He ducks his head, but he’s grinning. “Yeah.”
“I’ll keep telling you. Gonna score a goal tonight?”
“Don’t say that!”
I smile. “Sorry.”
He smiles too. He doesn’t take his superstitions as seriously as he used to. But all hockey players are superstitious to some degree. Lilly and Sara and I shake our heads at them, but hey, we love our dudes.
One thing we’ve all learned is that you can’t just hope for a happy ending. You have to believe in it. You have to do the work. You have to take the risks. Taking risks is scary, but love is worth it. And we’ve all done that.
* * *
Want to read more about Josh and Sara? Check out You Had Me at Hockey.
And read on for an excerpt from Easton and Lilly’s story, Must Love Dogs…and Hockey!
Acknowledgments
For a while, I didn’t know if this book would get written or published! But I knew I had to tell Hunter’s story and wrap up the three former Warriors’ stories. Mental health is becoming more and more an open topic in hockey, with teams initiating events and dialogue about it. While my three hockey Warriors are fictional, many real-life players struggle with mental health issues such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, alcohol and substance abuse, depression, and anxiety, and the old way of toughing it out doesn’t work. It’s so important for players (and men in general) to be able to acknowledge their feelings, talk about them, and work through them. I want to acknowledge every hockey player who’s been brave enough to talk about their personal experiences. Because hockey is such a popular and influential game, there’s huge potential for conversations about men’s mental health and reaching a wider audience.
I have many people to thank for helping me get this book written and out in the world. As always, to my agent Emily Sylvan Kim—thanks for encouraging me. Thank you also to the team at Social Butterfly PR, you are awesome at making sure the world knows about my books! Thank you to Stacey Price, who keeps me afloat doing so many things! Thank you to reviewers and bloggers who read my books and also help get the word out—I appreciate you so much! And special, HUGE thanks to editor Kristi Yanta. This is the first project we’ve worked on together. I am in awe of your ability to dig deep into the story and characters and pull out all the things I wanted to say but didn’t. This book is so much better because of you. Thanks to my author friends for letting me vent and procrastinate and for motivating me, and most of all thank you from the bottom of my heart to all my readers. I am so grateful to every one of you!
Excerpt - Must Love Dogs…and Hockey
Must Love Dogs…and Hockey
© Kelly Jamieson 2020
I’ve given myself the weekend. I cleaned and organized my bedroom and the kitchen cupboards. I threw out a bunch of crap I don’t need anymore. Now it’s Sunday afternoon and I’m taking Lola for a walk in the park.
Lola is my neighbor Kent’s Jack Russell terrier. While I was out of work, I started walking Lola pretty much every day. Kent works long hours, and Jack Russells need lots of exercise. He was already paying someone to walk her and thought it might as well be me, since I needed the money and had the time, and I love him for that. I also love Lola. I love dogs in general. I also volunteer at an animal shelter once a week.
A couple of neighbors saw me walking Lola and asked me to walk their dogs too, which I was happy to do and it makes me a few extra dollars.
There’s a park at the end of my street and I head that way. It’s a nice fall day—in fact it’s gorgeous. The sky is a brilliant blue, the trees are turning, and the sun is illuminating the leaves into glowing gold, fiery red, and rust brown. A few leaves layer the path in the park and it’s so pretty.
Lola and I are strolling along the path when out of nowhere a dog appears, bounding up to us and jumping Lola.
I let out a scream. “Lola!” I pull on the leash and dash toward them to rescue her from being demolished by the other dog. Okay, okay, it’s a smallish dog, just a pup, but still, he’s aggressive. And Lola’s not happy either, growling and snarling. Oh my God, it’s a dog fight! What do I do?
I hear a man yelling, “Otis! Come back! Jesus, Otis, stop.”
Lola is snapping and barking, but the other dog doesn’t get the message, still jumping her and pawing at her. His tail is wagging wildly, although it’s not much of a tail, just a furry little quivery stub. His tongue lolls out of his jowly mouth. Lola is freaked out, and so am I.
But I have to save her.
I try to pick her up, prepared to feel the other dog’s teeth sink into my arm. She’s squirming and jumping so much I can’t get hold of her and I’m grabbing air and stumbling around, and then I fall on my ass.
Then Lola jumps the other dog, trying to pin him. Now I’m worried she’s going to kill him.
The yelling man sprints up and grabs the leash dragging behind the dog. “Shit, shit, shit,” he growls. He seizes the dog’s collar and pulls him away from Lola. He glares at Lola. “What the hell?”
“What the hell is right!” Anger flares inside me. “What is your dog doing off the leash?” I demand. I grab Lola’s leash and tug her toward me, pulling her into my lap where I’m sitting on the grass.
“He’s on a leash! He yanked it out of my hands when he saw your dog.”
“She’s not my dog.”
He frowns. “Whatever.”
“You should have better control of him!”
“He’s not dangerous! He’s just a puppy. Your dog attacked him!”
“He attacked her!” I run my hands over her and bend my head to hers. “Are you okay?”
I know she can’t answer, but I talk to her like this all the time. Please, please be okay. Not only do I kind of love her, but Kent will kill me if I let something happen to his precious pup.
The man crouches down and lays his hands on his dog. “You okay, Otis?”
I scowl at him. “I’m sure he’s fine. Lola’s not an attack dog. She was defending herself.”
I watch him check out his dog and I’m even more annoyed. He’s very attractive. Very attractive. Dressed in worn jeans and an old hoodie, his dark hair falls over his forehead in a defiant tumble but is neatly trimmed around his ears and neck. Stubble darkens his square jaw, and his eyes make me think of the syrup I pour over my pancakes—warm, liquid brown but with a cheeky glint in them. He’s also got amazing shoulders and long legs, and I’m fascinated by his hands, which are a bit rough but with neat nails. Everything about him screams danger. Hot, sexy danger.
Too bad he’s a jerk.
I drag my attention away from him, which is definitely not easy, and push myself to stand. He rises too and holds out a hand to help me, but I ignore it. I take a few steps to a nearby bench and sit there. Lola jumps up onto my lap and licks my chin.
The man and his dog follow us. The dog looks more worried than the man, with his furrowed forehead. Goddammit, even the dog is cute.
“I’m Easton,” the man says. “This is Otis.”