For You, I Will: A Shots on Goal Spinoff (Shots On Goal Standalone Book 7)

by Kristen Hope Mazzola

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  www.KristenHopeMazzola.com

  AuthorKristenMazzola@gmail.com

  Also by Kristen Hope Mazzola

  The Crashing Series:

  Crashing: The Wedding

  Crashing Back Down

  Falling Back Together

  Crash & Burn

  The Unacceptables MC Standalone Series:

  Unacceptable

  Unspeakable

  Unbreakable

  Untouchable

  Unbearable

  Undeniable

  Uncut

  Unscarred

  Unstable

  The Hysterics Standalone Series:

  The Hysterics

  Colt & Serena

  Becoming Hysteric

  Steele

  Shots On Goal Standalone Series:

  Hat Trick

  Cross Checked

  Cherry Picked

  Low Blow

  Playoff Beard

  Off Duty

  Standalones:

  Stupid Hearts

  Rough & Tumble

  Donut Be Easy

  For You, I Will

  Boxsets:

  The Crashing Series

  Lust & Love

  The Shots on Goal Series Box Set

  The Unacceptables Series Box Set One

  The Unacceptables Series Box Set Two

  The Hysterics: A Rock Star Standalone Box Set

  The Huntress Series (co-written with Dawn Robertson):

  The Huntress (Book 1)

  The Hopeless (Book 2)

  The Nameless (Book 3)

  Charity Compilations:

  30 Dirty Martinis

  Word Search For Warriors: Authors For A Cause (Volume 1)

  The 69 Series:

  (multi-author collaborations for charity)

  Hook & Ladder 69

  Bleed Blue 69

  Acknowledgments

  To my Rockstars, Natty Fitton, Cindy Hughes, Tanya Turner, Suzanne Talkington, Stormi Johnson and Cierra Hodge: Thank you for lending me your names for most of the female characters in this book. Y’all are so incredibly supportive and completely inspiring to me. You have been there with me through most of my writing career, cheering me on and for that I will be forever grateful. I cherish each and every one of you so much… never forget that!

  To my better half, cooking buddy and all over best person: Even though we have just come into each other’s lives, you are simply the best and my absolute favorite. I love you.

  To the entire Meme Team: You are my true rockstars and I love our songs.

  To Kelly: You are truly one of my most cherished friends. Never forget what a bright light you are in this world.

  To Mayra: Thank you for bringing me into another wonderful project. Without you, For You, I Will would have never been written or even thought about. Thank you for inspiring such a heartfelt story that I truly loved writing.

  To all of the DILF authors: I am so honored to be working on this compilation with such a fantastic group of talented women! Y’all ROCK!

  Hat Trick

  A Shots On Goal Standalone

  By Kristen Hope Mazzola

  A Sneak Peek

  Dedication

  To anyone that has been kicked in the balls by love and still believes in it, this one is for you.

  Chapter 1

  Brayden

  “So, doc…” My eyes traveled down to the blue-gray speckled white floor of my sister’s hospital room as I gripped her hand tighter. “How bad is it, really?” I knew from how mangled the car was that I was lucky she was breathing—even if it was with the help of a machine—but I needed to find a shred of hope that she’d see morning.

  Watching Myla’s tiny frame clinging to life in that hospital bed damn near broke me. Most of the time, I prided myself on being the tough one in the family, but right then and there I was crumbling into a pile of useless emotions, praying for this to all be one sick, twisted nightmare that I needed to wake from.

  The young doctor with a thick red beard put his hand on my shoulder, frowning. “We’re going to do everything we can to save her, Mr. Cox. Go home and get some sleep. We will know more in the morning.”

  I nodded, willing my eyes to travel up my sister’s bedside. The site of a breathing tube coming out of her mouth and the beeping of the machine that was acting as her lungs made my stomach lurch. The cuts and scratches that dappled her fair skin didn’t do the severity of the crash justice. Both of her eyes were black and blue, her cheeks were swollen, and too many bones in her body were shattered. It was purely a miracle that the first responders were able to get her out of the car, let alone stabilize her enough to get her to the hospital and into surgery in time, but they managed it somehow.

  I squeezed her hand one last time, bending down and whispering into her ear, “Myla, if you can hear me, please fight. Please be strong. You’re all I got left. I love you, sis.” I cursed the tear that rolled down my cheek onto hers as I kissed my little sister’s temple.

  Squeaking sneakers sounded behind me. Turning slowly, I locked eyes with a short nurse in purple scrubs sheepishly walking into the room. Her petite figure reminded me of Myla’s, and she had a tiny bounce in her step that made her short, stick-straight hair sway side to side with every step. “Sorry, I just need to check on her.” She bit her bottom lip, looking down at Myla’s chart near the foot of her bed.

  Taking a few steps back to let the nurse do her job, I cleared my throat. “Is it okay if I stay the night here with her?”

  The nurse frowned with her entire tiny frame while shaking her head. “I’m afraid that’s not allowed in critical care, sir. Visiting hours start at seven and end at nine.”

  I glanced down at my watch to see that I was already overstaying my welcome by an hour. Failing at forming a smile, I shoved my hands into my pockets. “All right. I’ll be on my way.”

  Her kind eyes searched mine as more damned tears welled up and a lump the size of Long Island formed in my throat. “I’m Karla. I’m working all night.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card and a pen. “Write your cell number here. I’ll call you personally if anything happens.”

  With shaking hands, I did as she asked with more gratitude than I had thought possible. “I don’t really know how to thank you for this.” My voice was weak and fading.

  As I handed her back the business card, I realized how wobbly my hands were. The nerves and worry were starting to get the better of me.

  “Just try to get some rest. Here.” She handed me another business card. “Just in case you get worried during the night, my cell number is on there.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  In what seemed like the blink of an eye, I was making my way to the parking garage on autopilot. Everything was turning into a blur. Unlocking my car, putting my seatbelt on, putting the car in drive—it all felt like I was watching a movie, not actually experiencing it myself. Pulling into the garage at my parents’ house shocked my senses awake; I didn’t even remember pulling onto Elm Street or rounding the corner onto Addison.

  Throwing my keys onto my dresser, I fell back onto my king-sized bed. I didn’t know how I was still moving, breathing, thinking—I just knew I had to keep it up. Myla had to be all right and I had to be strong for her. In just one phone call, my entire life had flipped over on top of me, crushing every bit of my soul. All at once, it hit me—my anger, my rage, my temper. Within minutes, my meticulously manicured room rumbled into a mirror of the torment of my situation.

  After I released all the tension, a wave of realization flooded me. As I stood in the middle of my oversized room with the glass from my mirror scattered around the floor, blood coming from my busted knuckles, and a few new holes that needed to be patched peppering my walls, I couldn’t escape the reality of the day’s occurrences any longer.

  My mother was dead and my sister was in a medically induced coma because of her extensive injuries. The guilt was overwhel
ming. There was nothing I could have done to prevent the truck from running that stoplight or make my mother buckle her seatbelt, but I was the man of the house and the responsibility of protecting my family was mine to bear.

  The hours ticked by until exhaustion took over. I was startled awake by my alarm clock chiming loudly in my ear, and I realized I was still wearing my sweats and long-sleeved shirt from the practice I had been ripped away from when the hospital called.

  Checking my phone, I saw a few texts from teammates checking up on me, a few voicemails from my assistant coach, and a text from an unsaved number.

  Swiping open my phone, I read words that brought tears of relief to my eyes:

  Just letting you know, your sister did great overnight. I gave your number to the day nurse and will check in later to see how you two are doing. Take care – Karla.

  I quickly rattled off a reply:

  Thank you for letting me know. I am heading that way now. Hope you get some rest after a long night shift.

  After a quick shower, a few bites of cold pizza from a few nights back, and a call to my coach, I made the drive back to the hospital.

  Just be strong.

  Breathe.

  Deep…slow…breaths.

  Everything is going to be fine.

  She’s going to be fine.

  Myla

  Pain and confusion completely consumed every cell in my body.

  “Myla?” Brayden’s voice sounded miles away. “Myla? Can you hear me?”

  I tried to respond but nothing would come out. My throat was a desert begging to rain out words that formed questions and cries for help.

  My hair was being stroked, but my eyes refused to open to see who was caring for me. I pictured my mother’s dainty hand gliding over my thin blonde locks as my brother tried to speak to me.

  Where am I?

  Why does everything hurt?

  Why can’t I speak?

  Why aren’t my eyes opening?

  A foreign voice that was barely audible started to explain something to my brother. “…and that’s why she’s still really out of it. She will be in and out like this for a little bit longer. Why don’t we let her sleep some more and try back in a few hours?”

  Sleep sounded all too blissful. I felt like Scarlett O’Hara in the scene where she is at Tara and life is just all too much for her to deal with in that moment. “I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow.”

  Soft beeping broke into my dream-filled daze as my eyelids struggled to open. Shuffling and footsteps were the next sounds I could understand.

  “Mom?” My voice was raspy and strained as tears started to fill my stinging eyes.

  My brother’s deep voice was kind. “No, My. It’s just me.” I could feel his fingertips brushing my long bangs away from my forehead and cheeks. “It’s nice to see you awake.”

  “What?” I started choking, gasping, and coughing uncontrollably. Everything hurt—my throat, chest, legs, stomach, back, face, eyes, lips. I was shivering and sweating. My body felt like it weighed a million pounds. If my hair could have hurt, I was sure it would have been screaming in pain at that point.

  “You were in an accident. Do you remember anything?” Brayden’s calm tone was freaking me out the most.

  The memories of the crash started to flood my mind and I started hyperventilating. “Mom? Where’s Mom?”

  Brayden’s fingers laced with mine as he started to tell me about the accident. “I’m so sorry, Myla. I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  My eyes would barely open and the tears filling them made it damn near impossible to see, but the pain on my brother’s face was something I would never be able to forget. That moment was seared into my brain—the split second when life turned into a complete horror.

  Chapter 2

  Gavin

  Grabbing a handful of bar peanuts, I shoveled them into my mouth. “This joint really needs to start making some damn food or something. I’m starving.” I chucked a peanut right at Sean’s ear, missing.

  Damn it. At least I have better aim on the ice.

  My best friend rolled his eyes at me. “One week left of singlehood. Man, are you ready?” Sean chuckled a little before taking another gulp from his three-fingers pour of Jameson.

  I shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever fucking be. I’m just ready to get this whole thing over with.”

  Sean slapped my shoulder harder than most would find friendly, but that was just how we were with each other. “It’s going to be great man. I’m really excited for you and Marsheila.”

  “You fucking hate her. You’re not fooling anyone.” I rolled a maraschino cherry around in my mouth, savoring the sweetness for a second.

  He gasped dramatically, putting his hand to his chest. “When have I ever said anything of the sort?”

  “Come on, dude, you know I’m right. How about every fucking time you’ve been drunk since the day I told you I was going to ask Marsheila to marry me? It’s been nonstop slurs of ‘You’re making a huge mistake, man. Don’t do it, dude. That old ball and chain is going to ruin your fucking life.’”

  “Me? No, I would never.” Sean flashed a quick grin. “What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t question the biggest decision of your life?”

  I shrugged. “A crappy one, I guess, but still, we’re a week away. I think we both know this is going to happen.”

  Sean threw up his hands. “You’re right. I was only looking out for your best interest. If that’s marrying the Wicked Witch of the West, then by all means, be my guest.”

  “You barely even know her.” I slammed my empty glass down in front of the bartender. “Bar temptress, another.”

  She pushed her short black pixy-style hair away from her face with the back of her hand, giving me the stink eye. “You know I cannot stand it when you call me that, Gavin.”

  She started to make my second Manhattan, giving me a coy smile. “Oh come on, Jordan, you know I’m just messing with you.”

  Jordan smiled at me, setting the glass down on the soaked coaster then putting two cherries in, just the way I liked. “You haven’t changed one bit since high school. You’re still the same pompous jerkoff you’ve always been.”

  I took a long swig. “Yes, and that’s why you love me.”

  She grabbed her stomach as she let out a deep laugh, slapping her tiny hand onto the counter. “In your fucking dreams, Gavin. In your fucking dreams.”

  Jordan would never admit it, but Sean and I were the only two people she even remotely tolerated from our graduating class. The three of us had been a little wolf pack since any of us could remember, growing up just a few houses apart in the old neighborhood near Huntington Station.

  It helped that we were some of the few that went different routes than the conventional college education after high school. Jordan Bates was one of the best bartenders in the city; she even went around the country helping bars train their new drink slingers. Sean was one of New York City’s finest; wearing that blue uniform suited him well and he burst with pride every time we talked about it. And me, I was the hooligan of the bunch, playing hockey for the New York Otters.

  Even though hockey was my dream, it was a hard sell. Most people thought I had lucked into the role because of my old man. It didn’t help that I was drafted to the team he fucking coached—that fact actually made my life a living hell. Of course, I was proud to wear the red, white, and blue uniform—I had wanted to since I was a little kid, but that had been back when my dad was still my hero, not a washed-up jackass that treated me like the scum of the earth.

  “Sean, how was work today?” Jordan started cleaning up the bar, our cue that it was getting close to time to get the heck out of Dodge.

  Sean slouched back in his seat. “It was a fucking day of it to say the least.”

  Usually, Sean was pretty forthcoming with stories from his day. He loved telling us about all the crazy shit people tried to pull, lies
they thought would get them out of whatever charges were about to be brought against them, how stupid some people could really be, etc. When he kept quiet, we knew something seriously messed up had happened during his shift. Jordan poured him a few more fingers of whiskey as his eyes started to well up with tears. We both knew that meant they had lost someone that day, and we sure as shit weren’t going to press the issue. If Sean wanted to talk about it, he would.

  He stared down at the amber liquid, his pointer finger tracing the rim of the glass. “It’s sad when a parent dies but their kid survives. It’s miserable when anyone dies, but a mother dying in front of her daughter in a car crash is downright awful.” He slammed back the rest of his drink and grabbed his coat from the stool next to him. “I think it’s time to call it a night. See you guys at the rehearsal dinner?”

  “Yeah, man. See you Friday.”

  Shaking hands—check.

  Sweat dripping down my ass crack—check.

  Everyone’s eyes glaring at me while I stand outside in the blaring sun with a goddamned bowtie nearly choking me to death—check.

  I couldn’t believe two years had flown by the way it had. Ms. Marsheila Rhodes was about to be Mrs. Marsheila Hayes and my life was going to fall into place perfectly like I had always thought it was going to. We even had an offer in on a little house out in the ’burbs with a large front porch and a damn white picket fence.