Lucky Score (The Hawkeyes Hockey Series Book 6)

Today is one of those golden days in Seattle. The kind that makes you forget why you have to book a tropical vacation every year in a futile attempt to regain the vitamin D you’ve lost from living in a city where it rains 152 days a year.

But on this last day of August… It’s a rare sunny day and seventy-four degrees. I swear that when the weather is like this, there is nowhere else I’d rather live.

As an author, the weather isn’t a massive determinant of where I live. I spend most of my working days inside my skyrise apartment, so the rain doesn’t affect me much. And since I write primarily angsty historical romance books set in the Regency-era of England, the rain in Washington and the dreary weather help to put me in the writing mood.

On dreary days, I do most of my writing while paired with a hot Earl Grey tea London Fog, fuzzy slippers, and my desk perched in front of a large window that overlooks the city.

Now, as I transition my hand into a new sub-genre, contemporary billionaire romance, I find myself with some serious writer’s block. Book one of this new six-part romance series was already supposed to be turned in a month ago to my publisher with a large advance already paid for the entire six-book installment.

“I think this trip is going to be good for you. When’s the last time you even went on vacation?” Sheridan, my agent-turned-good friend, says, folding another pair of my shorts and dropping them into my suitcase as it sits atop my pale blue down comforter.

“It’s been a while.” I attempt to pull up a memory of the last time I was actually on vacation. “I guess the last time was about five years ago when Daniel graduated from law school. His parents paid for us to go to Hawaii as his graduation present.”

After we got home, it was all hands-on deck for both of our careers.

Daniel started his internship at the law firm he still works for today, while I returned to my job as an HR representative at a large department store chain.

With Daniel’s long eighty-hour work weeks, I spent a lot of time alone in our apartment. One night, I saw a social media ad for a writing competition with one of the biggest names in the romance publishing industry.

Since I spent most of our trip in Hawaii reading romance books on the beach lounge chairs, it’s safe to say that I’m a bit of a bookworm. But I had never considered writing a book of my own before.

I wrote the short 10,000-word excerpt for a historical romance and entered my submission without allowing myself to think too much about it.

I practically squeezed my eyes shut when I hit send on my submission email. Then I suppressed the memory completely into the back of my skull, hoping that I wouldn’t feel any sense of rejection when I inevitably wouldn’t hear back from the publishing house. Or even worse—when I got the rejection letter.

To my absolute surprise, neither the ghosting from the publisher nor the rejection letter came. Instead, I received a letter stating that I had won the competition. They asked for the completed book and an outline for the entire rest of the series.

They wanted a series?

More than one book?

I hadn’t even written a full first draft of the one I had sent them.

That’s when I got an agent and a writing coach, all at my mother’s advice.

My mother is easily my biggest fan. As an English major who teaches high school English in the town where I grew up, she instantly jumped on board when I told her about my new career change. My practical father, on the other hand, tries to be supportive, but that mostly comes out as “Well, at least Daniel is a lawyer and will be able to support you once you’re married and your writing career fades out.’

I’d love to remind him that I’m actually the breadwinner in my relationship, but since my father assumes my success could fizzle out at any moment, that wouldn’t prove anything in his eyes.

He means well, I know deep down that he does—but he’s old school, and I mean that quite literally. As a math teacher at the same high school my mother teaches at, my father believes in working a job, gaining tenure, and then working for thirty years until you can retire with a pension.

It’s not that I don’t understand his logic or that it’s not a solid plan. It’s just not the path I’m on right now.

Instead, I took my mother’s advice and plunged headfirst into my agent search, which led me to Sheridan. In a matter of a year, my career went from a Human Resource desk job to a best-selling author. It’s been five years since I published my first book, and now I’m ready for a genre change to mix things up. I need a new challenge in my life… something new to broaden my writing skills.

“See, you need a little sun. And maybe a little ocean breeze will drum back that creative spark that you need to start the new series. We need to get you away from this apartment. And a distraction from the constant reminder of Daniel wouldn’t hurt either. You should have told him to move all his things to a storage unit while he’s gone. He’s not even on the lease and he left all his crap here. What happens if you come to your senses and meet someone else while he’s gone?” she asks with a lifted brow.

I didn’t ask Daniel to move out of the apartment when he left for Australia for eight months because he’s still planning to come back. Wouldn’t it have been weird to ask him to move out during our break, only for him to move back in less than a year later? Seeing his things still hanging in the walk-in closet reminds me that soon enough, this phase of our relationship will be over, and we’ll be stronger for it.

‘I’m not going to meet someone else—I love Daniel. I’m just keeping my head down to get this book finished. He’ll be home in less than a month, and then everything is going to fit into place like it should.’

‘Do you really believe that?’ she asks.

She’s critical of Daniel, I know she is, but I have to believe that things are only going to get better for us once he gets home. After dating for eight years, the idea of starting a life with someone else is almost too difficult to imagine. Plus, starting over when I’m so close to getting the family I’ve always wanted, is too hard to let go of.

And how would I tell my parents?

As far as they know, Daniel and I are still elbow-deep in planning the wedding details, from the flower arrangements to the swan ice sculpture that my mother-in-law insists on paying for. If they found out that we’re taking a sabbatical from our relationship, my mom would worry about my panic attacks recurring without Daniel nearby to protect me, and my father would worry about my long-term financial stability without Daniel’s ‘secure’ income to support me and our future family.

This trip couldn’t have come at a worse time since we announced our engagement to our families right before he got the offer from the firm to go to Australia. It’s also the longest that he and I have been apart since the day we were stuck in that dingy basement bunker of our college. The day when my entire life changed, and I became a more anxious person who has been co-dependent on Daniel for stability ever since.

It’s the reason we moved to Seattle and away from those kinds of storms.

There aren’t any tornados on the West Coast.

After that experience, the idea of ever coming face to face with a tornado again is more than I can take. Daniel was understanding and agreed to move to Seattle after we graduated.

He’s made so many concessions for me.

Instead of taking an internship with his father’s law firm in Oklahoma City, he agreed to move thousands of miles away from our home to a new state and had to settle for an internship at a large firm in the city instead of the fast track his father could have gotten him due to his father’s connections.

If he had taken the job with his father’s firm, he’d probably have made partner by now. Instead, he’s only made it to an associate position after all these years of dedication. He’s hoping that his commitment to going with the firm to Australia will get him a foot in the door for a junior partner position when he returns home.

So when he asked me for this one thing… “Use the next eight months apart as a break to discover ourselves and come back as better people for each other. Then I promise that we’ll get married, and we can start having kids like you’ve always wanted,” I felt like this was my turn to show my reciprocal devotion to our relationship.

It’s not like he could turn down this opportunity to show his dedication to the firm. That would have been career suicide.

With the long distance, his eighty-hour work weeks, and the time difference between Australia and the US, I couldn’t argue the points he made. The break made logical sense as long as it was temporary, a break that comes with the ability to see other people.

Our little arrangement does have me wondering what exactly I should call him now.

We’re not technically engaged anymore, and since we’re allowed to date other people, I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend, either. Though we’re still committed to a life together in the near future.

What would you call that?

A temporary uncoupling?

A relationship pause?

He is, after all, my future fiancé, or at least that’s what we’ve agreed to.

Calling him an ex seems even less true than anything else.

“I’m not going there to forget Daniel,” I remind her. “We’re getting back together in a month when he gets home. And he’s not the reason I’m having writer’s block.”

It feels like I’m always having to remind Sheridan that Daniel and I aren’t permanently broken up. This is just a time of “self-reflection” and exploration before we spend the rest of our lives together.

“Are you sure about that?” she asks, folding more of the clothes I pulled from my closet to pack for my trip. “Because you’ve never had a problem writing a book in the timeline that we gave the publisher, and you were so excited about this series until Daniel dropped the bomb on you that he was offered a spot to go to Australia. Now you can barely even write the Table of Contents.”

Ouch. Harsh, but not completely untrue.

I’ve written the first half of the book but now I’m stuck writing the first steamy scene between the two characters. Maybe I’m just not feeling inspired because Daniel and I aren’t together right now. Not that I need Daniel to take care of my ‘needs.’ It’s been over eight years since the last time I’ve had a man-made orgasm. My ability to climax is only achievable through the use of vibrating silicone toys.

I sought therapy after we miraculously all came out of that basement bunker with our lives after almost every building on campus but ours was flattened. But ever since that fateful day, nothing Daniel does gets me there. I have to use aids instead, and I know this has been really hard for him to accept. It’s been a shot to his ego, understandably, and has caused issues between us that no amount of therapy seems to fix.

So now I’ve hit a wall and I’m struggling to get past this scene. I’ve been honest with my publisher about it. They’ve been kind enough to give me a two-week extension. At this point, it’s do or die.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I say, pulling a wad of underwear from my top drawer and counting out enough pairs, plus an extra for the two weeks I’ll be in Mexico.

I can’t help but feel that Sheridan is placing the blame on Daniel, but I’m the only person responsible for my writer’s block.

She’s been on this anti-Daniel kick ever since I broke down and confessed to her the new arrangement that Daniel and I agreed to before he left.

I can see from her perspective how it makes Daniel look. But she hasn’t been around for the last eight years of my relationship with him. He’s been my rock since my sophomore year at Oklahoma State when we first met, two months before the storm hit that changed everything. Is it really worth throwing it all away just because he asked for an eight-month sabbatical from our relationship for some self-discovery?

And it’s not as if I’m denied the same liberties, though I haven’t been on a single date since he left.

All I want to do is wait out the time and reunite after this break as a stronger, more confident woman who takes more chances and is open to new experiences. I want to prove to him that I’m not the same person who feels trapped in my past and unable to move forward.

I made a full list of all the things I want to work on personally during this off time. They’re all jotted down on a well-organized spreadsheet on my laptop that I so creatively named the “Fix-Me List.” The items are listed on a scale from easiest to overcome to most challenging.

Unfortunately, I spent most of the time focusing all my energy on eliminating my writer’s block that I’ve ignored the spreadsheet. With only one month left, I want to get as many of these items checked off my list.

1.Go on a trip by yourself

2.Face your fear of sleeping alone through a storm

3.Try a new cuisine

4.Learn a new hobby

5.Make a new friend

6.Go on a first date again

7.Have a fling in Mexico

8.Go deep sea fishing

The list continues to grow, and item number seven was Sheridan’s idea.

Her actual words were, “Find a guy to screw your brain out and make you forget all about Daniel.”

I shortened it to ‘Have a fling…’

And even that was painful enough to write.

I know Daniel is out dating, too, but it’s hard to imagine letting another man that close to me after spending most of my adult life with the same man.

I’ve seen the cropped photos of Daniel on social media, where he cuts out the women in the photos with him. He doesn’t go as far as to photoshop out the well-manicured hand draped over his shoulder or the arm stretch around his waist.

And why should he?

He’s free to date, and so am I.

But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Once, I even spotted a photo he sent me, but he hadn’t anticipated her reflection in the water fountain.

I couldn’t see her face but her long blonde hair was enough to know what I was looking at.

Daniel had a type before me.

Blonde—tall—athletic… all of the things I’m not.

I’m five foot four, with brown hair to my shoulder blades and I didn’t play sports in high school like Daniel did.

Sheridan continues to pack more items neatly into my large maroon-colored luggage, sitting on top of the queen-sized bed that Daniel and I have shared for nearly five years. It was one of the first big purchases we made when I got my advance from the publishing house that signed me.

The next big expense was the first, last, and deposit I have to pay to get into our gorgeous apartment in downtown Seattle.

Daniel loved that he was the only intern at the law firm with a skyrise apartment downtown, walking distance to his office and I was proud to be able to afford such an extravagant expenditure for our new future, especially since he moved here for me.

“You said there’s a washer and dryer in the house you rented, right?” I ask.

Sheridan has been so adamant that I try booking a vacation as a writing retreat that she finally booked a beachside house for me when she got tired of waiting for me to do it myself.

Of course, she made sure the booking was non-refundable so that I couldn’t back out.

“Yeah, that’s what the booking said. And the picture makes the place look incredible. You’re right on the beach, and it’s not near any other resorts, so you won’t have any distractions. This is going to be a perfect spot for writing.”

The idea of going anywhere by myself is a little intimidating, but this is the exact type of thing that Daniel has been begging me for.

More spontaneity.

More adventure.

Pushing my limited boundaries.

I need to prove to him and myself that I can do this. I can stop overthinking about all the ways something could go wrong and just throw caution to the wind.

I didn’t used to be this way and that’s why he pushes so hard.

I used to be a more fearless individual. I never suffered from anxiety or panic attacks. I was a person who took chances and risks.

I guess seeing my life flash before my eyes gave me a new perspective on how fragile and short life can be. After we came out of that bunker, it took me weeks to venture back out of my dorm room.

Daniel was incredibly patient with me.

He understood that I needed time, so he brought me takeout every night for weeks to ensure that I was eating.

Those are the moments that Sheridan didn’t see.

Those are the moments I want to give back to him and prove that I’m committed to this life. I want to show him the same patience and understanding.

Eight months is nothing in the grand scheme of a long life together anyway.

Sheridan is about fifteen years older than my twenty-seven years and has a husband, two kids, and a German shepherd named Spartacus.

Needless to say, we’re both in different places in our lives and sometimes I feel a little envious of it. Mostly right now, while Daniel is a continent away from me.

She’s a well-established agent with a booming business full of talented authors that she represents. She’s married to her college sweetheart and lives in a gorgeous home just outside of Seattle. With her kids in high school, she’s only a few years away from empty nesting and traveling the world with her husband, like they’ve always dreamed.

I, on the other hand, am still trying to carve out my spot in the author world while my love life is on a temporary hiatus. I have to remember that in a month’s time, Daniel will be back and ready to settle down like we’ve planned.

Daniel proposed a few months before he received the invitation to go to Australia. His proposal wasn’t conventional. He didn’t get down on one knee and propose with an engagement ring. He just blurted it out one night while we were tucked up together in bed watching our favorite cooking show.

It took me by surprise.

In all honesty, I didn’t think he was anywhere near proposing, even with the years of hinting I had been doing.

Then, when he came home with the news about the Australia trip, he said that this opportunity could fast-track him into being considered for a junior partner position. A few weeks later, he pitched me the idea of us taking a break over the time he would be gone and we could use the separation to work on ourselves.

“Long distance is hard enough as it is and marriage is a huge commitment. Plus, you have a huge deadline coming up with your book. You’re going to be too busy to deal with my crazy schedule, and the time change will make it difficult for both of us. Besides, I’ve heard all the partners get a little crazy on these trips since most of the ones willing to travel to open new firms aren’t in any serious relationships. There could be strip clubs and lap dances and I don’t want to offend anyone by turning any of it down because I don’t want to seem like I’m being unfaithful to you. I think we should take this time to put our relationship on hold and we can both date other people during this time. When I get back, I’ll have proved myself to the partners, you’ll have finished your first book, and we’ll both be in a better place to start a life together. We can start wedding planning if you want, and we’ll finally pick out that ring just like I promised. Eight months, Brynn, that’s all I’m asking.”

That’s how he pitched it, and with how much he’s backed my author dreams and moved across the country to make me feel safe, I wanted to show the same level of support for him.

I don’t know much about the partners he works with, though I’ve met them from time to time during happy hour at the bar across the street from the law office.

The single male partners in his office do seem to act like a bunch of frat boys during office after-hours, and many of these men are on the board and have a vote on who gets promoted to junior partner.

So, I agreed to his terms.

“Thank you again for booking the beach house for me. I know this is going to be good for my writing, and hopefully, I will come back with a completed manuscript for you to read.”

She drops the last folded summer dress into my luggage and then looks up at me.

“Don’t forget to have a little fun too, okay? The best gift you could give me is to let loose a little and enjoy yourself. What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico. Daniel isn’t the only one allowed to dip his toe into another ocean. You’re free to have a fling too. And who knows, maybe you’ll find a man out there to give you orgasms again,” she winks.

‘Sheridan, I told you… it’s not his fault—it’s me,’ I remind her.

‘Are you totally sure about that? What better time to find out than right now? He’s practically giving you permission to see if someone else can do it better in the bedroom. Why not give someone else a chance so that you know for sure?’

She’s the only person, besides Daniel and the therapist that I had back in Oklahoma, who knows that my orgasms come by way of the energizer bunny.

Before the incident, Daniel and I had a great sex life, but we had only been together for two months before disaster hit. That’s how I know that none of this is Daniel’s fault. I know he feels emasculated sometimes but what can I do about it? I have no control over it.

“A fling sounds more like another distraction away from writing. I think I’m going to keep my attention on getting this book written and the manuscript to the editor,” I tell her.

With my book due in two weeks, surely the book takes precedence over having a dirty one-night stand in Mexico with some random guy who’s probably on vacation looking for drunk, sloppy sex that will only leave me unsatisfied anyway.

“Well, you look about packed to me? Are you sure you don’t want a ride to the airport tomorrow afternoon? I’m happy to take you in,” Sheridan says, surveying the three bags I have perched on my bed.

A large suitcase, a carry-on, and my laptop bag.

“Thanks, but there’s no reason for you to leave your daughter’s volleyball tournament just to take me to the airport. I already scheduled my rideshare to pick me up. Kate needs her mom cheering her on.”

Sheridan gives a slight grimace. “Those bleachers are the worst and this is the biggest tournament of the year. Two days long and ten hours each day. The things we do for our kids.”

My phone starts to ring and I grab it quickly, hoping to see Daniel’s name on it since I haven’t spoken to him in a week.

When I see my mom’s name illuminated on my phone, I’m a little disappointed but she knows how nervous I am about this trip and she’s probably calling in to check on me.

“Speaking of, it’s my mom.”

“You should get that. I need to get home and take a long bath in preparation for tomorrow,” she says.

“I’ll call you when I get to the rental house,” I tell her and then swipe to answer the call, pulling my phone up to my ear.

Sheridan nods and then gives a little wave as she turns to exit my bedroom.

“Hey mom,” I answer.

“Hi sweetie. How are you? Are you all packed for your trip?” she asks.

I told her about the trip that Sheridan booked for me and she thought that a little time out of Seattle might be just what I need.

“Yep, I just finished. Sheridan was here helping me pack. What are you up to?” I ask, imagining her sitting in the den back in my childhood home, curled up with a book while my father watches the news.

“Your dad and I are sitting in the den…” Just as I suspected. “And we’re watching the storm on your dad’s tablet. Did you know that there is a storm warning for off the coastline of where you’re headed?”

The moment I hear the words “storm warning,” my hands instantly clam up, and my heart begins to thump harder against my chest.

I know that this time of the year is hurricane season for that part of Mexico, but when I checked a few days ago, the storm was supposed to stay out to sea and wasn’t projected to come anywhere close.

“Storm warning? I thought this one wasn’t supposed to touch land,” I ask, my voice just a little shakier than I want my mother to hear.

I made a promise to myself that I would use this time apart from Daniel to become a braver person. Going to Mexico by myself is one of the adventures and is listed as number one on my Excel spreadsheet.

I’ve been looking forward to checking this one off my first task the moment I get settled into the vacation house tomorrow evening.

“They haven’t issued an official warning for the surrounding areas yet, but the storm does seem to have shifted, and now its trajectory is closer than they originally thought.”

“So it might not hit land still, right? It’s still out at sea?” I ask, gripping around the small silver chain necklace with a space needle pendant hanging at the end.

I bought it for myself in the Seattle airport gift shop the moment Daniel and I landed in Seattle, the day we moved here. I have rarely taken it off since then. It’s like my good luck charm, but it’s no longer as bright and shiny as it used to be. Its silver plating is starting to show its age from my fingers rubbing over it whenever I get nervous.

“As of now, the authorities have not issued an official warning, just an advisory,” I hear my father’s calming voice as if my mother has me on speaker.

“Are you sure you still want to go?” my mother asks.

No, of course I don’t want to go.

But I need to go.

And my mom knows this better than anyone.

She’s the one who ultimately convinced me to agree to this trip, though I didn’t have much choice anyway since Sheridan booked it without telling me.

“I have to. The house is non-refundable and if I don’t finish this book, I’ll be in violation of my contract deadline. And anyway, I bet the storm will pass right on by,” I tell her, trying to sound calm but gripping my pendant a little tighter to shield the worry in my voice.

“I just worry about you, that’s all.”

“I know. Thanks for the call, Mom. I’ll text you when I land tomorrow. Okay?”

“I’m proud of you for facing your fears, Brynn,” my dad says over the speaker.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow.”

I hear them both say their goodbyes, and I flop my phone on my side table, plugging it in so it’s fully charged tomorrow. Then I climb into bed to do a little light reading to get my mind off of what my dad just told me.

What if that storm continues to inch closer to where I’m staying?

I can’t let the fear deter me.

I set my alarm, pull my tablet up, and slide into a comfort book that I’ve read at least a dozen times.

A comfort book is exactly what I need right now.

Tomorrow, I set out for an adventure.