Filed to story: Luci Forrester and Easton Reed: Hockey Romance Story
“Do you miss them?” Cole’s voice pulls me back to the present.
“I don’t remember much about them. I was too young. I can recall my mom loved making cupcakes but not cookies. And my dad would come home with a piece of candy in his pocket for me on days he picked me up from daycare.” The pain of forgetting their faces is almost unbearable, a wound that never fully heals. I only have a few photographs left, remnants of a time that feels like a dream, scattered and lost as I’ve been moved from one home to another. Or worse, when some spiteful child decides to destroy those precious memories to teach you a lesson.
“I’m sorry, Luci,” he murmurs, genuine concern etched on his small features.
“Oh Coco, that’s not something you need to feel sorry about.” His sweet words nearly bring tears to my eyes, and I lean down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. He’s such a kind-hearted boy.
“But you looked so sad,” he insists, his honesty piercing through the facade I try to maintain.
“It’s not a happy story. How about we talk about your three favorite parts of tonight instead? I want to hear all about them.” His face lights up once more as he begins to recount his evening.
“Playing at the house with the games, Daddy coming with my uncles as a surprise, Barrett going with me, all my candy, my glow sticks, and you and Syd wearing costumes with us… umm, I think that’s all!”
I can’t help but chuckle softly. “So, everything, huh?”
“Yep! What about your favorites?” His eyelids droop, the day’s excitement finally catching up with him.
“Seeing you laugh, the joy on Barrett’s face having a friend this year, and just enjoying the holiday like everyone else,” I whisper, watching as his eyes flutter closed. “Goodnight, sweet little Coco. May you always be as loving and kind as you are now. The world truly needs more of you.”
As I make my way to the kitchen, carrying his empty milk glass, I nearly drop it when I step inside and find Easton leaning against the island, rifling through a box, clad in nothing but navy sweatpants. So much for the whimsical thoughts of dancing crocodiles wearing tutus that Cole had conjured for his dreams tonight. The sight of a half-naked hockey player, built like a Greek god, instantly shifts my focus.
He has his back mostly turned to me, and I can’t help but gawk at the muscles that ripple beneath his skin. Damn, hockey players are undeniably fit. I notice the absence of tattoos, contrary to what I’d overheard some girls whisper about in class. I close my mouth, a small sound escaping me as I process the moment.
“I heard you already,” he says, turning to face me, and my breath catches in my throat. There’s a large bruise on his upper left shoulder, and I can see it’s seeping blood.
“What happened?” I exclaim, concern flooding my voice.
“I stopped an equipment shelf from collapsing at practice with my shoulder,” he replies nonchalantly, shrugging as he reaches for a pad soaked in something that smells like alcohol.
“You walked around trick-or-treating like that?” I ask, rinsing the glass and quickly placing it in the dishwasher.
“I had a bandage on it, but it fell off in the shower a minute ago,” he explains, wincing as he stretches his shoulder.
“I meant the pain you must have been in. And why on earth did you stop a shelf from falling with your shoulder? I thought you said you had plenty of common sense.” I step closer, concern etched on my face, and he narrows his eyes at me, annoyance flickering there.
“I thought you were supposed to watch your words with others, like they were swords or lightsabers. Or is that just for the boys? Do as I say, not as I do,” he smirks, and I feel a sting at his words.
“You seem to bring out the worst in me,” I reply, trying to regain my composure.
He opens his mouth slightly, running his tongue along the bottom of his upper teeth as he studies me. “More like you unintentionally reveal your honest inner thoughts regarding me.”
“I can help,” I say, eager to distract him from his analysis. “You can’t reach it.”
He stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “I’m not a nurse or anything, but I can clean and bandage a cut. Are you scared it’s going to sting? Big, bad hockey player fears antiseptic?”
He slaps the pad into my outstretched hand and turns away. “Uh, could you maybe sit down or something? I’m not sure if anyone’s mentioned how you’re taller than most of the population.”
His head turns, and those piercing silver eyes lock onto mine over his shoulder. “I hadn’t noticed,” he deadpans as he settles onto a stool.
“Well, I’m sure there’s less oxygen up there. That might explain why your brain has trouble functioning. How heavy was this shelf?” I ask, examining the bruises and cuts more closely.
“You can bite, little rabbit, can’t you? It probably weighed at least two hundred pounds. The problem was the skates I didn’t know were attached to that corner. Without guards, which I will be chewing someone’s ass about. Careless and unsafe.” He tenses as I gently wipe his wounds with the alcohol.
“Says the guy who used his body to stop a shelf. Seriously, let it fall and pick it up afterward. What if it had crushed you?” I continue cleaning, and he silently hands me a dry pad. I apply it with firm pressure, careful not to aggravate the bruises. Look at me, putting my basic health class knowledge to use.
“I didn’t need it to collapse. It would have given me away. We needed a way to escape practice early to trick-or-treat with Cole,” he explains, and I let that sink in.
“You can’t leave me hanging like that. I need to hear what you did. The end of the show…” I urge, watching as he turns his head slightly, a small smile breaking through his annoyance. My breath catches in my throat.
“Curious little rabbit. I put something in the ventilation system so it would smoke the rink out. That vent is the only one not on camera, and with the shelf in front of it, no one would suspect a thing. Unfortunately, my foot got hung and it came with me. So I had to catch it.”
“Necessary, but still not smart. Take lots of deep breaths whenever you sit down to build up your oxygen levels. Or have you smacked into so many door frames that it caused damage?” I lift the pad and see the bleeding has finally stopped. “Sorry, maybe I should shut up.”
“I think you picked the wrong costume tonight. You are not goodness and light,” he mumbles, tugging on my cape. I regret not bringing a change of clothes.
“I said sorry,” I retort.
“But you didn’t mean a syllable of it. You’re so sweet with Cole, yet with me, you insult me while being helpful… that gives me an idea.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I reach around him for the first aid box. He turns slightly, his face just inches from mine, and I’m struck by how handsome he is. He looks like a god who fell to earth. That chiseled jaw, full lips, and deep-set eyes beneath strong brows could make anyone weak in the knees… until he speaks. Then, they’d collapse if they only listened to the tone of his voice, which is often coldly insulting.
His hair falls messily over his forehead as he watches me, and I tear my gaze away, rummaging through the box for antibiotic cream and a band-aid. Unfortunately, this means I catch a glimpse of his sculpted torso. I notice a tattoo on his chest- a tiny fingerprint with a date next to it.
I spread the cream over the bruise and then secure the band-aid in place. “Done. You survived without shedding a tear. I’d offer you a lollipop if I had one,” I say softly, moving to dispose of the trash. I reach into the cabinet above the trash can and grab a bottle of ibuprofen, counting out three tablets considering his size before setting them on the counter. He already has a glass of water ready. He takes the pills as I close up the first aid kit and replace it with the bottle. Baker made sure I knew where all these supplies were.
He pulls a white athletic shirt over his head, and I can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. “I’ll head home if that’s alright. Cole is out like a light.”