Behind the Net: a grumpy sunshine hockey romance

A MONTH LATER, my parents, Hazel, Donna, and I head up to the box at the arena after one of Jamie’s games. We sat behind the net, and when Jamie waved at us through the glass, I thought my dad was going to start crying from excitement.

Jamie had suggested my parents come out for a visit, insisting on putting them up in a nearby hotel. Last night, he took us all out for dinner. It’s like he wants to get to know them better.

I rescinded my application for the marketing job, and Jamie spoke with the team to extend my contract until I figure out a plan with regards to music. There’s been radio silence from Ivy Matthews, and although I’m disappointed, it’s not holding me back from writing more.

I’ve played six open mics around the city in the past month. I’m doing this, and I’m going to give it everything, because it matters.

Nerves buzz in my stomach as we step into the box. I’m stalling on telling my parents all of this because I know they won’t react well.

In the box, my mom chats with Donna, Hazel, and a few others. The players who visited Silver Falls for New Year’s greet my dad like an old friend and thank him again for the breakfast he made for everyone, and the players he hasn’t met introduce themselves immediately. When Jamie finally arrives, he doesn’t look surprised to see my dad deep in conversation with Ward about the defensive plays tonight.

“Hi, baby.” Jamie drops a kiss onto my lips, and I smile.

“Hi. Did you tell everyone to come say hi to my dad?”

The corners of his lips curve up. “Yep.”

This man. Seriously. He’s perfect. “Thank you.”

His gaze is so warm and pleased as it roams over my face, my hair. “For you, songbird? Anything.”

I flush with pleasure. I’m so happy with this guy.

Donna and my mom cackle with laughter. “They’re getting on like a house on fire,” I whisper to Jamie, smiling, and his eyes warm as he regards his mom.

After the car accident, Donna got serious about tackling her anxiety and panic attacks. Twice a week, Jamie drives her to counseling, patiently waiting in the car, and afterward, they go for lunch. If he’s out of town, I drive her. He’s even joined a few sessions at the request of Donna’s counselor, and although they have a lot of ground to cover, it seems like they’re making progress. Donna talks more openly about her issues now. I heard her mentioning it to my mom during the game.

I smile up at Jamie. “Thank you for putting my parents up in a hotel.”

“Happy to.” His lips brush my ear as he lowers his voice. “I don’t want you to be quiet tonight.”

A shiver runs down my spine as I bite back a cheeky grin. My thighs squeeze together, thinking about his tongue between my legs last night, and then him taking me against the wall after, with my legs wrapped around his waist. Telling him I loved him unleashed something in Jamie, and he’s been showing his love for me in many, many ways.

I’m not complaining.

“We’re going to the bar,” Hayden cuts in. He points at my parents. “Ken? Maureen? Donna? You’re coming with us, right?”

My dad is about to faint with happiness.

The Filthy Flamingo is full of noise, laughter, conversation, and music, punctuated by the occasional drink getting knocked over. The team’s all here, even Ward. He’s still in conversation with my dad, but his eyes linger on Jordan behind the bar.

Jordan’s casual sex guy is on the small stage, playing guitar and singing, and I listen to the new song he’s trying out. It’s about wanting more from a girl who isn’t interested, and his eyes also linger on Jordan the entire time. He really needs to tune his guitar.

“Folks, I’m going to take a short break,” he says into the mic, and his eyes meet mine. “But I’m hoping our friend Pippa can play for you in the meantime.”

My eyes go wide as everyone turns to me. Hazel gives me an encouraging nod.

“Yeah, Pippa,” one of the players cheers. One of the drunker players howls like a wolf.

My parents stare at me in confusion. They know about me performing on New Year’s Eve—everyone in Silver Falls does—but they don’t know it’s a regular thing.

They haven’t seen me play live in years. My pulse picks up as nerves dance in my stomach. They call it a hobby, and they still think I’m going to have a career in marketing.

If I want to be in the music industry, though, I have to play in front of people, even if I’m scared.

I stand, and the people around me cheer. My parents look baffled at the response. My pulse drums in my ears as I make my way up to the stage. I know what song I’m going to play because it’s all so clear now. When I wrote song after song about Jamie, that was me telling him I loved him. When I wrote a song about struggling with the expectations of others, that was me thrashing against the cage placed around me.

“Hi,” I say into the mic, strumming the guitar. “I’m Pippa Hartley.”

A few people chuckle, because I’m friends with everyone in this room.

I launch into the song, and when I look at my parents, they’re listening with rapt attention. My mom wears a sweet yet sad smile, and my dad looks at me like I’m an NHL player. Something aches in my chest. My mom reaches for my dad’s hand, and he murmurs in her ear. She nods and smiles again.

I sing my heart out. I sing about wanting more, wanting to believe in myself, wanting to break free and be my own person. I sing about going for what I want because I don’t want to regret a single moment. I don’t want to waste a second doing something other than following my passion and purpose.

Being up here is where I’m meant to be. Even if nothing comes of it. Even if I play dive bars for the rest of my life.

Jamie watches me sing with a proud look, like I’m everything to him.

I sing about how taking the risk might be worth it, and when I’m done, the bar erupts in cheers and applause.

Back at the table, my parents are speechless. They haven’t seen me perform since high school, and back then, I’d only perform cover songs, never something I wrote. I take a seat, and Jamie glances between me and my parents, ready to jump in if needed, but I shake my head.

Jamie stood up for himself to his mom, and I can stand up for myself to my own parents. If I want a career in the music industry, I’m going to have to get used to standing up for myself.

“I’m not taking the marketing job,” I blurt out to my parents.

My mom’s expression is guarded. “Was the offer too low?”

“You need to negotiate.” My dad leans forward. “They expect you to negotiate the salary, Pippa.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Please, let me finish.”

Concern passes over their features. Beside me, Jamie waits, letting me handle this.

“They didn’t make an offer because I rescinded my application.” I take a deep breath, watching them process this. My mom is freaking out, but she’s hiding it. I can tell from the look in her eyes. “I don’t want that job.”

My dad blinks. “You said you wanted it.”

“I don’t think I did.” I wince. “I thought it was the right thing to do.” I gesture over my shoulder at the stage, and I think about that thought exercise Jamie had me do in the forest and all the incredible moments I pictured. “That’s what I want to do. I want a career in the music industry. I want to write my own music and go on tour around the world playing for people. It makes me happy.” I meet Jamie’s steady gaze. “And I can do it. I’m talented and I work hard.”

My parents are silent as this sinks in.

“I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me,” I continue. “You worked so hard to pay for my school, and I’m going to pay you back. Every penny.”

“No,” my dad says quickly, frowning. “We don’t want that.”

“Agreed,” my mom adds. “That money was so you had options.”

“Exactly. We always wanted you girls to have options.” My dad glances at Hazel a few tables away. “We wanted you to have everything because we didn’t have that.”

My mom takes a deep breath, shifting in her seat, looking uncomfortable. I know she’s thinking about how she didn’t get into the ballet company in her twenties. She spent three decades teaching dance when it wasn’t her passion.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I tell her, and she raises an eyebrow. My pulse races because I hate being in conflict with them like this. “I’m taking a really big swing, and there’s no guarantee it’ll work out. The odds are against me.”

There’s a beat where she just studies me, and it’s the most serious I’ve ever seen her. “It’s going to be hard, Pippa.”

“I know.”

“It’s going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, and there’s a likely possibility that you’ll end up teaching music to five-year-olds.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, like she’s explaining a recipe to me. Pain flashes through her blue-gray eyes. “It’s hard to fail at something you love. It hurts so much.”

My chest strains for her, and my hands twist. “I know, but I still need to try, or I’ll regret it forever.”

She considers this for a long moment, and I worry that she’s unconvinced, but then she looks at my dad. Something passes between their gazes, some silent communication honed over decades of marriage, and her expression softens.

“We don’t want you to work a job you hate,” she admits. “We want you to be happy.” She glances up at the stage. “Being broke is really hard, honey.”

“She’ll never be broke,” Jamie cuts in, and the look he sends me tells me he means business.

I try not to laugh at his protectiveness.

“I’m okay with things being hard,” I tell them. “It’ll be worth it.”

We’re all quiet amid the bar noise.

“You’re really talented, sweetheart,” my dad says with a wistful look in his eye. “We’ve never seen you like that. While you were playing, I said to your mom, she looks like a pro up there.”

My mom nods, and she smiles at me like she sees me in a new light. “You looked like you belong up there.”

Something unwinds in my chest, thread by thread, until I feel free. “I do belong up there.”

Jamie’s hand covers mine in my lap, and I lace my fingers into his. He sends me a quick wink, and my heart jumps. “She recorded a demo with a producer,” he tells them.

“You did?” My dad looks between us.

I nod, smiling and squeezing Jamie’s hand. “Yep. I did.”

My parents exchange a look. “We don’t say it enough,” my dad says, and there’s a catch to his voice. “We’re proud of you. No matter what.”

“We really are.” My mom nods. “We love you so much.”

Their words are everything I wanted to hear, and I blink away the sting in my eyes.

“Love you, too,” I whisper, smiling.

My dad stands. “Group hug.” He gestures to Hazel a few tables away. “Hazel, honey, you, too. Get over here.”

I laugh, and my dad pulls all of us into a warm embrace.

“Hey, you two.” Jordan’s behind us, gesturing to me and Jamie. She’s holding a Polaroid camera. “Come here. I want to take a photo of you.”

Jamie pulls me against him, and the blinding flash goes off just as he presses a kiss to my temple, making me smile.

The camera spits the photo out, and a minute later, the image of us appears.

The photo is snatched out of my hands. “I’ll take that,” Jordan says before she walks behind the bar and tacks the photo to the wall.

“We look happy,” I tell Jamie, and he smiles at me.

“We are, songbird.”

That evening, I’m in front of the bathroom sink, getting ready for bed, when my phone pings with an email. I read it, and my heart jumps into my throat.

“Pippa,” Jamie calls from our room. “Are you coming to bed?”

I read the email again, hands shaking.

It’s happening. It’s actually happening.

Footsteps approach and Jamie appears at my side. “What’s wrong?”

I smile up at him, dazed and elated. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s amazing.”

A laugh bursts out of me because Jamie is so gorgeous and handsome standing here in just his tight black boxers, and Ivy Matthews has offered me a recording contract with her new record label.

I don’t even recognize my life anymore.

When I show Jamie my phone, a huge smile breaks out on his face.

“Songbird.” He says it the same way he says I love you.

Emotion wells up in my eyes, and I’m smiling so hard it hurts. “Yeah.”

“You did it.”

“I did it because of you.” A tear spills over. “Because you showed me I could.”

“You always had it in you.” His hands are in my hair as he tilts my face up to him. “Always.”

I sigh as he kisses me, and my heart is so complete. I’m going to write a song about this moment.

“I love you,” I tell him for the tenth time today.

He pulls back to look into my eyes, and his gaze is full of affection. “Pippa, I’ve loved you for a lot longer than I realized.”

In a rush, his hands are on me and I’m over his shoulder as he walks to the bedroom. I laugh upside down and give him a slap on the butt.

He gives me a squeeze. “Let’s go make up for lost time.”