Find Me in the Rain: Hockey Romance (Nighthawks Book 1)

The short brunette turns to face me as she walks into the rink, and I realize it’s not her. It’s not the girl I can’t stop searching for.

We’ve only been in Duluth for a few hours, but I can’t shake the surfacing emotions. It’s weird being back in my hometown. Barely anything has changed. It’s like

I stepped back in time. The rink we’re at has had some upgrades, but it still smells the same, like rubber and the faint scent of sweat. I spent so many hours in this building when I was young, it’s nostalgic. At first, I thought the PR stunt to visit the team’s hometowns was stupid, but the more places we visit, the bigger the Nighthawks’ family seems to grow. It’s also pretty cool to see where the guys grew up and get some perspective on their lives. Unfortunately, with the schedule we’re on, we can’t travel overseas right now. Which means we won’t be able to visit those hometowns, but hopefully, they will do this again, and we can make it over there.

“Kos!” Cam Costello, or Costy, shouts at me as he skates onto the ice and approaches me. “You hype for tonight?”

“Yeah,” knowing it’s not the enthusiasm he’s looking for. But that’s all I can muster right now.

I definitely like the scene of a place like Fireflies, but my mind is all fuzzy being back here, and a night of dancing sounds like the last thing I want to do. I can’t stop searching for her in the faces of everyone I see. I don’t even know if she’s still in town, but I know she never want- ed to leave when we were younger. If I had to bet, she and Charlotte are still best friends, and they still call Duluth home. Which is exactly why I can’t stop scanning every room and building I enter.

Laura Young was the first and the last girl I have ever loved. Sure, there were girls I was with after her, but they were either one-night stands or a fling, nothing concrete and nothing close to what we had. We may have been young, but that doesn’t mean what we shared wasn’t real. I’ve thought about her constantly over the years, wondering what would have happened if we hadn’t broken up and if I hadn’t moved. I like to think we’d still be together. Maybe she’d have followed me to New York and been at every game cheering me on. Eventually, I would have proposed to her, and I imagine we’d still be as happy as ever. But the truth is, that dream is dead, and our chance at those possibilities is long gone.

But I can’t help but wonder if she loves the things she did when we were young. Does she still skate behind Al’s BBQ? Is she still close with her mom? Does she love the same movies or the same music? Is her favorite color still yellow? Is she seeing someone? Is she married now?

Fuck.

The thoughts make my stomach twist. For as long as it’s been, I still have feelings for her and always will. Time nor distance will ever change that. People say you never forget your first love, but they don’t say anything about the fact that you never truly stop loving them. Does everyone drift through life trying to find love like that and fail? Do people succeed, or do they just settle for the next best thing?

“Kos, let’s go,” Costy shouts at me and passes me the biscuit.

Forcing any thoughts of Laura out of my mind, I dribble the puck around and skate toward Costy. We just got done with a mini self-run practice. It’s not scheduled by Coach, but we can’t help it; we need and want to be in a rink. Trying to keep hockey players off the ice is like keeping a fish out of water. We need ice time to survive. Well, maybe not literally, but it might as well be true. Everything is better on the ice, clearer. We’re at peace when we hit the ice, as chaotic as the sport may seem. There is no place we would rather be. It’s where we feel the most like ourselves.

The rest of the team had already cleared out aside from Brett, Costy, and me. The team is going to see the newest comedy. I can’t remember the fucking name, no matter how many times Brett asks us if we’re excited about it. We have to shower, though, or it will smell like the damn locker room in the theater. It should be a fun night. I just need to find a way to get out of my damn head and out of my skates.

I can’t seem to drag myself off of the ice.

Whether it’s hoping Laura walks through the doors or nerves that if I leave, I’ll run into her somewhere else. But I’ve procrastinated whatever lies ahead long enough.

Forcing my skates to dig into the ice, I skate up to Costy, who dribbles the puck back and forth. I steal the puck from him as I shoot past him. Balancing it on my stick, I toss it up to myself a couple of times, catching it on the blade of my stick each time until I reach the edge of the ice and step off through the open board door. We make our way to the locker room, quickly change out of our gear and skates, and into our usual after-practice attire, Nighthawks shirt or hoodie paired with sweats or joggers, before heading to the exit. We would usually shower here, but why shower in a men’s locker room when we could shower at our nice hotel?

“You fucking prick,” Costy laughs as we push through the doors.

Following his line of vision, I spot the source of his outburst—my motorcycle. If we’re going to be here for a couple of weeks, I want to have my baby with me.

“What? Was I just supposed to leave it in New York?” I ask sarcastically.

Costy scoffs, “Yes, exactly that. Why do you even need it here?”

Shrugging, “I wanted it here. I wanted to ride it around town and just…” trailing off as my mind seems to map the town in my head as if I’ve been gone for a day and not years. “I don’t know, man. I wanted to explore my old town without any barriers.”

“I’m just giving you shit Kos,” Costy pats my back as he walks to his rental. I follow because I definitely can’t carry my hockey bag on my bike. “Brett, hurry the fuck up, or I’ll make you walk!” Costy shouts behind us.

Laughing at his empty threat, “No, you won’t.”

“He doesn’t need to know that,” Costy says emphatically.

He pops the trunk, and I throw my bag in before he can throw his. He doesn’t even say anything, but he turns and looks at me with a deadpan stare.

“Captain first, dumbass,” I command with complete seriousness.

“Shut the fuck up,” he breaks into laughter. “See you at the hotel?”

“Yeah. I might beat you guys if Brett doesn’t speed it up—”

Brett cuts me off, “Right here.”

“Did you get some beauty sleep in there, princess?” Costy teases, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“I’ll see you in a few.” Shaking my head, smiling, and walk over to my motorcycle, hearing them bicker behind me.

A few of the guys on the team decided to rent a couple of cars while we’re here so we can at least leave our hotel without paying for a ride every time. I was one step ahead of them with my bike. I arranged for it to be flown out. Although, I have no idea how it got from the airport to the rink.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I see a text from Joe, one of the staff that helps with our travel bookings and anything else we need on the road. I don’t know what he makes, but it’s not enough for the amount of work he does.

Joe: You owe me for the pain in the ass that damn bike was. The key is taped under the front wheel well.

Joe is serious, or at least that is what he seems to portray. But he is hilarious and jokes around with us, even if his face doesn’t always reflect that. Maybe he has resting asshole face. Well, now I’m picturing a face with no eyes, nose, or mouth but just a giant asshole. Scratch that analogy.

Reaching under the wheel well, grabbing the duct tape and key. I test the waters with my response to gauge whether he is upset.

Me: What kind of pain? Sat on a tack or sat on a knife?

He responds almost immediately.

Joe: Sat on a bear trap.

Not mad. If he were actually mad, he would have told me where I could shove it and probably a few other choice words. But he played along; therefore, no angry Joe here.

Me: Ouch. Sorry, Joe. If it makes you feel better, the plane ride here felt like I was sitting on a bear trap. But for real, I appreciate it so much. Thank you.

Joe: Don’t mention it.

Smiling at the thought of the grumpy teddy bear that takes care of all of us like his kids, I shove my phone into my pocket and can’t help but think of my father.

We used to be so close, but it’s been different since high school. Well, with both of my parents, really. My parents and I used to spend so much time together. Now that’s all changed; I talk to them once or twice a week and see them at occasional games. It has been such a shift. That probably happens with everyone and their parents, though, as they get older.

Swinging my leg over my bike, I start the engine and rev it up—a beauty. I remember the exact moment I decided I wanted this bike. I was completely sloshed at Costy and Brett’s place, and they accused me of never doing anything impulsive. That I always think shit through instead of living on the edge. So, the next day before practice, I went out and bought this baby and showed up at the arena riding this. The most impulsive and stupid thing I did was ride it there without a license. Everyone got a kick out of it, and so did I. I just didn’t know how much I would love it. I got my motorcycle license after that, and now I ride it whenever I can. It’s freeing and the most on-edge I can manage while still playing it safe. It’s the best of both worlds.

Pulling out of the parking lot, I shift into auto-drive, knowing this town like the back of my hand. And from what I have seen so far, not much has changed.

My heart begins racing as I know what I’m about to drive by, and I can’t stop the old feelings from running back—Al’s BBQ and the little pond behind Al’s, where I took Laura for our first date. We spent so much time back there enjoying the ice and each other. I’m sure she doesn’t look the same as she did back then. But I wish I knew what she looked like now. I can picture her so clearly in my mind, but I know the version of Laura I once knew doesn’t exist anymore.

Driving by Al’s, I resist the urge to pull in and park and see if anyone still uses that little pond anymore. But I force myself to drive past without even looking that way. As real as all these feelings are, they are from the past, and that’s where they should stay. There’s no way she’s single after all this time. So, I need to stop thinking about her. She isn’t mine anymore and hasn’t been for years.

Glancing down at the speedometer, I notice my white-knuckled grip on the handlebars. Loosening my grip, my left-hand cramps from how tightly I was squeezing. If she is in town, dear god, don’t let me see her with someone else. I am trying to sort out if it’s nostalgia warping my feelings or if I truly feel the same as before, and time has not dulled my love for her. I guess if I do run into her, there’s a good chance I’ll find out the answer.

“Brett, good pick. That shit was fucking hilarious,” Reed Larinski, one of our best defenders, says.

“I fucking told you guys. But no, we just wanted to doubt Brett.” Brett says with sass.

Jensen laughs, “We can’t let your ego get any bigger than it already is, Burnsy.”

The guys continue to pick on each other as they walk toward the theater hallway, which is empty as we file out of double doors.

Brett Burns, or Burnsy, is like everyone’s little brother. He’s the youngest on the team but an absolute beast of a player. His points last season rivaled even Costy’s. We give him the most shit but protect him like no one else. Granted, we are protective of each other anyways. But with Brett, it’s different. He’s an all-around kind player. Don’t get me wrong though; if you push him enough, he’ll fucking snap. But usually, that never happens because we deal with any bullshit players try to throw his way.

No one is allowed to fucking touch Brett Burns. It’s an unwritten rule of the Nighthawks. This is a rule other teams follow unless they want to test it out. Which never ends well for them. Now a normal clean hit, sure, fine. But if you plaster him into the boards, board him, intentionally trip him, or hurt him in any way, our team goes fucking feral. Nine out of ten times, Jensen handles any players who dare to go after Brett. He’s the little shithead brother you constantly pick on, but it’s over the second someone hurts him, and we’re out for blood or teeth. Whichever comes first.

Costy slaps my back as he walks up to me and matches my stride as we walk into the parking lot. “Bro, you are not going to believe the absolute stunner I met earlier. She’s going out to that bug club tonight. She’s bringing at least one friend. I set her up with Reed. Want me to see if she has any other cute friends that could tag along?”

“Bug Club? Do you mean Fireflies?” I laugh.

He narrows his eyes and scowls. “Same fucking thing, just semantics. You knew what I was talking about.”

“Whatever you say, buddy.” I continue laughing at Costy’s logic. “Anyways, no, don’t ask her if she has any cute friends for me. I’m good, but thanks.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you won’t have a problem finding someone there. You’re like a magnet to hot chicks.” Costy says with envy, like he doesn’t have an overflowing roster of one-night stands and fuck buddies.

I laugh but can’t ignore the tug at my heart when I think of dancing with anyone, not Laura, tonight. I need to get the fuck out of this town and try to forget about her all over again. Before I track her down myself, instead of thinking I’ll just run into her. Maybe dancing with some girls or taking one back to the hotel would get Laura out of my system and set me straight again. Only one way to find out, I guess.

Hopping in Costy’s rental, I try to push her out of my mind, but I’m failing miserably. And I continue to fail the entire ride back to the hotel. She is like a torturous itch that I can’t fucking scratch.

Fireflies, or the Bug Club as Costy calls it, is a couple of blocks from the hotel, so we decide to walk. Once everyone parks their cars, we meet in front of the hotel and start our walk. Our entire team walking down the sidewalk and partially on the street is quite a sight from the many looks of passersby.

I wonder if Laura has been to Fireflies. Does she like it? Has she danced with a bunch of guys there? If I see her dancing with someone tonight, will I do something? Yes, I’ll rip him off of her.

Fuck.

I need a drink. Or forty.

“Kos, you good?” Jensen asks as he catches up to me.

I hadn’t even realized I had pulled away from the group and was a good six feet ahead of everyone else.

“Oh yeah, I’m good. Thanks though,” I assure him as I slow my stride and settle back into the groove with the rest of the team.

“Are you sure? You’ve seemed out of it since we’ve been here,” Costy adds.

“I’m good. It’s just distracting. Lots of old memories popping back up.” I admit, although I leave the part out, I can’t get my ex out of my mind.

“Good memories or bad memories?” Jensen’s nosy ass asks with a smirk.

“Both,” I say, not giving him more information.

Costy and Brett look at each other with a knowing stare and smile. Costy mockingly laughs, “It’s definitely about a girl.”

“Drop it,” I demand, but of course, they don’t listen, just nag more.

We approach Fireflies, and thankfully we seem to have come at a perfect time with how short the line is. My first thought was that the place was going to be empty, but the loud noise blasting from the entrance says otherwise. Thank God the line moves fast to limit Costy and Jensen’s interrogation.

“So have you seen said distraction since you’ve been back?” Costy probes right before we walk into the building past security.

I glare at him without giving him an answer. I want tonight to be a distraction from said distraction, and he is certainly not helping.

“No, and I don’t plan to,” shouting over the music. I am not actively seeking her out, and it’s not my place. But if I see her, I may not be able to stop myself from ap- proaching.

Who am I kidding? I couldn’t help myself.

For once, Costy seems to take the hint and backs off.

Holy shit.

This is the most bizarre place I’ve ever seen. The fucking floor lights up by touch. How is that even possible? Or affordable for a bar here?

Our group makes our way to the bar and orders a round of shots to start the night. After shooting down a shot of Pink Whitney, not my favorite choice, but Burnsy is a whore for it and bought the round, we ordered our actual first non-shot drinks. We find a table to sit at, and it doesn’t take long for someone to approach one of the boys.

I can’t hear what they are saying, but from Jensen’s body language, he’s into whatever she’s offering. There is something odd about what’s happening now, more like what isn’t happening. Usually, when we all go out, Costy tries to get me to wingman for him immediately. But he hasn’t tried to get me to leave the table once or even gesture to the idea. Moving my gaze to Larinski, I notice his face buried in his phone instead of the people on the dance floor who normally hold his attention.

What in the hell is going on with these two?

“Hey!” A high-pitched voice shouts behind me. Turning my head, I see a short blonde giving me the fuck me eyes and her tits pushed up as far out of her shirt as possible. “What’s up?” I respond with nonchalance.

“Can I get a dance?” She asks before biting her bright red lip.

She might as well just flash me at this rate or ask if

I have a condom in my pocket. I mean, aside from her desperation, she’s cute. She’s got nothing on Laura, though. But I don’t know how much blondie is keeping my mind off of Laura if the first thing I did was compare her to her.

Costy and Jensen whisper to each other and walk off somewhere. I can’t help but watch them as they walk away, knowing they are up to no good.

Fuck it.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go.” I say impulsively with as much excitement as I can manage. I can’t reject her and say, no, sorry, it’s me, not you.

Taking her hand in mine, I lead her to the dance floor, a mass of bodies grinding and dancing together. At least this song is about half over, so I have an easy out at the end of the song if I want it.

Glancing back at her, she smiles at the ground, and I hate that I said yes. Because this won’t go on longer than one dance, it won’t turn into a night of fun together. It won’t turn into a one-night stand. It won’t be anything that smile shows she wants.

Spinning her under my arm, I play my part and give her the fun she deserves, if only for what’s left of this song. Hesitating, I let her choose the positioning, front to front or her back against my front. She grinds her ass against my dick. I can’t help but get a little excited from a round ass bouncing against it. But my calves are starting to burn from the awkward bend I have to do to make our heights work. She has got to be like five feet tall to my six-foot-two height. She puts on a show, twirling around and teasing me as she dances to the booming music. I smile, nod, and try not to act disinterested in the poor girl.

When the last few beats of the song ring through the speakers, I take her hand and spin her under my arm to make her feel some more effort from my end. But it ends here. “Thank you, that was fun, but I better get back to the guys,” shouting into her ear over the music.

She nods, and her smile falters, but I could have avoided that altogether by saying no in the beginning. Spinning on her heels, she joins a group of giggling girls, and I feel slightly less guilty as they fawn over her. Maybe it was a dare she took, or maybe she had the same game plan as me and just said fuck it. Either way, I need some cold air on my face, anything but the overwhelming environment here.

Turning to our tables, I mouth to Jensen; I’ll be right back.

He nods in understanding, and I meander through the packed crowd to the front door.

I hoped setting foot in here would magically fix my clouded mind. Now I’m not sure what will. But I need to figure it out before we hit the ice again. I was a teenager; she was a teenager. It was our first love, which doesn’t mean she wants anything to do with me now.

The cool air hits my face, and I suck in a deep breath. Tipping my head back, I exhale my frustration.

“Is it alright if I just chill out here for a second?” I ask the security guy before completely stepping outside.

“Yeah, no prob.” He answers, continuing to ID the never-ending line of people.

A line I can’t help but scan for a certain brunette. My ass settles onto the curb, and I pull out my phone and scroll through social media. After watching a highlight video of the Colorado Blue Stallions against the Vegas Venom, I get a text from Jensen.