Rinkmates: A steamy Hockey Romance (The Mates series Book 1)

My knuckles rap against the red wooden door, my heart pounding in time with each knock. I draw in a shaky breath. The Pennsylvania air feels thick in my lungs. I can’t believe this moment is real. That I made it.

The door swings open and there he stands—my little Rory, my baby boy with his mop of blond hair and those piercing blue eyes that could melt even the coldest of hearts. His cherubic face splits into a toothy grin and I notice his little skates are already slung around his neck, his PAW Patrol suitcase waiting eagerly by his side.

My knees buckle beneath me, and I slump to the floor. “Bud,” I whisper as I reach for him.

He launches himself into my arms with a delighted squeal. “Mommy, Mommy!”

I bury my face in his hair, breathing him in—that familiar scent of him. The same PAW Patrol shampoo I have. Is this really happening? After all this time, all the fighting and sacrificing, do I really get to bring him home?Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

Rory pulls back, his little hands cupping my face. “I’m gonna live with you, right, Mommy?”

I can only nod, not trusting myself to speak. Because if I open my mouth, I know the floodgates will burst open and I’ll be a weeping mess, and I want this moment to be happy. So I just hold him tighter, my heart so full it could burst. My Rory. My reason for everything. Back in my arms where he belongs.

“Yes, bud,” I manage, nuzzling into his neck and breathing him in again and again and again. “Yes. Yes. Yes. We made it.”

The words feel surreal on my tongue, it’s the dream I never dared to voice aloud lest it shatter. But it’s real. The solid, squirming weight of Rory in my arms is real. The wetness on my cheeks, the swelling of my heart—it’s all real.

We made it.

“Look who I brought with me!” I say, grabbing my bag.

Rory’s eyes light up the moment he sees his blue teddy bear. It was his first and only stuffed animal, a simple blue bear I bought from the hospital gift shop, but he loved it so much. He carried it everywhere until he gave it to me on his third birthday. Even then, he barely spoke in full sentences, but he knew I didn’t want to leave him and that I’d be there if I could manage the flights to Pennsylvania. I still tear up thinking about it—but my little boy gave me his favorite toy so I’d have a piece of him with me. I promised I’d return it when I was able to get him back.

“Blerry!” he exclaims, and I laugh, remembering how he tried to name his bear Blueberry but ended up with Blerry instead.

Rory hugs his bear tightly and then wraps his arms around me, and my heart swells again and again.

He pulls back after a couple of heartbeats, his face alight as he looks me over. “You were so pretty, Mommy. You won the show! I saw with Gran and Grandpa!”

A watery laugh bubbles out of me. “Thanks, bud,” I whisper, tucking an errant curl behind his ear. My baby. My reason for everything.

I never want to let him go. Never want this moment to end. I want to freeze time right here, with Rory safe and happy in my arms, his little hands clutching at my shoulders. I want to memorize every detail—the exact shade of his eyes, cornflower blue with flecks of periwinkle. The constellation of freckles dusting his nose. My nose.

I want to absorb him into my very being, so I’ll never be without him again, never have to endure another day, another hour, another second of the bone-deep ache of missing him.

“Where’s the hockey player?” Rory asks suddenly, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts.

I blink, drawing back to look at him in confusion. “What?”

Rory squirms in my arms, his eyes darting around as if searching for someone. “The hockey player,” he repeats impatiently. “The one on TV with you. He is really good! He won the Cup!”

My heart stutters, then kicks into overdrive. “Riley? Yes. His team won the Stanley Cup! He’s the best player I know.”

“I just love hockey, Mommy,” Rory declares, his voice ringing with the absolute certainty only a child can possess, and something tugs around my heart. “I wanna play just like him when I grow up!”

My throat tightens.

“That’s great, bud,” I manage to choke out, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “But you know, hockey players have to practice really hard. It’s a lot of work.”

Rory nods solemnly, his little face scrunched up in determination. “I can do it,” he insists. “I’ll practice every day, I promise! And then…” He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe the hockey player can come visit us and teach me some tricks!”

I laugh. Oh, Riley would love this. “You know what?” I wink at him. “I’ll ask him.”

Behind Rory, Trish and Spencer, his grandparents, exchange a meaningful glance, their eyes brimming with unshed tears. Trish clasps her hands together, her smile wavering as she watches us, and I look up at her, my face full with the biggest smile I’ve ever had. Yes, my eyes tell them, yes, we really made it. I bought a house. On my own. For me and my baby and a certain hockey player who can’t wait to visit us.