Sometimes scoring off the ice leads to the greatest rewards.
I’ve had only one goal in life since I first strapped on a pair of skates—make America’s pro hockey league.
I left Denmark. I made it to the top. Now, I’m determined to be the best. No distractions. I eat, sleep, and breathe hockey.
Until my birthday when my teammates convince me to live a little.
But living a little takes on a whole new meaning when less than a year later I’m confronted with a crying baby on my doorstep, drooling on a note that declares he’s mine.
Suddenly, I’m a single dad in way over my head.
There is no playbook for situations like this.
Luckily, I have Paisley.
My gorgeous neighbor, my long-time crush, and now—my savior.
She’s there any time I need her.
Helping. Guiding. Gazing at me with those green eyes that make me feel capable of this after all. With her at my side, I’m quickly learning there’s more to life than winning a hockey game.
Ice Kings Series
My thighs burn from the quick movements. I probably shouldn’t have put in the extra time once I arrived back home, but I’m determined to be the best. Always. Despite the sacrifice. Still, I need ice, a heating pad, and a gallon of water to rehydrate.
I reach the front door, tighten my fist at my hip where my towel sits and fling the door open.
“What is wrong?”
The pretty girl I have seen ducking inside her apartment across the hall whips around. Her blonde hair comes first, tied back at her neck and her green eyes are huge.
She is so pretty. No. That word does not say enough. She is verkelig smuk. Very beautiful. Vidunderlig.
Immediately catching my gaze is a squished up, red face, with huge dark eyes and an odd-shaped nose. That is all I can see peeking out from beneath a blue and white striped hat.
I have never seen her with him before. She seems so young. Around my age, I thought. My mouth drops open and I point. “You have a baby?”
She is snuggling the baby close to her and at my words, she moves the baby away. Her expression changes into something I don’t like. Not even a little bit.
It feels like doom.
Like the look on my father’s face the day I didn’t make the junior league hockey team despite being the only kid my age invited to tryout—two years younger than anyone else.
That look should not be so familiar on a stranger.
Whatever it is. It is not good.
“No,” she says. It’s the first word she’s ever spoken to me other than hello, but it’s as pretty as the rest of her. “I think… well, I think he’s yours?”
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