First to Fall Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 - Jo

  Chapter 2 - Jo

  Chapter 3 - Brooks

  Chapter 4 - Jo

  Chapter 5 - Brooks

  Chapter 6 - Jo

  Chapter 7 - Brooks

  Chapter 8 - Brooks

  Chapter 9 - Jo

  Chapter 10 - Jo

  Chapter 11 - Brooks

  Chapter 12 - Jo

  Chapter 13 - Brooks

  Chapter 14 - Jo

  Chapter 15 - Brooks

  Chapter 16 - Jo

  Chapter 17 - Jo

  Chapter 18 - Brooks

  Chapter 19 - Jo

  Chapter 20 - Jo

  Chapter 21 - Brooks

  Chapter 22 - Jo

  Chapter 23 - Jo

  Chapter 24 - Jo

  Chapter 25 - Brooks

  Chapter 26 - Jo

  Chapter 27 - Jo

  Chapter 28 - Brooks

  Chapter 29 - Jo

  Epilogue - Jo

  Also by Stacy Lane

  Acknowledgments

  FIRST

  TO FALL

  a Triplets novel

  by Stacy Lane

  Copyright © 2018 by Stacy Lane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is entirely coincidental or fictionalized.

  Cover design by Champagne Book Design

  For all the pumpkin spice lattes that got me through writing this book.

  ONE

  Jo

  Oh no. No no no no. Please don’t go off again—

  Whoooooooommmmmmmmpp!

  “Son of a bitch that’s annoying,” I grumble to myself.

  Everyone else around me is ecstatic and obsessed with this hockey team getting a…goal? Or is it a shot? Whatever, they get a point for it anyway, but it’s driving me nuts. The bumptious horn goes off every time the home team scores.

  Did we not just watch the small disc slip past the big guy with so much gear on he looks like a beefed up version of Jason Voorhees? The rest of the people here noticed if the jumping from their seats and cheering are any indication. Why the need to blast that sound, two times I might add, is beyond me.

  I’m actually sitting here rooting for the other guys just so I don’t have to ever hear that loud ass horn again.

  If we’re on the truth train, considering there’s a fitting “toot-toot” to go along with it, I would rather not be here at all. As if that’s not blatantly obvious already, but sometimes even I have to give up my introvert ways and submit to doing something out of my comfort zone.

  If I’m really being honest, the game is not so terrible. I’d go as far as saying it’s—

  Whoooooooommmmmmmmpp!

  “Jesus didn’t they just score?” I yell, but no one hears me due to the blaring commotion going off. Again.

  My best friend Taytum sits beside me cheering and screaming and jumping like a maniac with her boyfriend and his two other friends. Whom are a couple. Not only did I willingly come out of my comfort zone tonight, but I also came knowing I’d be the fifth-wheel.

  Another buzzer blares minutes later, but if the players skating off the ice indicates anything, I take it as it being half-time.

  That’s incorrect. I’m well aware because I was crucified once for it already, but I can’t remember the terminology. So I’ll stick with half-time, and you can correct me from your end where I can’t hear the response. Heh.

  “Jo, wanna beer?” Nick asks, standing with his buddy, Chris.

  Beer. That’s what normal people do when at these sports games. I’m not exactly normal. The complete opposite, actually. I’m not laid back or relaxed enough to enjoy a beer at this kind of place. I don’t do sports of any kind, and I don’t people.

  And there is a lot of people here.

  Ugh.

  Why did I ever let Taytum talk me into coming here tonight? The crowd, the atmosphere, is the definition of my anxiety issues.

  “Sure, I guess.” It’ll be a waste of money with half the bottle full by the time we leave, but if it makes my friends happy to see me embracing the moment, then it’s worth it.

  Nick counters with a surprised smile. He’s dated Taytum long enough to know my traits, and branching out is not a part of my growth cycle. I’m more of a palm tree kind of gal—branches are nonexistent.

  “So.” Taytum turns in her seat when Chris’s girlfriend follows the guys up the stairs. “How are you liking the game?”

  “Ehh…”

  “I’m so proud of you for coming out tonight. There’s a lot of people, I know, but you’re doing so good.”

  I wait for the pat on the head, but it doesn’t come.

  Why do people do that? I hate crowds, my anxiety levels shoot through the roof when I’m put in an unfamiliar situation, but I’m not incompetent for Pete’s sake.

  Oh, but that face. She’s so happy. I’ll take the head pat just this once.

  “When will the game be over?” I ask with a bright and chipper facade.

  Taytum’s wide smile sags on one side. “That was only the first period. There are still two to go.”

  I purse my lips. Maybe there’s a way I can skip out sooner…

  “Nuh-uh. Don’t you dare.”

  “What?” I feign ignorance.

  “I finally got you out of your house for the first time in weeks. You are not leaving.” She’s practicing for motherhood with a tone like that.

  I sigh. “Taytum, I tried, but I don’t know what’s going on.” I fling a wiggling hand in the direction of all the white, frozen ice. “This makes no sense to me and it’s only making me want to flee even more.”

  “Jo, whether you like the game or not, aren’t you having fun with me? With Nick and his friends? Hell, the Fury are up by three and it’s only the first period. This entire arena is buzzing with excitement.”

  The buzz is the most annoying part.

  “You guys barely acknowledge my existence, and that’s okay. I’m not whining, but I don’t have anything in common with Nick’s friends.”

  “Maybe you do, but you never try to find out with anyone. Kinda like how you haven’t had a boyfriend in a year.” She pivots in her seat, adjusting her leg and pulling one beneath her bottom.

  “Online dating is sketchy. I don’t like the odds.” I mention this because she’s been pushing me with online dating links and apps for months.

  “The odds of finding your soul mate?” she says with sarcasm.

  “The odds of being dragged off by a serial killer,” I retort. Dipping my chin, I added softly, “And there’s the whole factor of falling in love again and reliving the pain when they die.”

  Taytum tilts her head with sympathy. “Jo, it’s been a year. Kason would have wanted you to move on.”

  “Just because he would have wanted it doesn’t me I do.” Losing my boyfriend of almost two years taught me one thing. The pain after they are gone last longer than the amount of time we were in love.

  “I’m not having this discussion again.” Apparently, she’s the boss of me. “If you don’t want a relationship then at least get out there and hook up with someone.”

  “Psh, yeah, I can barely tolerate all this,” I say, spinning a finger in a circle around the building. “And you th
ink I can handle a one-night stand.”

  “You’re impossible. I’m going to pee.” Taytum walks away, leaving me alone in a crowd full of unfamiliar.

  I settle back in my seat to people-watch. It’s a bonus to getting out of the house every once in a while. People are so interesting these days.

  Like the group of drunk guys five rows in front of me. One returned to his seat with a full cup of beer, but he’s thrashing about with prior inebriation that has the plastic cup is already half empty. His buddy to the left is grabbing at his junk quite diligently that he either has an uncomfortable stiffy or an awful rash. And then to the right, another friend is sitting quietly and watching the junk-grabber with spirited eyes.

  There’s some sort of entertainment being held on the ice. A game with fans running and slipping in their tennis shoes as they dash across from the center to one end. I have no clue what the point is or if there’s a prize, but it’s funny.

  I scan the area, taking in everything. I have to focus on something one at a time. It helps distract my head from the unease I feel around crowded, public events.

  The arena is freezing cold. Even in jeans, Chucks, and a tee, I’m shivering. Taytum could have warned me to dress for cooler temperatures. How was I to know any different when it’s nearly ninety degrees outside?

  She begged me earlier in the year to go with her and Nick to a game. Promised I would love it. But I dodged every time they asked. Now, it’s October and a new season has started up. We were talking one night and I admitted to wanting to get out of the house to do something for a change (it’s a fleeting moment I get every now and then) and agreed to go with them to a hockey game.

  Nick has season tickets for two but made an exception for tonight to get us all seats closer to the rink. Guess it would be rude to bail out early. He wouldn’t even let me pay him back for the ticket. They were so excited I finally conceded to come.

  But if my bestie brings up online dating one more time, I’m out. Homebody syndrome is not a cry for help. My ex-boyfriend died a year ago, but that’s not what keeps me from socializing. I barely socialized with him, a development I picked up on as more time passed without him.

  “Not a hockey fan, eh?” The voice comes from the guy sitting to my right.

  He’s on the outside of the row, a seat I would have paid double for just for the easy escape. At least we’re in the last row with a wall behind us instead of more people.

  “That obvious?” I ask with a polite smile.

  “No, but I overheard your friend. And your cussing. Thought you were for the other team at first. Most people are happy when we score a goal.”

  “Sorry,” I apologize with slight embarrassment. “My first hockey game and I have no clue what’s going on.”

  “Oh, we can’t have that.” His eyes sparkle like he’s staring into a long lost treasure chest. And I’m the diamond in the rough. Sticking out his hand, he says, “My names Earl.”

  His name alone makes him sound older than he looks. I’d predict early to mid-fifties based on the minimal strays of gray in his full head of dark hair. The color of his eyes is very unique, though.

  “Jo.” I return the handshake.

  “So. Tell me what you know about hockey, and we’ll go from there.” There’s an excitement in his voice that’s a little scary.

  Scary because I have no interest in learning anything about this sport, yet there might not be much of a choice on the matter.

  “You don’t have to teach me anything. This is likely my last game.” If I learn about the sport I’ll be expected to attend other games with Taytum and Nick. I’ll admit, I need to get out more, but I would prefer it to be when I’m not the third or fifth wheel.

  “Nope. Can’t do that.” Earl shakes his head with disregard. “Born and raised in the game myself, not to mention my boys live and breath hockey. I can’t let you leave here tonight without imparting some knowledge on you.”

  “I can guarantee you, Earl, there is not enough time left in the game to have anything stick.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “They play on ice,” I deadpan.

  He chuckles. Then sobers when my demeanor doesn’t change. “What rock are you living under?”

  “It’s brick. And I don’t get out much.”

  “Apparently,” he replies in a dry tone. “Tell me something you do like?”

  “Numbers,” I say in an instant. That’s an easy answer. I love math. Statistics. I like to evaluate every situation for its best possible outcome. It’s also kind of my job, but that’s why I am so good at it.

  Most of the time it throws the other person off. Oh no, but not Earl.

  “Okay, I can work with that. There’s calculating involved in the strategy of hockey.”

  “Twelve guys on the ice. Not much to calculate.”

  “Oh you’re a sourpuss,” he grins with enjoyment. “My wife would love you.”

  Not sure what it is about this guy, but for the first time in weeks, I’m feeling the first wave fun. I love a conversation with hardy banter. It helps that he’s older too. I can’t talk with people my same age to save my life, but set me in a group of elders and I’m unstoppable.

  “Are you trying to fix me up with your wife, Earl?” I tease to keep up the banter, but when his grin turns cunning I’m questioning how much of this is for fun and not fact.

  “Nope, not my wife.”

  “All right, I’ll take the bait. Teach me this sport you believe is so good.”

  “We’ll start the lesson when the period begins. Tell me something about you.”

  “I don’t watch sports.”

  “That’s a shame. Sports make us naturally competitive, and you’re not living life to the fullest if you’re not competing over something.”

  I narrow my eyes. “That’s an interesting aspect.”

  “Could be because I have three boys who compete over everything.”

  “A big sports family, huh?”

  “You could say that,” he says, attempting to hide his smile by rubbing his open hand across his mouth and chin.

  “How old are your children?” I ask.

  “Oh, they’re grown. I’d say older than you if I had to guess your age.”

  I nod. “I have a brother. We’re not close so there was never any competing.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Earl’s eyes and lips turn down, truly saddened.

  “It’s all right,” I shrug, blowing it off. Truth is, it doesn’t bother me at all that Robert and I have never been close siblings. We’ve always been complete opposites. Like I’m a decent human being and he’s a certified asshole. There was never anything to bind us together, other than our bloodlines. “Are you here alone?”

  “Yep. Couldn’t get the old lady to tag along tonight. In all fairness, we come to a lot of games.”

  “So big fans,” I remark.

  “Absolutely. That’s why I have to help you out whether you like it or not. And doesn’t seem like your friends are much help.”

  “No,” I agree. “They tell me all the time I’ll enjoy it more if I watch it in person, but it’s still hard when I don’t understand what is happening.”

  “And no boyfriend to help with that either?” Earl asks.

  “I think you already know the answer to that one, Earl. You were listening to my conversation with Taytum, after all.”

  He grins, caught red-handed fishing for answers. “Just double checking.”

  I’m ready to ask why that is, but then my friends return and the second period begins.

  Earl dives into teaching, while calmly assessing the game.

  He starts with the faceoff, explaining why the two centers fight for possession of the puck. It’s imperative to the game, he says, but I’ve already lost sight of the little black disc. He then lists what each of the twelve men I counted all on my own do. Centers, right wings, left wings, defensemen, and goalies. Whistles blow and Earl fusses about offside, explains offside—somethi
ng about the skaters feet position over the blue line—but all in all he’s losing me faster than the damn speed of the game clock.

  He attempts selling me on the entertainment part of the sport. The aggression, fighting supposedly, but I’m not sold on any of it until he starts talking statistics. Earl has to explain what the stats mean for the team and their players, but once he does I start seeing the guys as individual entities and not a jumble of people chasing after that minuscule puck with sticks.

  Despite my lack of interest, Earl has found ways to make me laugh, or laughs at me. Talking with him has been more fun than watching the game alone in silence. He has a voice of a speaker. That person who can spiel about utter nonsense, yet you’ll listen and hang onto every word.

  By the third period, the Fury draw a penalty and I begin to visualize the numbers and percentages in my head now that I know the power play is a beneficial tactic.

  Earl states how I picked an odd game as my first one like I had some kind of control over the turnout. Penalties are typically thrown left and right, he says, but it’s been a quiet game.

  Fury remain in the lead by two, and the power play gives them a five on four man advantage.

  “Why can’t they just draw another penalty to make it five on three? There’s a higher probability with a two-man advantage,” I remark, shockingly interested in the game and not taking my eyes off the players. They’re putting pressure on the net-minder, which Earl tells me is what we want anyway.

  When a man dives his whole body to the ice in order to block the puck, I wince as it ricochets off his shin. There’s that dedication Earl talked about.

  “I don’t know what I’m more proud of,” he murmurs, eyes remaining ahead. “That you have been listening to me, or that you just said two-man advantage with confidence.”

  “She’s a numbers girl,” Taytum says, leaning past me to speak with Earl. “I’m definitely more proud of her speaking the lingo.”

  “Does this mean you like hockey?” Earl asks with a smile.