by Lynn Rush
Advance praise for
“I love this book so much! Brodie and Willow are funny, charming, and totally swoon-worthy!”
—Tracy Wolff, New York Times bestselling author of the Crave series
“The Cutting Edge meets Friday Night Lights—what’s not to love? A fresh, sweet, and addictive romance!”
—Ali Novak, author of My Life with the Walter Boys
“Sizzles with romantic chemistry while exploring shifting friendships, complex family dynamics, and uncertain futures. Strong, driven, and independent, Willow and Brodie are protagonists readers will root for both on and off the ice.”
—Katy Upperman, author of Kissing Max Holden
“A sweet, charming dive into the world of high school hockey. Lynn Rush and Kelly Anne Blount have crafted a sweet, heartfelt forbidden romance that will have you falling in love with high school sports and small-town life.”
—Samantha Martin, Frolic Media
“A fast-paced, funny, heartwarming read. Grab a cup of cocoa, sit back, and let the games begin.”
—Chris Cannon, author of Blackmail Boyfriend
“A delightful, fast-paced, heart-skipping, super-fun read!”
—Jennifer Brody / Vera Strange, award-winning author of the 13th Continuum trilogy
“This novel is pure joy. A sweet romance, engrossing characters, and intense hockey action. Reading it was like sitting in a chilly ice rink, wrapped in a fleece blanket and sipping hot chocolate.”
—Rob Shapiro, author of The Book of Sam
“A flirty, sweet figure skater vs. hockey player romance with an adorable twist.”
—T.H. Hernandez, author of Prom-Wrecked
“Lynn Rush and Kelly Anne Blount have created characters you will fall in love with and cheer for—and you might even consider strapping on your own skates.”
—Fiona Simpson, freelance editor
“A heartwarming story of perseverance, love and friendship. Rush and Blount do an amazing job of weaving depth into this feel-good story. I enjoyed it from beginning to end.”
—Noreen Bruce, RespectYourShelves blog
Also by
Lynn Rush & Kelly Anne Blount
The Twin River High Series
Gutter Girl
Also by Kelly Anne Blount
I Hate You, Fuller James
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
EPILOGUE
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Twin River High series, by Kelly Anne Blount and Lynn Rush
I Hate You, Fuller James, by Kelly Anne Blount
Eyes on Me, by Rachel Harris
Off the Ice, by Julie Cross
The Bookworm Crush, by Lisa Brown Roberts
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Lynn Rush, LLC and Kelly Anne Blount. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
10940 S Parker Road
Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
[email protected]
Entangled Teen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Edited by Stacy Abrams
Cover design by LJ Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover images by
Vasyl Dolmatov/GettyImages and
karych/Depositphotos
Interior design by Toni Kerr
ISBN 978-1-68281-576-2
Ebook ISBN 978-1-68281-583-0
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition January 2021
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To God, from whom all blessings flow. To Charlie, who has my whole heart…for always. To Kelly Anne Blount for making a statement that changed both our worlds: “Hey, we should write a book together.” —Lynn
To Lee Roy, Bella Rose, my family, and to Lynn Rush, who is the best cowriter in the universe! —Kelly
CHAPTER
ONE
Willow
Ten months of physical therapy and grueling pain was about to pay off. Clutching my arms to my chest, I spun through the air.
I had to land this jump.
My skate made contact with the ice. Yes! I felt fine. Finally, I—
Pain exploded up from my heel: a cruel reminder of the injury that crushed my Olympic dreams and threatened to decimate my future as a champion figure skater. My jaw clenched as I balled up my fists.
I flailed like a newbie, then turned my left skate at an angle and came to a stop in the middle of the rink.
A vise cinched around my chest, and a wave of nausea stormed through my stomach. I’d failed. Again. My shoulders slumped.
The muscle in my ankle seized, and it felt like a steel baseball bat had rammed my calf. I bent over and clutched the area as hot tears burst from my eyes and seared a path down my cold cheeks. I’d been fanatical about my physical therapy exercises. Spent hours in the pool keeping up my cardio. But it’d been almost a year now, and my progress had been so unbelievably slow. Rupturing an Achilles tendon was one of the worst injuries a figure skater could endure.
And the hardest to recover from.
Coach’s words echoed in my mind. “Everything’s going to be just fine. You’ll be back on the ice before you know it.”
Lies.
Everything she had said on the ride to the hospital was a lie.
The sound of laughter yanked me back to the moment, and I shifted to see what was going on behind me. Three hockey players lined up outside the rink, near the door. When they glanced my
way, they shook their heads. Hockey players always hated getting rink time after figure skaters. I’d been chewed out more times than I could count for roughing up their smooth ice with my toe picks.
I wasn’t surprised they were chomping at the bit to get on the ice. This rink was really nice, and that was coming from someone who’d spent the last nine years in Colorado, skating at a first-class training center that had top-notch ice.
The large clock mounted on the wall showed I still had three minutes until the Zamboni came out, so I pushed off, gaining some speed.
One more try. You can do this, Willow!
Hearing the scrape of my blades on the ice and feeling the breeze against my skin as I picked up speed kicked me into the zone. Everything else faded as I drank in the burn in my quads, my heart racing.
If I could just land one more jump today, I’d be happy.
A fluttery feeling spread from my chest to my fingertips.
Holding out my hands, I pushed off with my back skate and snapped the opposite knee around the front. My heart hammered as the near-perfect rotation threw me into a spin that felt as natural as breathing.
I was weightless. I was free. This was what I lived for.
And I was going to land this jump.
My skate hit the ice. My leg buckled, and in the next breath, my butt slammed into the frozen surface. The momentum sent me sliding, but the boards stopped me with a breath-stealing crack.
“Damn it!” I slouched to the side and slammed my fist on the ice.
Heat rushed up my face as some of the hockey players snickered. I pounded the ice one more time, then scrambled to my feet, fighting back the tears. From the stands, Jessa smiled and gave me a small wave.
She was the best friend in the world to be sitting here, watching me like this. My biggest cheerleader, she wanted to see me landing these jumps nearly as much as I wanted to land them. As I needed to land them. I had to get back to competition strength ASAP, or any chances of making it onto the Olympic team would be gone, gone, gone.
My breath hitched in my chest as I slowly stood. Jessa was the only person I’d stayed in touch with here in Woodhaven after my family had moved out to Colorado. My parents came back two years ago when Gramps got sick, but I’d only returned a couple of weeks ago.
At the sound of the Zamboni roaring to life, I made my way toward the exit. Glancing down for a moment as I brushed the ice from my sore butt, my shoulder rammed into something hard.
“Son of a puck,” a guy shouted. “Watch out!”
I spun but couldn’t jab my skate into the ice to stop me. And for the third time in mere minutes, my tailbone slammed against the unrelenting surface.
A hot jolt of pain shot up my spine, so I sat there a second to collect myself.
The guy I’d collided with loomed over me. He pushed his helmet back, and floppy, dark brown hair spilled out around his sun-kissed face. Swirls of amber flashed through his brown eyes, and his lips curled into a smile.
Just like that, my heart started banging in my chest and heat pooled at the apples of my cheeks.
He bent toward me, his hair shifting forward, framing his face. He was tall, broad shouldered, and from what I could see beneath his tight, form-fitting long-sleeve shirt, muscular as hell. He was wearing black hockey pants and elbow guards, but his shoulder pads were splayed on the ice beside him. A small scar on his chin marred his otherwise smooth, flawless skin.
Mouth going dry, I let out a fake cough and cursed myself for not bringing a water bottle down to the ice with me.
I planned to say something witty, but my words were failing me. “Did you just say ‘son of a puck’?”
The guy rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a hockey thing.” All of a sudden, a teasing glint lit his eye. “Guess a figure skater wouldn’t understand.”
“Riiight.” I stretched out the long vowel, smirking right back at him. Despite sitting on the cold ice, heat coursed through my body.
Who did this hockey player think he was, anyway?
He held out his hand. “I am sorry. I thought you saw me.”
I waved him off. “Today is not my day.”
“Come on, let me help you up, Toe Pick,” he insisted. “You hit the ice pretty hard out there.”
Tingles shot through my body as our fingers met.
Damn, this guy is cute!
He hoisted me up, but I missed stabbing my toe pick into the ice to stabilize myself, and I fell forward, my knee making direct contact with his crotch.
“Shit!” I let out a gasp as my stomach cramped, and I hit the ice knees first.
“Omph!” He grunted, then fell backward onto the ice, landing right beside me.
“Oh my gosh!” Talk about first introductions gone terribly wrong.
Wide brown eyes zeroed in on me. This guy had the longest black eyelashes I’d ever seen; any girl would pay good money for a set of those.
“I’m so sorry!” I pushed off the ice and got back onto my blades, heat fusing my cheeks.
“My bad.” He rolled over and hopped onto his skates.
“Is your— I mean. Are you okay?”
He grinned, his face turning a shade of red. “Hockey players wear protection. So I’m good.”
“Oh,” I said, then with a giggle, “guess a figure skater wouldn’t understand, huh?”
He chuckled and leaned on his stick as he looked at me. “You’re not half bad, you know. On your skates, I mean. Well, at least when I’m not within three feet of you.”
“Should have seen me before,” I muttered.
He arched an eyebrow.
“Long story,” I said as I pushed away on unsteady legs. What the hell was wrong with me today? “Anyway, I don’t want to intrude on your ice time, hockey player.”
“Maybe I’ll see you out here again?” His voice sounded hopeful, and his smile made my knees go weak.
“Probably will,” I said with what I hoped was a flirty smile, temporarily forgetting about my throbbing Achilles.
“See ya, Toe Pick,” he called out.
“See ya, Puck Head,” I yelled, not turning back as I made my way to the exit.
I turned around and snuck a quick glance at the hockey player who’d helped me to my feet. He was fully geared up now and warming up with a few laps around the rink. Not too shabby of a skater, either…
I stepped over the threshold from the ice to the flooring and plopped onto the cold metal bench.
Defeat crushed my lungs and made it difficult to take a deep breath. Everything felt heavy on me. My legs. My arms. My heart.
The hockey players made their way toward the team bench as the Zamboni entered the rink and began zooming around the ice, clearing away the work I’d put in out there for the last hour.
Work that felt pointless for how much my Achilles hurt. Seemed like I’d never get over this injury.
My fingers met my temples. I made small circles for several seconds before I packed up my stuff and limped to the bleachers where Jessa was sitting. She’d asked if I’d stay and watch the hockey scrimmage with her, since her best guy friend Preach was playing. It was the last thing I wanted to do—I’d much rather take a shower and bust out my physical therapy exercises—but she’d hung here watching me for more than an hour, so it was only fair.
Plus, there was some nice eye candy out there to admire.
“Great practice, Will,” my best friend said as she clomped down the steps, carrying a cup of hot chocolate.
“Thanks for hanging out,” I said. “You look adorable, by the way.” Her long, blond hair spilled from beneath a silver and maroon stocking cap. It really made her gray eyes stand out against her pale skin.
“Thanks. How’s your ankle?” Jessa slid in beside me.
“Eh, not great.”
Understatement of the year.
I chuckled. “On another topic, did you see that puck head plow into me?” I slipped a sweatshirt over my head and a pair of jogging pants over my leggings to chase away the chill of the rink. Didn’t help that I’d spent most of my time on my ass out there. “I totally kneed him in the crotch. I wanted to die.”
“That’s Brodie ‘Wind’ Windom.” Jessa grinned.
“Windom. As in…the name on the sign in front of the rink?” I leaned forward and covered my face with my hands, then peeked through my fingers at Jessa. “Oh great, I totally just ice-accosted a Windom?”
She laughed, her eyes lighting up. “Yeah, you did.” She chuckled some more. “Brodie’s family is loaded. They remodeled the old rink, spent three million dollars or something.”
I kept my eyes on this “Wind” guy as he skated across the fresh ice. “It’s a really nice rink.”
“Yeah, the boys’ hockey team at Woodhaven has won State like ten times in the past twenty-five years. Brodie’s dad played pro for a while, so I guess it made sense to give the guys a nice rink.”
“Wow.” No wonder he looked so confident on the ice.
“His family owns the new apartments off High Street. They have a bunch of properties in Minnesota, too.”
“Must be nice.” My chest tightened. I couldn’t help but find myself feeling jealous. My family had never had an excess of money. “Why can’t I remember him from elementary school?”
“They moved here after you left,” said Jessa, staring out over the ice. “You would have loved playing street hockey with him down on Heron Lane, though. He was always out there with at least twenty other kids.”
My lips curved into a smile as nostalgia warmed my chest. “Those were the good old days…” I’d spend my entire summer break in rollerblades. Racing toward the net, stick in hand, ready to score on whatever kid was brave enough to fill the goalie position.
“Remember when you took down—”
“Heads up!” someone yelled.
Adrenaline surged through my chest, nearly stealing my breath as I whipped my focus to the ice. I never did understand why people yelled that, since something was obviously coming at them. Shouldn’t they say duck?