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

“Are you ready?” Riley asks, lacing his fingers with mine as we make our way around the opulent fountain at the center of the circular drive. I swallow as I gaze up at the white stone steps leading to the grand wooden double doors of the mansion before me. Those columns seem to reach to the heavens.

“Yes.” No. This is insane.

And it’s just the house they spend their summers in. Just.Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

My eyes drift to the sprawling stone facade to the gleaming windows that line the upper floors. Ivy creeps up one side, giving the villa an old money charm.

How could I be ready to walk into this castle of a home? I’m a trailer girl.

Even when my life was more stable, we had a one-story house with four rooms—just enough for us. But this…I look up at the towering enormity before me. It’s just way too much.

“Then let’s go. I should warn you; my parents aren’t the friendliest. Or friendly at all.”

With a deep breath, Riley leads me up the white stone stairs and rings the bell. A booming chime resonates throughout the entrance. We wait and my heart does its own dance behind my rib cage.

More seconds pass.

I inhale the scent of freshly cut grass.

The fountain splashes away behind us.

“You don’t have a key?”

Riley shakes his head. “I’m just tolerated here, Liora. The minute I moved out, that key was gone.”

Bending down, he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, his touch around my waist growing more reassuring. In this moment, it strikes me that what he craves is stability. A reminder that he’s not a mere possession. Something his parents own.

The entrance slides open, and a woman, who appears to be in her early sixties, greets us.

From the google search I did before, I know it’s his mother, Eleanor.

Her red mouth stretches into a wide grin as she says, “Riley, darling! You’re finally here!”

But nothing, except that huge mouth with all those way-too-white teeth, moves on her face. Not one wrinkle. She looks unreal in her shiny white designer dress and that pinned-up brown hair.

I squeeze Riley’s hand and we enter the grand foyer that seems to consist of nothing but white marble.

I glance down at my simple red dress, feeling underdressed and out of place.

“You look beautiful,” Riley whispers, flashing me a hint of that cocky grin of his.

Heat rises to my cheeks. Shit. Is it that obvious that I don’t like it in here?

“It took a long time for you to arrive,” Eleanor says, and Riley’s smile drops.

“We had to wait for Rosalie’s classes to finish,” Riley says, and I almost do a double take when I see him.

It’s not the Riley I know.

There isn’t even a hint of that cockiness in his smile or a twinkle in his eyes anymore. He simply stands there, a mere shadow of his lively self, watching as his mother closes the door behind him.

If it weren’t for the way he grips my hand and the racing of his pulse, I might think he had turned into a statue. I don’t want him to be like this. It’s not him. It’s not my Riley.

“Ah yes, this poor girl, always so hard on herself.” She sighs and looks at me. And the whole foyer turns colder than it already is.

“Mother, this is Liora James, my girlfriend,” Riley says, and at the word girlfriend my stomach does something funny again. His girlfriend.

Her critical gaze sweeps over me head to toe.

“Lovely to meet you, dear. I’m Eleanor Elise Huntington.” She air-kisses both my cheeks and a wall of sweet perfume hits me right in the face. “Shame on you, Riley, for not bringing her around sooner! Let’s have a mimosa, shall we?”

She doesn’t even wait for an answer and struts off, her high heels click-clacking loudly as she goes.

Who introduces herself with her second name?

I just blink and blink again, but Riley saves me and leads me along as I stumble behind him like a toddler learning to walk for the first time.

This woman managed to insult Riley twice in less than five minutes.

This isn’t a mother.

I watch her swaying hips and start to feel a twinge of sadness for Riley.

“It’s just that these rooms are so much bigger,” Riley says, guiding me through spaces easily double or even triple the size of my small trailer. There are pictures of people and places I don’t know all over the walls, with shiny frames catching the light of fancy chandeliers. And there are big bunches of flowers everywhere, each larger than my head.

“You don’t need to apologize,” I say.

“It’s just…” He takes a deep breath and restarts. “I know they’ll try to make you feel inferior, like you’re insignificant compared to their accomplishments. I’m sorry for bringing you here and potentially subjecting you to their belittling ways, but just having you by my side makes me feel…better.”

My heart swells and I stand on my toes to give him a kiss. “No matter what they say, they can’t change how much I like you, Ri.”

Eleanor leads us through a round marble archway, and thank goodness, I didn’t know how rich he is earlier. I was already impressed by his penthouse. But this villa—it’s like those mansions in movies that make you wonder what rich people do with all those rooms.

Riley grew up like a prince.

I feel like my ten-dollar shoes shouldn’t even be walking on this ground!

We enter a formal dining room with a long oak table. At the head sits a distinguished older man in a dark gray suit—Henry Huntington. Picture a man in his sixties with impeccably styled salt-and-pepper hair, the kind that looks effortlessly perfect yet undoubtedly requires regular trips to an exclusive barber.

He’s reading the newspaper and doesn’t glance up to us until he seemingly finished reading the article, but when he looks at us, I feel like I’ve time traveled.

Riley is his spitting image.

But where Riley is smug, there he is, contained, where Riley’s hair is wild and sexy, there is his, tamed and solid, where Riley’s gaze is full of life, there is his father’s, deadly.

He stands up, straightening his gray suit jacket, and an icy glare washes over me. Same whiskey eyes.

Riley clears his throat. “Dad, this is—”

“You couldn’t be bothered to dress up, son?” he interrupts gruffly, eyeing Riley’s jeans and untucked white button-down. I feel Riley tense beside me.

When Henry looks at me, he raises an eyebrow and swiftly goes back to Riley. Not saying a word.

“It’s just a family dinner,” Riley says.

“You introducing your first girlfriend to us is something special, don’t you think?” he says, and finally nods at me, and that’s all I get for a greeting. So I nod back. Prick.

“It sure is, but I don’t need to dress as posh as you to welcome people into my life,” Riley says.

“No, you do it naked and weekly. We know.”

His mother laughs in a high-pitched voice, sitting down across from him, and since no one chimes in, I feel awkward. Why would she laugh at a comment like this?

Riley lets out a sigh that seems like he saw it coming, almost like he knew this was bound to happen.

“Why don’t we all take a seat?” Eleanor suggests.

Riley walks me over to a wooden chair at the long side of the table. With a gentle gesture, he pulls out the chair for me and I sit down. His father takes his seat at the head of the table once more, his eyes still locked on Riley’s every move.

I just can’t help but feel sorry for him.

There’s no love in either of his parents’ eyes.

My own mother loves me with every fiber of her being and I miss her. We may not have much, but I know that I mean more to her than any material possessions ever could. I bet Riley’s father would trade him for his wealth any time.

Riley sits down next to me, his hand resting reassuringly on my thigh.

Part of me feels like we should refrain from touching in front of his parents, especially when they are so rigid and distant, but when I try to remove his hand, he holds onto mine firmly. The look he gives me tells me he doesn’t care about what his parents think. And his hand remains because he wants it there.

Just then, Rosalie, in white sweatpants and a crop top, bounds in and I almost gasp.

She kisses both parents on the cheek before plopping into the chair opposite from us. She has her hair up in a messy bun and grins at me, then she looks at her father.

“Daddy? Why the scary face? Loosen up a bit, it’s just food.” She then touches his hand, and he actually smiles at her. I can’t believe it.

It doesn’t take a body language expert to know that this man loves his daughter.

Henry touches her hand softly and suddenly, there is another man sitting there. And my heart sinks deeper and deeper. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. The man I thought was cold and heartless, actually has emotions. It’s hard to believe that under his tough exterior lies a beating heart, but it seems like it only beats for one person—his daughter. No one else seems to matter to him.

How can you love one child so much and the other just not at all? My heart breaks for Riley.

I look up to him, but he doesn’t even register it. He studies his hand on mine, as if I’m the only thing that matters right now, and when our eyes meet, I know this is normal to him. I think of my mom, how she cuddled me during the night, kisses me even now on the forehead, demands me to call her each day, which I don’t do because I don’t have the time, but still. I can tell, Riley never had this feeling once.

“How do you feel?” Henry asks, still gazing at his daughter as if she’s God reincarnated.

“Fine,” she says, and something dims in her smile too. “I got the lead role for Swan Lake.”

Eleanor claps her hands together. “Oh honey! This is amazing.”

“Congratulations,” her father says. “You earned it.”

Rosalie smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

A suit-clad waiter emerges with a tray of appetizers and mimosas.

“Riley, tell us about your latest game,” Rosalie says, already drinking her orange mimosa.

“I heard your performance was…lacking,” his father says, swirling bourbon in a tumbler.

Riley’s jaw clenches. I squeeze his hand under the table, heart aching at the hurt in his eyes. I can’t take this look on his face anymore. I’m fuming.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Huntington, but this is wrong. Riley achieved one hundred and fifty points in only one season, and he didn’t even play in every game. He’s most likely going to get the Conn Smythe Trophy for the most valuable player. He has exceptional skills and, if he keeps up his game next season, he could even break Gretzky’s—”

“No one breaks Gretzky’s record ever. And I think he’s closer to the most penalty minutes record than Gretzky.” He drinks his bourbon, and I can’t help but gulp. Didn’t he hear me? I look to Riley, but he just smiles at me.

“Thank you,” he says and kisses my cheek.

“It’s nothing to thank me for, this was all you. You are incredibly skilled, Riley.” I say it loud enough for everyone to hear.

I remember how devastated Riley was when Derek hit him and told him he didn’t deserve his spot on the team. His dad had planted these thoughts in his head, manipulating him into believing he wasn’t good enough. But it’s not true. Riley is amazing, and I want to make him see his own worth so badly.

His father scoffs at that, and I am ready to punch that man.

I understand Riley. I wouldn’t want to think that this man owns my career for even a second.

The interrogation continues as we start the posh meal, his father’s words cutting deeper by the minute. Despite Rosalie’s attempts to defuse the situation, it’s clear that Riley’s father hates him. They don’t even know him well enough to remember that he’s allergic to celery, which I luckily notice in the salad right away. When Riley doesn’t eat, his father insists he stop the nonsense, showing no concern for whether Riley’s throat might swell up. I take the salad and hand it to the waiter, glaring at his father as if I could kill him on the spot. He doesn’t even so much as blink.

But no, it’s not actually hate that drives Riley’s relationship with his father. I don’t think so. It’s more like a twisted sense of control. The man seems to have some sort of all-knowing power over Riley’s life—from the minutiae of his meticulously planned diet to the tiniest slipup like indulging in a burger last wee—his dietitian says yes, his father, apparently no. Sure, strict diets are necessary in sports, but even my coach has told me that sometimes we need to loosen up and indulge to avoid stress and releasing cortisol, which can weaken muscles and mess with our mood and immune system. So yeah, occasionally we gotta give our body what it craves—some downtime. It seems Riley’s father only shows love, affection, and respect if Riley acts in a way that he approves of. It’s almost as if he wants to manipulate his son into behaving a certain way by using love as a weapon.

I’m just glad Riley doesn’t care about making his father happy. Screw him and his oppressive ways. I mean, even our minds need a break from the constant pressure of sports. We can’t always be perfect robots following every rule. Thank goodness Riley found a way to escape this man’s clutches, even though he gives it his all to keep that leash around his son’s neck. And in some way, I think he managed just that.

But Riley’s gotta cut that last cord and let go of that deadbeat in his heart.

His father is like a parasite, holding him back from being the man he wants to be. And even though he’s doing everything right, just a tiny flicker of Daddy’s dearest hold is still squeezing him tight, threatening to drag him down with all that toxic shit. I’ve seen where Riley comes from—nothing but a messed-up childhood with only his sister to rely on. But it’s time for him to break free and rise above it all. That’s what families are supposed to do, right? Lift you up instead of bringing you down.

Sitting at the lavish dinner table, surrounded by perfect manners and low-fat cuisine, I can’t help but notice the tension between Eleanor and Henry. She babbles on about selling houses, trying to fill the awkward silence left by his constant interruptions. And then there’s Rosalie, the glue that holds this dysfunctional family together. The only one they all seem to truly love. But as I continue to bite my tongue, feeling like an outsider, I watch how she plays her role. Always vying for attention, deflecting their scrutiny from Riley.

It’s like she’s been protecting him her entire life. And maybe she has.

The waiter sets down a fancy chia pudding with exotic fruits I can’t even pronounce, and Henry clears his throat, turning to me.

“Do you still keep in touch with Sandford Hayes?” he asks, causing my spoon to clatter against my plate.

What did he say?

Eleanor gasps in shock at the noise I caused, while Rosalie stops scrolling through her phone and gives me a concerned look.

But I can’t hear their voices or even feel Riley’s hand on mine.

All I can focus on is the name that has sent me spiraling into panic, that made my whole body shiver, my throat dry—Sandy.

My body tenses up even more and sweat beads form on my forehead.

Breathe, I remind myself. Just breathe.

With trembling hands, I stir the pudding around in an attempt to distract myself. “No, Mr. Huntington,” I manage to say in a forced calm tone. “I haven’t seen my former coach since I left the Olympics.”

Sandy. Don’t think of him. Breathe. Breathe!

“Sandford reached out to me,” Henry reveals, and I look up at Riley’s father with pleading eyes.

Stop saying his name. Please. Stop.