Lucky Hit (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  NINETEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  EPILOGUE

  BONUS CONTENT

  OCTAVIA

  KEEP READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF THE SECOND INSTALLMENT IN THE SWIFT HAT-TRICK TRILOGY, BLISSFUL HOO

  BLISSFUL HOOK

  Prologue

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Portions of this book are works of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020, By Hannah Cowan

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address the publisher.

  Edited by, Megan Ryan Hughes

  Cover designed by, thegraphicsdistrict

  ONE

  OAKLEY

  As my team skates off the ice for the final time this season, I choose to stay behind to do one last lap around. For most of my teammates, this is just the end of another winning year. But this is the last time I will ever skate in this arena, as not only a player but also the Captain of my hometown team, the Penticton Storm. I'm allowed to feel a little nostalgic. This arena has been my second home for the past three years, after all.

  The bitter cold nips at my skin through my thick jersey as I stare at the empty stadium. Endless rows of uncomfortable brown seats look back at me as my eyes try to memorize every last inch of space. This place helped me rediscover my passion for hockey. It's where I watched my mom and sister scream at the top of their lungs while waving around their cheesy signs at every game. It's where I met so many special people and created insane, long-lasting memories that will stay with me forever. It's the place that showed me that I could be a leader—a real force to be reckoned with.

  Lines of fluffy white snow trail behind me as I skate around the rink—the only sound to be heard comes from the ripping of the ice under my skates and my short, ragged breaths as I push myself around the boards. It's peaceful. It's rarely this silent. Quite a contrast to the screaming crowds during a game or our coach's angry screams after a heart-wrenching loss.

  I reluctantly step off the ice after a few more minutes and walk down the long hallway leading to our muggy, sweat-ridden locker room. I pull the door open, nearly smacking into Andre, my best friend.

  He turns and slaps me on the back as we walk over to our cubbies. "So, that was it, eh? Our last practise together?"

  "I guess." My shoulder's drop when I see the hurt flash across his auburn coloured eyes. "You won't miss me that much; you boys can carry your own," I add hastily to lift our spirits.

  He raises his eyebrows and laughs, "Has anyone ever told you you're way too humble?"

  "Last time I checked, you preferred it when I'm humble. Something about it letting you have a chance with the ladies?" I tease, sitting down on the bench in front of my cubby.

  His eyes widen for less than a second before he covers his shock with his trademark cocky smirk. "I just tell you that to make you feel good, buddy." Sitting down beside me, he unlaces his skates. "But, I will admit that I'm slightly worried I'll lose my touch without my number one wingman."

  I roll my eyes and scoff lightly. Andre doesn't have any issues in that department. I've known him for fourteen years, and I've never seen him with the same girl twice.

  "You know you don't need my help in that department, but hey, maybe this is a good thing? It might give you a chance to pay attention to the stuff that matters. The team is going to need a new captain."

  The sudden panic in his eyes is unmistakable. "Don't even start with me. You know how hard It's going to be to fill your shoes. I'm already trying to get the defensemen to spend less time chirping and more time defending. I get a headache just thinking about keeping that entire shitstorm of a team focused."

  I squeeze his shoulder. "Think about it, man. You know you have my vote."

  "Don’t start with the sentiment bullshit, Oakley," he chuckles. "I'll see you Thursday, yeah? Don't you dare bail on me!" Standing up from the bench, Andre hikes his hockey bag over his shoulder and heads to the door.

  "Wouldn't dream of it. See ya, man." I wave him off, not missing the eye roll he throws my way before he leaves. As I'm yanking my jersey over my head, Coach yells for me.

  Once I'm out of my gear, I head into his office. "What's up, Coach?"

  He sits back down behind his desk and motions towards the grey two-seater couch resting against the opposing wall.

  "Hell of a season you boys played. You're not the same kid you were three years ago, thank God," he beams.

  I flop down on the couch and place my hands behind my head. "I think you owe yourself a clap on the back for that one, Coach."

  His contagious laugh fills the room before he settles back against his leather chair. "Sure as shit, I do. I take full responsibility for your success as Captain."

  Ah yes, the joys of being Captain. Don't get me wrong, I love my team, and I'm honoured to have been the guy everyone looked up to this past season, but it gets draining. Both physically and emotionally.

  "Don't go getting cocky now, old man," I snicker.

  Looking over at all the team pictures scattered across the room, a burst of pride shoots through my chest. I spent the last three years of my life playing with the same guys, all of us learning from each other as we dealt with the encouraging wins, and the unbearable losses until we eventually moved on to win our first major championship together this season.

  I'm going to miss it.

  "Do you know what team you're heading to yet?"

  "Yeah, Vancouver. Not too far from mom or Gracie. It seemed like the right fit." I look down at the pen on his desk and study it like it's the most exciting thing in the world.

  I look up in time to catch his pointed look. "Vancouver? I thought you wanted to go out to Ontario? You know your mom wouldn't want you to give up your goals for her or your sister."

  I groan internally. Of course, he isn't going to leave it alone. "It doesn't matter what my mom wants. They need me," I say shortly. This is the last thing I want to talk about right now. When my father passed away when I was thirteen, I had to take over the responsibility of taking care of my mom and little sister, Gracie.

  A twenty-two-year-old driving home from a party—drunk as all hell—ran a stop sign and rammed into the driver's side of my dad's truck.

  He was killed on impact.

  Watching my newly widowed mom struggle to keep her family above water was hard. But the decision I made to help her no matter w
hat wasn't. I couldn't watch her struggle any more than I could lose the ability to play hockey. I live and breathe the damn sport. It was, and always will be, my passion.

  I get that from my dad.

  I remember sitting on the couch with him, eating pizza and watching a game every Saturday night in our Vancouver Warrior's jerseys. The silly old man never could pick a good team to cheer for. Even at the age of seven, I knew they were a shitty team, but they were his favourite, and that's the only thing that ever mattered to me. Some days are harder than others, but we make do.

  "Oakley? Are you listening to me?" Coach asks, annoyance written clearly on his worn-down features.

  "Sorry, Coach. What did you say?"

  "I said, what do you plan on doing once you have been drafted? You know you're going to have to leave them at some point. This is your dream." He's giving me that familiar determined stare, trying to convince me to change my mind.

  Too late for that.

  "I haven't thought that far yet," I say, looking down at my shoes. I am far too drained for this conversation. "I really need a shower, Coach. I'll be back this week to get all my stuff. We can talk about this then." Or not.

  He lets out a long sigh but nods reluctantly. "Go on. I'll see you then. You did good tonight." I force a small smile on my lips and give my head a nod before quickly rising from the sofa and leaving the office.

  TWO

  OAKLEY

  The sun has just about set by the time I park outside our small two-story home in my beat-up white Chevy. Our house is not grand by any means, but it's home. A small porch with old wooden steps sits in the centre, featured with a bright red door that Mom painted with Dad shortly after buying the home. It is chipped and peeling now, but Mom refuses to repaint it.

  A bay window sits on the right side in the middle of the living room, along with a wooden flower box that lies underneath, filled with yellow daisies—Mom's favourite.

  I stare at the water pelting down from the grey, puffed filled sky and groan. It has been pouring rain ever since I left the arena, which isn't that much of a surprise. April in British Columbia is nothing but God damn rain.

  I grab my hockey bag from the passenger seat, throw it over my shoulder and head inside.

  "I'm home!" I yell as soon as I open the door. I kick my sneakers off and quickly haul my bag up the stairs to my room before Mom has a chance to lecture me again about the rancid smell.

  After dropping my bag on the floor, I shut my door and plopped myself down on my twin bed. My long frame makes it nearly impossible for me to keep my feet on the narrow bed as they dangle almost comically off the edge of the frame.

  I look up at the door when Mom knocks, catching her as she leans against the frame.

  "Hey, sweetheart. How was it?"

  My mom looks exceptionally young for her age. Maybe it has something to do with how she always has her short blonde hair done up, or maybe it's how her crystal blue eyes haven't lost their sparkle, even after all of these years.

  I got most of my features from my dad. From the dark brown hair that swooped at the back of his neck, his never-dulling green eyes, and especially his towering height, we could have been twins.

  "It was alright. It was sad to say goodbye, but I'll be okay," I admit. "I have to stop by the arena this week to pick up the rest of my stuff before I leave on Friday." I don't mention the party Andre refuses to let me skip because knowing her, she'll push me to go harder than Andre himself.

  My supposed going away party is on Thursday night—despite my adamant protests. Hockey parties have never been my thing, especially since I became Captain. I always end up dealing with a bunch of girls who only take an interest in me so they can tell all their friends they slept with Oakley Hutton, Captain of the Storm. I'm not saying that I haven't given in a few times. Admittedly, I'm no saint. I just don't want my last night with my team to be such a clusterfuck of drunken mistakes.

  "I would be worried if you weren't the least bit sad, honey. But you should be excited; you're so close to your dreams." She sits down on the edge of my bed and gives me one of her famous Anne Hutton smiles, her blue eyes bright. "I am so proud of you. I know your father would be too."

  Mom always has a way of smiling and lifting people's spirits. Dad always called it her superpower. I didn't understand how a smile could be someone's superpower until after he died. Her smile was one of the only things that got me through it all. So, I guess that really does make her a superhero.

  Our superhero, at least.

  I sit up to look at her properly. "I am excited. What about you guys? Will you be okay? I'll try to come home as often as I can." My promise is evident in my words—even though I'm not sure I can keep it. My new schedule is going to be crazy, but I would do anything for my family. I know that for sure.

  Mom clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shakes her head. "You need to stop worrying about your sister and me. You're going to get grey hairs before you make it to twenty-one. We will be fine. You go and find yourself someone of your own to take care of."

  I chuckle, "Sure, Mom, I'll get right on that."

  I've never actually brought a girl home before. Not as my girlfriend, at least. I've never had the time. My life is crazy enough without adding a girl into the mix.

  "Good! It's about time you finally bring a girl home. I'm getting old here!" She leans over to kiss my head before making her way to the door. "Anyways, I know you're probably tired, but there are leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry. Goodnight, I love you." She leaves my room, shutting the door gently.

  "Night, Mom, I love you too," I speak into the now quiet room.

  ❆❆❆

  Friday morning comes quicker than expected. My going away party was shockingly a lot of fun despite my previous reservations. Andre kept the guest list pretty small and I successfully managed to stay away from the possibly awkward morning encounters. Saying goodbye to the team afterwards, on the other hand—not so easy.

  When I first joined the team, I used to act like I single-handedly hung the moon. And yeah, I had the skill to back it up, but my attitude cost us way too many games.

  Coach was the one who knocked me down a few pegs. I learned the hard way that being the best on the ice doesn't mean anything if you don't have the team's respect behind you. That realization was why I worked my ass off in the second half of my first season to do exactly that. Then, during my second season, I earned the privilege of having the beloved C on my jersey.

  I can happily admit that all the work was worth it considering I just came out of this season as the number one goal-scorer in the Junior league.

  I load the last box into my truck's bed as Mom comes outside to say goodbye.

  "I wish I could be coming with you, but you know I have to work." Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and the sad smile tugging on her usual red lips makes me want to unpack and stay here, but I can't.

  "I know you would if you could, Mom. But I'm a big boy. I'm sure I can handle it," I say, trying to lighten the mood before the waterworks start. Suddenly the front door slams shut. I whip my head up to see Gracie come running down the steps like a complete lunatic in her pyjamas.

  "Why didn't anybody wake me up?" she scolds, rolling her eyes. I let out a loud laugh at the sight in front of me. Gracie has her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised, trying to be intimidating. I laugh again, and her scowl deepens.

  Gracie ended up looking just like Mom—blonde-haired and blue-eyed. If you didn't already know we were siblings, chances are you wouldn't even be able to tell.

  "I did wake you up, sleepyhead. Three times. You kept going back to sleep after saying something about a boy band?"

  Her whole face lights up as she no doubt recalls her dream. "Oh! Well, I can't say I'm sorry. You don't wake somebody up from a good dream. It wouldn't have been worth it for me. No offence," she shrugs.

  I fake a laugh as reality sets back in. I let out a deep sigh, "I hate to be a downer, but I gotta
go. I'm meeting my new coach at twelve, and if I don't leave now, I won't make it." I take a final look around at our quiet neighbourhood and smile at the two women in front of me. "I will be back as soon as I can. I promise."

  Mom is the first one to reach out and hug me. "Drive safe," she murmurs, squeezing me so tight that she practically cuts off my circulation. "And let me know when you get there. Have fun. I love you." She slowly pulls away and makes room for Gracie.

  "Bye, big bro. I already miss you driving me wherever I wanna go," Gracie laughs as she wraps her arms around my waist and sets her head on my chest. "I'm joking. But I will miss you. Love you."

  "Goodbye, you little shit. Don't give Mom too much trouble, please. Love you too." I return her hug and plant a kiss on the top of her head. Turning around and heading to the driver's side of my truck, I give them both a wave before I get in, start it up, and head for the highway.

  Goodbye Penticton, Hello Vancouver.

  THREE

  OCTAVIA

  "Ava, get your ass moving! The game starts in an hour!" Morgan yells, pounding on my bedroom door.

  As I finish getting ready, I do a quick once over in my full-length mirror. Although I can't say that my black hoodie plastered with the ugly Saints logo and ripped skinny jeans are going to drop jaws, I'm damn comfy. I scrape my long dark brown hair up into a high ponytail with a sigh.

  Morgan and I live together in a small two-bedroom apartment about fifteen minutes away from our Vancouver University. It isn't anything special, but it's enough for us.

  The kitchen has a small island with light granite countertops to go with the light wood cabinets and stainless-steel appliances. The living room is on the opposite side of the room, lit up by the sunlight that barrels through our floor to ceiling windows.

  Morgan waits for me on the couch, scrolling through her new iPhone and probably gushing to her boyfriend, Matthew, about how excited she is to watch him play tonight.