All the Sauce, page 1
All the Sauce
Toni Aleo
Copyright © 2021 by Toni Aleo
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.
Created with Vellum
Jesseca,
* * *
I know life has been an utter shitshow, but I love you.
Deeply.
I will always be there for you!
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Also by Toni Aleo
Acknowledgments
About Toni Aleo
Introduction
Before you get started!
Why don’t you join my newsletter for updates on new releases, sales, deleted scenes, and more? Sign up with confidence. NO SPAM EVER!
* * *
JOIN NOW!
Chapter One
Angie
* * *
A long time ago…
* * *
I tongue my mouth guard as my daddy looks into my eyes, fixing my shoulder pads. He may not be my biological father, but he’s my daddy for sure. A man who stepped in to raise me when my own father couldn’t do the job. I love him. I love him so much.
My uncles were doing a good job helping my mom raise me, but they’re all getting married and stuff. So when Benji Paxton came into our lives, I was thankful my mom didn’t push him away like she had done before. But then, I don’t think Benji gave her the chance to push him away. He was all in from the jump, and now, she loves him just as much as I do.
And who could blame her? He’s perfect.
“All right, Paxy—” I nod, smiling around my mouth guard. I haven’t been a Paxton long, but he’s been calling me Paxy since I started playing. That’s what his teammates call him, and him calling me the same makes me feel all kinds of special. I always wanted a dad who put me first, and Benji does that. I wish he would have been my dad since the beginning. “We’re playing with the boys today, like you wanted.”
He doesn’t seem as confident as I feel. I’ve been begging my dad to let me play with my friends, Shelli and Posey, and the boys. Since Shelli and Posey’s twin brothers play hockey too, their dad always includes his girls in the boys’ practice. Today, I’m included too, and I’m stoked. I’m entirely too good for the group of girls that is currently playing. Hockey isn’t very popular for girls in Nashville, Tennessee, yet. But knowing Shea Adler and my dad, that will change.
Until then, I want to up my game. I want to be even better. I want to go to college and then, one day, the Olympics. I want to be a gold medalist for my dad. I want my name to be known everywhere. Just like him. Just like my uncles. All incredible hockey players in their own right. I want to be the female version of them.
Angela Paxton, gold medalist and winner of all the Cups.
Even though my mouth guard covers most of my teeth, I still smile widely at my dad. “I’m so ready.”
“It’s gonna be hard.”
“Which means it’s worth it.”
He grins proudly at me, tapping my helmet. “Got that right. Go get ’em, Paxy.”
I tap my blade to his shin as I skate toward Shelli and Posey. Shelli is staring off at Aiden Brooks—one of the helper coaches, and also her “future husband,” as she likes to tell us about a billion times—while Posey is hard-core listening to directions. She always knows what’s going on. Always has a clear picture of what we need to do. I swear, she acts like an adult. While I’m here to make my dreams come true, I also want to have fun.
Posey thinks too much. As for Shelli, I think she’s only here for Aiden Brooks. I don’t even think she likes hockey anymore, especially since she has been going to more and more auditions for various plays around Nashville. Her mom was a Broadway singer, and I think Shelli’s gonna follow in her footsteps. Posey is following in her dad’s footsteps, for sure.
Oh…Shea Adler.
I usually don’t think dads are hot, but Shea Adler could be in a boy band.
Watch out, One Direction.
He is so handsome, dark hair, blazing blue eyes, and huge. Massive. He towers over all of us, and when he speaks, everyone listens.
Shelli even stops staring at Aiden when her dad speaks.
“All right, boys. We have a new player today. Angie Paxton. Treat her like you would Posey and Shelli. Also, let’s have some fun.” He grins his wide grin at us, and if I weren’t focused on kicking some major butt, I would have swooned like I do over Harry Styles. Instead, I exhale and know I’ve got this.
But I learn very quickly that Shea and my dad take it easy on us girls. After my ninth lap, I feel as if I’m going to puke my guts up, but I refuse to. I think we’re done—surely we are—when Shea blows the whistle. But nope.
“All right, everyone throw their sticks in!”
Sticks? Are we seriously playing a game after that? I’m not going to make it. I look back at my dad, who has nothing but concern on his face, and it’s as if I get another jolt of energy. I’m not letting him down. Thankfully, I get on the team with Posey, so I know we’ll have some killer plays and she’ll set me up well for a goal. The downside? Owen and Evan Adler are on the other team. It’s almost not fair how good they are. Apart, they’re dynamic. Together, they’re lethal. They even have a weird-ass twin handshake.
Are you kidding me?
“Paxy, let’s go.”
I go to the face-off where Shea and, of course, Owen wait. I love doing face-offs, but I have a feeling I’m about to hate this. I don’t know what it is about Owen, but he gets on my nerves. He is so full of himself. For two years, he spoke in the third person! He skates around like he is God’s gift to hockey, and then he has this dimple. Just one. Like, where is the other one? Did Evan steal it?
I come to the circle, and Owen snickers. I glare, but his blue eyes are just full of trouble. Shea says something, drops the puck, and without any effort on my part, the puck is sent back to Owen’s defensemen before he knocks me on my butt. Hard. I get up, with more effort, but before I can skate after them, Shea grabs my shoulder pad, stopping me.
“What was that, Pax!”
I blink up at him. He’s never raised his voice at me. “I don’t know.”
He comes close, his blue eyes blazing. “The next time you line up with him, you go through him. Right through him. And when he’s on his ass, you look down at him and let him know who the hell you are! You understand me?”
No. But I’m not going to admit that. “Yes, Coach.”
“Good. Now, go.”
He lets me go, and I skate down to catch up with my team. Owen’s shot is caught by the goalie, and once more, we line up. Shea pats my back, hard, and I nod when his eyes meet mine. I’m breathing heavily, my heart is pounding in my chest, and I feel as if I’m about to be sick. I line up, staring Owen down as his eyes tease me. He really thinks he’s better than me.
He isn’t.
When the puck is dropped, I almost black out. I throw my hip into his gut, my shoulder into his chest, pushing hard as I kick the puck back to my defensemen. Luckily—because let’s be honest, it’s Owen Adler, he’s had skates on since he was in his mom’s belly—he loses his footing and falls back onto the ice.
I look down at him, spit my mouth guard into my cage, and with a wide grin, I say, “I’m Angela Paxton, and don’t you forget it.”
The look on his face makes my day, and as I skate away, I tell myself who I am.
Angela Paxton.
The world will know that name one day.
* * *
Every time Evan Adler walks into my office, I’m reminded of that memory.
Oh, how things have changed.
My freshman year of high school, I shattered my left wrist during a game, and no matter how much physical therapy I did, I could never shoot the way I used to. I had a lethal wrister, which my uncle Jude had taught me, and just like that, I couldn’t do it any longer. It sent me into a nasty depression because I knew my dreams were gone. I would never get that gold medal for my dad, and the world would never know my name like they did my uncles’.
If it weren’t for gym class in school, I never would have picked up a volleyball. Despite my injury, I was actually really good at volleyball, and soon, I came out of my depression to enjoy my junior and senior years. I even got a scholarship to the University of Bellevue, which was surprising. While it wasn’t hockey, it was still a sport, and of course, my parents were at every home game.
Until I stopped playing
.
I had every opportunity to play here at the university in South Carolina, but I really wanted to focus on my studies of anxiety in athletes. When I busted my wrist and my depression set in, my goals changed. I don’t know how many athletes I’ve met in my life who suffer from anxiety and/or depression. It’s scary but completely understandable. These kids put so much pressure on themselves to make it to higher levels of their sports, and when they fail, they don’t know how to cope. Or they come from really awful home lives, and they are trying to fight that trauma.
The newest area of study is ADHD. While having ADHD is essentially a superpower, its main side effect is anxiety. My goal is to do the research into finding out where the anxiety comes from, what meds help, and the patient’s overall progress. The best part? I’m still in the hockey world. My university’s program has linked up with the psychologists for the Carolina IceCats. When I was selected to be in the program, I knew I couldn’t turn it down. I knew I would help someone.
I just didn’t realize that someone would be Evan Adler.
While most of my memories are flooded with his twin brother, Evan is in them too. He’s that steady guy. The good one, the one who always looks cautious. He was kind and helpful but quiet. I never knew that, inside, he was battling his brain like no other. His anxiety jump-started in high school when things got real. He was being scouted; his dad was taking him and his brother to meet different owners and coaches. They’d go to camps for hockey all over the place, and their travel team was the best in the USA. When they were selected for the Olympics at sixteen, Evan faked a knee injury so he wouldn’t have to go. Owen went and brought home the silver, scoring two goals in the finals.
Not surprising, but Evan should have been there.
Unfortunately, his brain wouldn’t allow him.
And I don’t know if his brain will allow him to continue in the NHL.
Of course, he’s as gorgeous as ever. Dark hair, blazing bluish-green eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. He’s built like an ox and stands a solid 6’4”. He’s a beast—with crippling anxiety.
After taking his weight and his temp, I ask, “How are the meds?”
He shakes his head, his eyes so sad. “I stopped taking them. I had suicidal thoughts. Freaked my mom out.”
“I’m sure,” I say, my stomach dropping. He hasn’t responded well to meds. His therapy is going great, and I feel he’s coping well with a lot of the things outside the rink. But on it is a whole different story. He will literally stop skating and stand there. I’ve seen it; it’s terrifying. “Since stopping the med, have you had any more thoughts?”
“No, they went away maybe four days after I stopped the pills.”
“Good,” I say, writing that down. I hand him a questionnaire for our study, and as he gets started on it, I go to the computer to input data. I watch him as he fills out the questionnaire, and my heart breaks for him. “Have you told your brother how bad it’s been?”
He looks up at me. “Have you answered the phone when your parents call?”
I press my lips together, knowing the answer to my question. It’s hard having him in the program when we both know each other’s families. When he told his mom I was assigned to his case, his mom told my mom, who then called me ninety-seven times. Since I’m embarrassed about my life right now, I won’t answer the phone. That doesn’t play well with my mom or the rest of my family, but it is what it is. I am focused on my research and my studies. I want to graduate early and be hired on as a lead researcher. Dr. Tembalt already said I’ll be hired as soon as I’m done with school. I gotta get done. I want to help more people. Right now, I only have two players, but I want all of them. I want to really dig into the data to find out what is best for them.
As I look over the notes in Evan’s file, I’m taken aback by the doctor’s last entry.
Patient is considering leaving the NHL for college. I suggested this as a good option for him.
Oh Mylanta.
I glance over at Evan, and he looks up at the same time. His brows come in. “What?”
“Are you really considering going back home?”
His shoulders fall as he lets out a long breath. “I can’t keep making an ass out of myself when I get on the ice. I don’t think I’m made to play pro. I need to look at other options.”
“But you’re so incredible. We can get you past this.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”
In no way, shape, or form does that sound confident. I want to scream at him, remind him who the hell he is. But I have tried all three drug classes on him when it comes to anxiety medications. I have two more things I could try, but I think he feels defeated. I send a message about that, informing Dr. Tembalt of my predicament and asking for his advice.
“So, what’s the word, Angie? A new med?”
I don’t look at Evan as I read the doctor’s message back.
Let’s see how therapy goes first. I’m worried he may very well be done at this point.
The pain of my own dreams disappearing crashes into me as my eyes meet those of a childhood friend. Within seconds, my stomach drops because I fear his dreams are about to do the same thing as mine.
Melt away faster than a sheet of ice.
Chapter Two
Owen
* * *
I am going to kill D’Artagnan Miklas.
It is his fault I’m sitting across from a total nutjob.
“What’s your favorite color?”
Normal enough question, but Amanda Fills’s behavior is anything but normal. She holds a pen in her hand and taps it to her lip as she awaits my answer.
“Purple and black.”
Her brows touch. While she may be hot as hell, with a great set of tits and an even better ass, I am counting down the seconds until this date is over. I’m usually highly attracted to blondes with green eyes, but not today. I should have dodged the setup, but I’ve been sort of lonely. Tired of the same hookup song and dance. Don’t get me wrong, I love a great hookup with no feelings whatsoever. But I don’t know. Lately, it just hasn’t been doing it for me. Maybe it’s the South Carolina women. It seems as if everyone I meet wants to play games. I don’t have time for that. Be honest, be straightforward, and be real. That’s not a hard request.
But apparently, for that, I have to date women who bring a notebook and pen to our date to take notes on me.
I’m not even fucking kidding.
“Purple and black? That’s an odd combination.”
“Actually, it’s not for me. My dad played for the Nashville Assassins when I was younger, and my mom owns the team, which is how they met. My oldest sister is the general manager, and my second-oldest sister is a special teams coach for them. Their colors are purple and black. It’s said that we Adler kids bleed purple and black.”
She looks utterly confused. “But you play for the IceCats, I thought?”
“I do.”
“Why don’t you play for the Assassins?”
I shrug. “I was drafted by the IceCats.”
“Huh.”
“It’s okay. One day, I’ll play for them,” I say, hopeful. It’s a dream of mine. To play for the team I grew up cheering for. The team everyone I love is involved with. The team my dad retired from. It’s hard on my parents to cheer for the IceCats when they’re so Assassins driven, but it’s cool. We’re making it work.
We just don’t talk on days we play each other.
