Lucky Hit (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 1)
Lucky Hit: Chapter 29

After Christmas break, life continues on like normal. Students are back at school, and everyone else has gone back to work. New Year’s brought in exciting resolutions for everyone to commit to until February, when they begin to neglect them. Christmas trees were shoved into their boxes and hidden somewhere until next year. No more joyful music plays in coffee shops.

By February, everything has gone back to the norm.

The hockey season is now in full swing, and the Saints are playing better than ever now that Oakley is back. Playoffs are approaching at an alarming rate, and tensions are at an all-time high. The Saints are holding the top spot in the league, but with that, it’s brought a ton of pressure. Oakley is handling it all really well, but I’ve begun to worry that he’s piling too much on his shoulders.

We’ve spent every spare moment together, learning everything there is to know about one another, even things I wish I didn’t know about him. Like what his gym bag smells like at the end of the week and that he puts raw eggs in his preworkout smoothie. I’m sure he wishes he didn’t know that I only drink juice out of the carton, but it’s too late for that.

He left on a last-minute trip to St. Paul, Minnesota, to meet with the general manager of the Woodmen this morning. His agent told him that while it’s a bit unethical to be flown out to meet with a team, it would be a waste to refuse the offer of not only a first-class round trip but also a full arena tour and a team meet-and-greet, so Oakley agreed, even though he won’t be home until the morning of their game this weekend.

It’s also been two weeks since I’ve seen Adam, and I’ve decided to finally put a stop to the distance he’s put between us. That’s why I’m storming up his driveway right now, trying not to slip on compacted, slick snow that looks to have been driven over but not shovelled for quite a while.

My stomach twists at the realization that Adam’s father never would have let it get this bad had he been home recently.

I stand in front of the door and will myself to knock. I take a few deep breaths, desperately trying to relax. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous; Adam is my best friend, not a stranger, even if that’s what he’s felt like lately.

The door swings open, exposing a dishevelled Adam before I get a chance to pull my big-girl panties on. His eyes widen at the sight of me on his parents’ doorstep unannounced.

I raise my eyebrows pointedly at his appearance. He’s only in a pair of plaid boxers and white socks—quite the getup. His chest is sweaty, and I crinkle my nose.

“Who is it, babe?” a vaguely familiar voice squeaks from somewhere in the huge house.

Adam pushes past me, closing the door behind him. With a hand ghosting my back, he starts to lead me away from the door. “What are you doing here?”

I smirk, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively. “Who was that?”

“Nobody. Just some girl from the bar,” he stammers, avoiding eye contact. “Why are you here? We don’t have plans, do we?”

“No, I came here to talk. If it’s a bad time, I can come back,” I offer. His dismissal is surprising and, honestly, a bit wounding.

“No, it’s fine. Just let me change, and we can go get coffee or something. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He rushes inside, leaving me standing here, utterly confused.

What the hell just happened? He’s never had a problem parading his conquests around me before. Why is he being so dismissive and secretive?

The door swings open again, and I have to suppress a gasp when I see a pair of narrowed blue eyes.

“You,” the girl sneers, stepping outside.

Beth Winston is the last person on Earth I expected to come out of Adam’s house wearing nothing but a baggy T-shirt. One with the Saints logo on the front in bold letters.

I scowl. “Beth Winston, what a pleasant surprise. I thought I recognized your squeal.”

“You should have been here last night, then. You couldn’t have missed it.”

“That’s disgusting,” I say, popping my hip. “If you wouldn’t mind, I have something important to talk to Adam about. If you could scurry off, I would appreciate it.”

“If Adam wants me to leave, he can tell me himself.”

“Beth, leave. I’ll call you later,” Adam sighs from the doorway. He’s fully dressed now—in his usual jeans and T-shirt combo.

I stifle a laugh when she flushes.

“Please. I’ll call you tonight,” he promises, sincerity colouring his tone. Huh?

“This isn’t over, Octavia.” She glares at me and stalks off toward her car, still wearing only Adam’s shirt.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” I huff and push past him through the open door.

He doesn’t argue, just walks inside without a word. “Want anything to drink? We have ginger ale.”

“Ginger ale will only get you so far,” I say, my mouth watering at the mention of my favourite drink.

I trudge behind Adam into the industrial-style chef’s kitchen and sit down on one of the leather bar stools in front of the marble island. A can is placed in front of me, and I crack it open, drinking it quickly despite the burn from the bubbles.

“She’s not that bad, O,” he says casually, like it’s nothing.

“You’re kidding, right? She’s the child of Satan.”

“I think I could like her.” He scratches the back of his neck. “She’s different when you get to know her.”

I am undeniably having trouble grasping what he’s saying. Different when you get to know her? This coming from the guy who completely cut her out of his life years ago?

“Isn’t there a best friend code for not fraternizing with the enemy or something? She’s rude.”

“She’s . . . sharp-tongued and isn’t afraid to say what’s on her mind.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re actually defending her.”

“Yeah, I am. I don’t see how this is your business, anyway.”

“You’re kidding,” I splutter. “She’s going to end up hurting you. And when somebody hurts you, that is automatically my business. You’re my best friend, Adam.”

“I’m not a fragile little boy, Ava. For God’s sake, I’m a grown man fully capable of making my own decisions. If you’re my best friend, then just support me here.”

I snap my head up and narrow my eyes. “Supportive? Like you’ve been so supportive of my relationship?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps.

I shoot up off the stool, and the legs screech against the expensive tile floor. Adam glares at me, his cheeks flushed.

“Don’t play dumb. I’m not a stranger. I know when something’s up with you. So, spill it. Let it out and tell me what the hell your problem is with Oakley. Is my relationship why you’ve been ignoring me lately?”

“I’m not having this conversation right now.”

He turns to leave, but I grab his arm before he can. “We are having this conversation now. You’re scaring me. I can’t lose you.”

His eyes fall to the hand wrapped around his arm, and a look I know too well flicks across his face. As soon as I drop my hand, our eyes meet. The longing in his deep brown eyes is enough to make my heart curl up in a ball.

“Adam.” My voice breaks.

He shakes his head. “Don’t. Please don’t look at me like that.”

I dart my eyes around the kitchen and worry my bottom lip. At this rate, I’ll bite a hole right through the damn thing.

“Don’t put this on your shoulders, O,” he says.

“How long?”

“What?”

I can’t look at him. “How long have you had feelings for me?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I thought I was content with just being your best friend until Oakley came along. Seeing you with him fucked with my head.”

Words escape me. I can’t replace the right thing to say, if there even is a right thing.

“Do you love him?” Adam asks cautiously, like he’s scared of the question. Or my answer.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t know you felt like that.” I try to change the subject. The last thing I want to do is hurt him more than I already have.

“Do you? I know he loves you. It’s obvious.”

“I do. I love him,” I breathe.

“Does he make you happy?”

My voice shakes. “Very.”

“Then that’s all that matters. If you’re happy, I’ll be happy.”

Panic steals my breath. “Am I going to lose you? I don’t want to lose you,” I whisper. My heart aches at the thought of not having Adam in my life.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he says without hesitation. “But I need time.”

I nod, not knowing what to say.

“I should probably get some training in. With the playoffs coming up and all,” he blurts out, dismissing me. I flinch before I can stop myself.

“Right. Okay. I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, wearing a tight smile.

“Oh, okay. Bye, then, I guess,” I stammer, wringing my hands in front of me.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Great, thanks.” I follow him to the door, making sure to keep my distance. Not like it would matter—he’s miles away from me right now.

As soon as I slip on my shoes and walk outside, we say a quick goodbye, and I walk to my car, the closing of the front door ringing in my ears.

My laptop screen goes in and out of focus as I continue to stare at it, my pulse thumping in my head.

I’ve spent hours in front of this screen, staring at an essay that hasn’t grown in word length over the past thirty minutes. The headache is new, only just now blazing in and making my night even worse than it already was.

Morgan is at dinner with her parents, and Oakley landed in St. Paul this afternoon. I flip my phone right side up on my desk and pull up our text conversation. A smile blooms on my face when I reread the messages we sent after he was picked up at the airport by a driver in some luxury SUV and driven off to a hotel with a nightly cost that probably equals my monthly rent.

Oakley: Which state has the smallest drinks?

Me: Hello to you too

Oakley: Hey, baby. Now answer my question.

Me: Okay…Arkan-small?

Oakley: LOL. Close

Me: Tell me what it is!

Oakley: Mini-soda

He continued to send me Minnesota-themed jokes until he was dropped off at the hotel and switched topics to how he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to fly commercial ever again after experiencing first class.

I know he doesn’t want to end up in Minnesota—his dream is to play for the Vancouver Warriors—but the reality of it is that we won’t have a choice in where he ends up. It’s the luck of the draw, literally.

I’ve avoided thinking about the draft too much, mostly because it scares the crap out of me but also because it’s the start of a new future I still haven’t prepared myself for. The fame, the women, the travelling. Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in a whirlpool of decisions completely out of my control. Like ever since I met Oakley, my future has been taken from my hands and placed in the set of another.

Oakley would never force me to abandon my goals and follow him, but that means another few years of me stuck here and him everywhere else. The thought is enough to have me dropping the topic. But as soon as I hover my fingertips over the keyboard, a knock on the front door startles me.

Confused as to who it could be, I get up and walk to the door. My stomach drops when I look out the peephole and see probably the worst person that could show up here tonight.

As if I needed anything else to go wrong today.

Rebecca fiddles with her hands and stares down at her clothes as she waits. She’s dressed well, proper, like she’s dropped a hefty penny on her wardrobe since the last time she was here.

Maybe she’s decided to drop the act. It was clear when I left her standing alone in the hallway of my apartment that day that I knew exactly who she was. There was no hiding our similarities then, nor is there now.

It’s easier to notice now that she isn’t covered in grime and whatever else was all over her. Not only do we have the exact same eyes, but also identical high cheekbones and similar swoops at the tips of our noses.

It doesn’t matter, I remind myself. It doesn’t matter how similar we look, she is no mother of mine. I take a deep breath and unlock the deadbolt before opening the door.

She’s glowing. That’s the first thing I notice when we’re face to face. She looks healthy. Her hair shines, for God’s sake.

A few moments of stunned silence pass before she speaks. Even her voice sounds better, clear and steady.

“Hello, Octavia.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Rebecca?” I deadpan, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed. “Why are you here? I told you I would call.” It was clearly a lie; I don’t think I was ever going to end up calling her. But that should have spoken for itself.

She bows her head. “You didn’t call.”

“No. I didn’t.”

She winces but recovers quickly with a warm smile. “Can I come in?”

My immediate reaction is to tell her no and to leave and never come back, but a small voice is pushing me to give it a shot and at least listen to what she has to say. It’s not like she deserves my time—far from it—but would it help me finally get over her once and for all? Maybe. Or maybe it will only make it worse.

“For a few minutes. My roommate will be home soon.” I take a step back and let her pass through the doorway.

She smells like expensive perfume, the kind you test at the mall but never pull the trigger and buy. I shut the door behind us and watch her kick off her shoes before lining them up against the closet door.

“It’s a beautiful apartment,” she notes, walking inside.

My skin itches, and I fight off the urge to scratch at my arms. It feels wrong having this woman here. Like I’ve just invited a predator into my home.

“Thanks. Lily and Derek helped us pick it out.”

She stiffens but keeps walking further inside. “They have good taste, then.”

I tap the outsides of my thighs. “Do you want something to drink? We can sit on the couch and talk.”

“No, thank you. I’m not thirsty,” she’s quick to say, like it’s second nature to deny people when they offer something. I don’t push her on it as I sit on the far end of the couch and she sits on the other.

“Are you in school now?” she asks, staring at the pile of discarded textbooks on the coffee table.

“Yeah.”

She glances at me. “What are you taking?”

I almost laugh. “Social work.”

“Oh,” she whispers.

“I want to help kids like me. The ones without families and a trash bag filled with all of their belongings.” My molars grind when I shut myself up before the anger inside of me comes barrelling at the woman who abandoned me.

Rebecca swallows before slipping a fake smile across her face. “That’s very selfless of you.”

“Selfless? Not really. The system is overrun, and children are the ones suffering. If people would just stop giving their children up in the first place once they realize they don’t want them—never mind. Sorry.”

I can remind myself as many times as I like that it’s not always that easy, that sometimes it’s the only option and placing judgment isn’t right, but my parents left a pit in my chest that’s filled with resentment and bitterness.

I hate how it’s so easy for them to cloud my judgment. It won’t do me any good once I graduate if I’m assuming the worst of every parent.

Rebecca is as still as a statue, her eyes fixed on a loose piece of stitching on the arm of the couch. Discomfort wraps around my lungs, squeezing tight.

“Don’t apologize. You live through your experiences. Yours was a bad one.”

A bad one? A bad one? This time, I do laugh. “Why are you here, Rebecca? This conversation is about nineteen years too late.”

“I don’t know why I’m here. I guess . . . I guess I was curious. It’s been so long, and I wanted to see what you looked like now. How you’re doing.”

I shoot up off the couch and face her, my hands clenched. She avoids my stare as I look at her with the same hatred that turns my blood to lava. I can’t sit here and pretend that this isn’t too little too late. She wants to know how I am? What I look like? No.

“You don’t get to know how I am or what I look like. You abandoned me. Nobody should have even told you where I am, and trust me, my parents already have a lawyer working on replaceing out who the hell told you that information. You’re the one who requested a closed adoption. It was easier to dump me onto someone else knowing I couldn’t ever come replace you, right?”

She blinks fast, biting at the inside of her lip. I search her face for any sign of guilt but come up short of anything but embarrassment. Maybe a little shame. That only stokes the flames.

“You don’t feel guilt at all, do you?”

Finally, she turns to me, those same green eyes that I stare at every morning when I brush my teeth making my stomach ache as I look into them, like I’ve spent too long on a spinning ride at an amusement park.

Whatever this ride is, I need off of it ASAP.

“Give me a chance, Octavia. Just one.”

“It’s Ava,” I snap. “It’s always been just Ava.”

She nods. “Okay. Please, just listen, Ava. My boyfriend, he’s a good guy. I’ve moved in with him, and I’m clean—really clean. I haven’t touched any drugs in a couple of months. I’m here now, and I want to try and make it up to you.”

“I don’t think I want that. You still haven’t told me how you got my information.”

With one large step, she’s right in front of me. “I will. I’ll tell you everything the next time we meet. Please. Just give me a chance to get to know you. That’s it.”

I back up. “I need to think about it.”

“Okay, yes. Think about it. But you will call me, right?”

“Sure.”

She looks wary at my blunt answer. “Please call me. I need to see you again.”

I dip my chin in a barely there nod. “Yeah. I’ll call.” Even if it’s just to tell you to get lost.

“Okay. Okay, good. Great. You’ll call,” she rambles, smiling now as I gesture to the door. “I’ll go, and we’ll talk again soon.”

“Yeah.”

I open the door and watch as she starts to quickly put her high heels back on. There’s something about her frantic movements that has me unsettled, but I shove the unwanted feeling back.

She pauses halfway through the doorway. “It was nice to talk to you, Ava.”

“Get home safe,” I reply before shutting the door and locking the deadbolt again.

Spinning around, I rest my back against the door and close my eyes, hoping that when I open them again, the past few minutes will have all been a figment of my imagination.