Todos os capítulos de The Hockey billionaire's secret son : Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

POV: DaisyThe yellow construction-paper suns fluttered against the classroom window as the old radiator clanked loudly in the corner. I reached up and nudged the framed teaching certification back into place above my desk, but the nail had worn loose in the plaster, and it slid right back to its familiar, crooked tilt."You're going to yank that nail clean out of the wall if you keep fussing with it," Emma said, leaning against the doorframe with a cardboard tray of coffees. Steam still curled faintly off the lids.I dropped my hand, a genuine smile breaking through. "It took me years to get that piece of paper. It deserves to hang straight.""You did it while surviving on two hours of sleep and rocking a baby during lectures," Emma reminded me, crossing the room to set the tray down. "Remember when you brought Oliver's diaper bag instead of a backpack to that downtown seminar?""The professor didn't even blink when Oliver's rattle went off in the middle of his lecture," I recalled,

POV: JaceWith four minutes left on the clock, we were up 3-2 when the puck came to me in the neutral zone.I didn't stop to think. I just reacted. I skated right between the two defensemen, cut hard to the left, and shot the puck into the top corner of the net before the goalie could even react. The red light flashed, the horn blasted through Frost Arena, and the entire crowd stood up and erupted.That was my third goal of the night.My teammates crowded around me against the glass, pounding my helmet in celebration. Through all the noise, I could hear the entire arena chanting my last name over and over in a deafening roar: "Kingston. Kingston. Kingston."My fourth goal came with only ninety seconds left in the game. I grabbed a rebound and snapped a quick shot that barely made it past the goalie's pads. The arena absolutely blew up. Near our bench, a kid pressed right against the glass, screaming with a red face and holding up four fingers.When the final buzzer sounded, we had won

POV: JaceThe alarm went off at five, just like every other morning.I was out of bed before my brain could even register how little I'd actually slept. On autopilot, I brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face, and pulled on my sweats in the dark. I brewed a pot of coffee, left the mug half-full on the counter, grabbed my gear, and drove to the rink in complete silence as the empty morning streets rolled past.The arena was already hummed with activity when I arrived. The Zamboni was finishing its last pass, skate blades clicked against the concrete halls, and a few guys were already stretching near the boards. I laced up my skates at my usual stall, kept my head down, and hit the ice with the rest of the team.This morning practice was supposed to get us ready for Thursday's game. Instead, it tore me apart."You're skating like your skates are on fire, and you're mad about it."Ethan stopped next to me at center ice, spraying a sheet of shaved ice across my shins. I didn't an

POV: DaisyThe newspaper slid off my dad's lap and hit the kitchen floor. He sat completely still, pressing his hand flat against his chest."Dad?" I asked, stepping away from the sink."I'm all right," he whispered. His voice sounded thin, strained, and entirely devoid of air. "Just need a second, Daisy.""You don't look all right." I dropped the dish towel and rushed over to kneel in front of him. Seeing his hand pressed tight to his chest and his face turning ghostly pale brought every warning sign from the school nurse's office flooding into my mind. "Dad, tell me. Is it your chest? Is the pain going down your arm?""Daisy, I'm fine," he said, trying to wave me away. But his arm was heavy, and his fingers were violently shaking. "Just a little heartburn from dinner.""Dad, look at me." I grabbed his knees to steady myself. "Look at my face and tell me the truth. Answer me right now."He opened his mouth, but only a small, wheezing gasp came out. His lips turned a sickly gray, and

POV: DaisySunday mornings usually meant pancakes and cartoons at the kitchen table, but Oliver had been begging for a playdate with Sophie from his class all week. I'd swapped numbers with her mother, Karen, back at the fall parent-teacher night, and after a quick text back and forth, we'd settled on Sunday morning, right after breakfast.Dad came home from the hospital a few days ago. The doctors told him to rest, take his medication on time, and avoid ladders for at least a month. He complained about all of it the entire cab ride home. Still, he had been moving slower and staying quieter lately, which still caught me off guard some mornings."You sure you don't need me for anything before you go?" my father asked from his recliner, the newspaper folded in his lap. Some mornings I caught myself watching him a little too closely, just to make sure he was breathing easy, that his color looked right."I'm sure, Dad. There's coffee in the pot, and the phone's charged if you need me," I