a red Solo cup.
Maddy turned with a smile. “Oh, you’re finally home. I saw these guys working on your place and
it’s so hot, so I tried to make some lemonade. I’m not quite sure I made it right, but it has ice in it so at
least it’s cold and there’s enough for everyone!”
“No,” Kiley answered quickly, “I mean no thanks, sweetie. It’s been such a long day. Why don’t
you head home there, and see if you can find anyone on that app of yours to swipe on?”
“Oh, ah, swiping to, ah, find a date?” she stuttered. “Not really looking for anyone, but, ah, I’ll
probably just listen to some music or something. You sure you don’t need anything else?”
Kiley steered her back toward the other side of the street with a forced smile. “No, we’re just
fine, dear. Head on home now. And thanks for being so neighborly.”
I sighed in relief, but just when I thought I was out of danger, Kiley walked right up to me,
grabbed the cup out of my hand, and tossed the contents into the yard.
6
 K I LE Y

“Y oucupdon’t want to drink that,” I muttered, throwing the so-called lemonade into the yard and the
in the garage can. Maddy was a sweet girl, but she made the worst lemonade of all time.
To not attract any further neighborly attention, I stood in front of Ilya keeping my face neutral
while the shout-whispering began. “What on earth are you doing here? You could have gotten yourself
killed!”
Ilya gave me a weak smile. “Well, I was just trying to help.”
I pointed to the yard. “And you mowed my lawn?” Then I noticed the railing and darted over to it.
Ilya held his hand up to keep me from touching the wet paint. “You painted my railing? And planted a
garden?” I looked down and sighed. “What’s going on? How did you find out where we lived? Are
you here to have me arrested? Served with legal papers? What now?”
Ilya pulled something out of his back pocket slowly and reached it out to me. “Thought you might
be needing this,” he said in that deep sultry voice.
“Your phone, Mom!” Molly shrieked.
I closed my eyes, enjoying the sound of his voice too much, then accepted the offering. “Thank
you. Now, will you tell me how returning my phone turned into a landscaping project?”
“Funny story,” Ilya started, but I held up a hand.
“How many guns were involved?”
He narrowed his eyes. “One. How did you know?”
I shook my head, wrapping my arms around my torso. “Oh, Henry. He means well, but gets a little
overprotective.”
Molly looked at the two of us and grabbed Sam’s arm. “I’m just gonna help Sam with the hose.”
She grabbed Sam’s cup and threw what was left into the yard. She shook her head at him when he
considered protesting and steered him to the backyard, giving him a few pushes until he left the
driveway.
Unable to leave my car idling at the base of the driveway, I headed down to it. “So, how much do
I owe you?” I asked over my shoulder.
Ilya threw his hand on his hip when I chanced a glance up at him. He looked like a Greek God
standing there in a tight sweaty t-shirt, distressed jeans, and work boots. “You don’t owe me
anything.”
After I angled the car up the driveway and parked, I went out to the yard to check the pile of
mulch bags, mentally calculating how much he spent.
Tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, I closed my eyes at the amount. “My rough estimate
is about four hundred. I’ll start a payment plan with you for $25 a month.”
 He took a step forward. “You will not. I came to return your phone, then saw a few things I could
do to brighten up Molly’s life. That’s all. I was hoping I could help smooth things over a bit after
whatever stupid thing Cade did. I don’t know what happened there, but I want to fix things.”
My hand flew to my mouth. I lowered my fingers enough to speak. “You want to smooth things
over?” I lowered my hand to my chest. “I screamed in your face, poked you and forcibly backed you
into the penalty box, then punched your GM, but you want to smooth things over with me?”
Ilya used the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his forehead, his shirt rising a little in the
process showing off his sweaty muscles. Something inside me clenched. “Well, when you put it that
way—” he said, trailing off.
The craziness of the day bubbled up inside me until I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I felt my face
heat the moment I let out a snort of laughter. Then another. And another. Neither of us could keep a
straight face then and we both began laughing so hard we could barely stay standing. I clutched the
wood frame of the garage door as I pitched forward in my fit of laughter. Ilya crossed his arms to
keep his balance, bending over at the waist.
When Molly and Sam came back with the hose, Molly’s brows furrowed. “Mom?”
I was still trying to contain my laughter. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s just been one of the strangest days
of my life. I haven’t felt this out of sorts since—” I trailed off, thinking about the day Molly collapsed
at practice and was rushed to the hospital.
Ilya looked at me with a little gleam in his eye. “It has been a strange day, hasn’t it, Sam? How
often do we find an inspirational teenager?”
Sam shook his head. “Never. We should celebrate!”
“But how?” Ilya asked, looking at me with a smile.
Molly and I looked at each other and shouted, “Maple bacon shakes!”
Ilya scrunched his nose. “That’s a thing?”
“Of course!” Molly said enthusiastically. “Come on, Peter, live a little!”
For a minute, I thought I was having this strange sort of waking nightmare. My daughter shortened
the nickname of a famous hockey player she just met from Peter Pan to just Peter, for heaven’s sake.
Sam nodded. “Seriously, those are awesome, Pan.”
Ilya gave me a look that couldn’t have been as suggestive as it seemed. “Then count me in.”
I knew they were in training, so I made sure to give him an out. “You’re in for the world’s most
unhealthy shake. Are you sure?”
Molly encouraged him. “They have other things too. You don’t have to get the shake.”
He dug his hands into his back pockets. “No, if Molly says it’s good, then I have to at least give it
a shot, right? So, where does one go for such an artery-clogging shake?”
Sam and Molly looked at each other and yelled, “Food truck heaven!”
I smiled at Sam. “So, it sounds like you know the place pretty well.”
Sam made gooey eyes. “I love At Your Bacon Call. Best food ever! What about you guys?”
Molly beamed. “Of course, we’re there like every weekend. How do you think I gained the
weight back after chemo and radiation? My mom’s the best cook there!”
My mouth fell open, my eyes bugged out, and I wanted to evaporate into the air.
“You work there?” Sam croaked, not at all hiding the shock on his face. “I haven’t seen you.”
Molly beamed. “At Your Bacon Call? Ah, yeah. She cooks offsite and delivers the food when it’s
ready. Usually just on the weekends, but she fills in on busy nights sometimes. Poppy and Luke are
awesome. They’re like my aunt and uncle and let me eat whatever I want for free.”
Molly looked so proud of me. Why did I feel so awful for being discovered as a cook there?
 “Were you there this afternoon?” Ilya asked, his brow furrowed.
Molly sighed. “No, not today. We were at the—”
“Hey, Molly? Why don’t you go in and change? You’re still wearing your hockey stuff, so I’m sure
you’ll want to change clothes before we go. Want me to do your hair?”
Molly narrowed her eyes at me. “Ah, yeah. Give us five minutes, guys.” Then she stomped past
me, slamming the door behind her. Guess the nice, understanding daughter of mine turned back into a
moody teenager.
I gave the guys an apologetic smile and followed her inside. The garage opened up into the
kitchen, which led directly to a little eat-in dining room. I tossed my phone into my purse and plopped
it on a dining room chair. In just a few steps, I was in my room stripping off my clothes smelling of
death and embalming fluid. I spritzed myself with some morning glory refreshing spray and pulled on
a pair of jean cutoffs, a white tank, and a long-sleeved black crocheted sweater with a low V-neck. It
was a warm September evening, but once the sun went down, a chill would set in.
I met Molly in our shared bathroom. She sat on the folding stool waiting for me to do her hair, a
judgmental aura coming off her in waves.
She turned, scowling at me. “Why are you hiding your occupation from them? Are you
embarrassed?”
I sighed, using my comb to help gather sections of hair for an updo. “It’s not that. They just don’t
need to know everything about me. They’re here for you.”
She huffed and crossed her arms. “You’re kidding, right? Ilya’s not just interested in me. He’s all
about you.”
I laughed so hard I yanked on her wig. “Sorry,” I said, readjusting it. “I’ve poked him and yelled
at him. What man in his right mind would be attracted to me after treating him that way?”
Molly almost sprained something rolling her eyes. “Shows you’re strong. Besides you have to
look under the surface. How many times did you tell me that as a kid?”
I thought back to when I used to talk to her about true meanings not being skin deep, about looking
for the emotions under all the behaviors. Maybe she listened after all.
I smiled while I placed a few pins in strategic places. “Okay, I’ll keep looking, but I don’t expect
to find anything, sweetie. He’s just trying to make amends so I'll let you help with the team, not see me
naked.” And then I clapped a hand over my mouth. When did my filter dissolve? Did that happen
during the craziness of today?
Molly’s face scrunched up and her hand flew to her mouth. “Whoa, Mom. I just said he was
attracted to you. If that turns out to be true, I’m still thinking of you as a nun. Even if you’re, um, not.”
I pushed in two more pins. “No, I am, sweetie. That’ll never change. Have I ever dated before?”
She held her hand over her face, peeking through two fingers. “Well, no, but—”
I shook my head. “There is no but. I’m not dating and that’s the end of it. Now, take a look. How
do you like this?”
I had pulled the loose waves back into a lazy-looking bun at the base of her neck. She looked
beautiful as always.
A smile pulled at her lips. “It’s perfect, Mom.” She stood and put the stool away. Then she
touched my arm. “You should be proud of what you do. You help people feel beautiful in life and
death. It may not be brain surgery or rocket science, but it’s important.”
Tears pricked at my eyes. “That means so much, sweetie, thank you.”
She held up a hand. “But I get it. I’ll let you tell the guys about yourself and just stick to stuff about
me.”
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