Embrace

Book 4: Off the Ice

by Bal Khabra

Genres: General Fiction; Romance; Multicultural & Interracial Romance; New Adult Romance; Sports Romance

Synopsis

An unexpected spark between a hockey player and the coach’s daughter might cause them to cross the line in the next Dalton University book from international bestselling author Bal Khabra.

Kian Ishida is all about parties, hockey, and living in the moment. But when he realizes he’s headed to the NHL without his degree, his late dad’s one wish for him, he’s determined to make up those last few credits. Desperate for help, he joins a study group led by none other than Scarlett Kilner. She’s as gorgeous as she is smart. Too bad he doesn’t know yet that she’s his coach’s daughter.

After making a reputation for herself, all Scarlett wants for her senior year is to prove she’s more than her mistakes and graduate without tarnishing her well-respected father’s name. But when Kian Ishida, one of her dad’s star hockey players, joins her study group, things get complicated.

As Scarlett helps Kian, their study sessions turn into something more—stolen glances, lingering touches, and a connection neither of them expected. Kian has to decide what’s more important: the dream he’s worked for his whole life or the girl he never saw coming.

Release date: August 4, 2026

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 400

Sample

One

Scarlett

I'm going to prison.

Not because I've done anything illegal, but because I finally found him.

It has been exactly seven years and thirty-two days since I last saw Victor Hall, my biological father. I still remember the way his eyes lingered on me as the bailiff dragged him away in handcuffs after my testimony, a memory I've tried desperately to erase. And then, out of nowhere, I got the call.

I play the voicemail for the third time since I woke up.

"Hello, this is Risa calling from MCI-Norfolk. We received your request to visit an inmate at this facility. Due to high call and visitation volumes, our system is currently delayed. We are reviewing your request and will contact you as soon as your visit is scheduled. Thank you for your patience-"

"How's my Rosie girl today?" The voice sneaks up behind me, steady and familiar. Safe.

I quickly slide my phone back into my jacket pocket. A dark, guilty pit twists in my stomach as my dad passes by, brushing a gentle kiss on the crown of my head. He's wearing his royal blue windbreaker, Coach printed across the back.

Shane Kilner is the best hockey coach Dalton University has ever seen, leading our school to the most Frozen Four and ECAC victories in the country.

But more than that, he's my dad. Well, stepdad, if we're talking real titles.

Seven years ago, my mom breathed her first sigh of relief after seeing her husband-my biological dad-behind bars. She spent the next year finding herself again. It helped that Shane had always been there for her. They'd known each other since high school and had reconnected, and it was on their wedding day five years ago that he asked if he could adopt me.

He's been Dad ever since. I've always been his Rosie.

"Alive," I mutter, still tired from staying up late to organize my dorm. I even set up my All my love, complete with ornaments and a star tree topper.

I'm rooming with my best friend and Dalton's top figure skater, Sierra Romanova. Last year, she got injured during a competition, and her recovery was long and grueling. I took the year away from campus, doing my classes online so I could stay by her side in the hospital.

Now we're finally back, and not even the grimy communal showers of Iona House can stop us from making this year better than the last.

The back door creaks open, and my mom walks in after her morning run. Dad's already waiting with her coffee poured, like he somehow knows the exact second she'll step through the door.

He doesn't waste a second pulling her into his arms. "I'm all sweaty, Shane!" she complains.

"When have I ever cared?" he murmurs in her ear.

The giggle that bubbles out of her makes a smile stretch on my face. My mom was never a morning person. When I was younger, our mornings were quiet and tense, a rush to get dressed and slip out before Victor woke up and another fight began.

So even though it's in front of me now, I didn't grow up with this. I grew up with the hard truth that people who say they love you can also hurt you the most.

"Excited for your first day as a senior, anak?" My mom makes her way over to me, pressing a kiss to my forehead and rubbing her thumbs over my ears before she sits on the stool beside me.

Marielle Dionio-Kilner is a cool mom. She was the prodigal art student at every school she attended, from the Philippines to America, getting interest from magazines and art studios as early as age twelve. Then, at twenty, she met Victor Hall, the wide receiver for their college football team.

That's the year their lives unraveled. My mom got pregnant with me, Victor ruptured his Achilles tendon just days before the NFL scouting combine. They were dealt pretty shitty cards, but I never felt it, not until she couldn't hide it from me anymore.

My mom takes a sip of her coffee and, like clockwork, slides her half-eaten pandesal toward me. I'm already reaching for the plate, anticipating her movements the way I always have.

"Yup. I already started my readings, and I have two major assignments due this month before I can put in more hours at the shelter." I'm officially a senior, which means this is my last chance. No more switching majors last-minute. No more hiding in hospital rooms to avoid coming back to campus and face the mess I've made.

My mom's expression twists with concern. "You should have fun, too, Scarlett."

"Your mom's right. You'll miss your college days," my dad adds, sipping his coffee from the mug I got him one Christmas. It reads best dad ever. no dna required.

When I slip off my stool to wash my bowl in the sink, they're both watching me. "I can have fun after I graduate. I'll get to explore somewhere that isn't Connecticut." Even as the words leave my mouth, I hesitate.

My parents weren't exactly thrilled when I told them I wanted to leave after graduation. To them, it sounded like running away. To me, it felt like freedom, like finally giving myself an end date to everything here that hurts. Maybe that's why I went a little wild those first two years of college, chasing distraction wherever I could find it. I don't regret it, not all of it anyway. But Hartford holds too many ghosts. Every crosswalk, every streetlight has a memory carved into it. Even a trip to Costco feels like walking through the wreckage of what used to be.

It's not the memory of Victor getting frustrated with my mom and leaving us stranded in the middle of the store, forcing us to take a taxi home. It's the good ones that hurt the most. The time I sat on his lap while he let me steer his truck around the empty parking lot. The afternoon I got a nosebleed, he spent the rest of the day with his cool hand pressed to my forehead.

That little girl, who saw that version of Victor and believes he's still capable of being that man, she's the one who wants to see him again.

"It's not like you enjoy your first day back to coaching, Dad. I heard you complaining about the team last night." I shoot him a knowing look.

"That's because I have to deal with a bunch of boys who have thought only of women and beer all summer."

I walk over to him, patting his arm. "Oh, come on, it's not that bad. You still manage to get them to the Frozen Four."

"Except now my star seniors are gone, so I'm left with the rookies and two overgrown pieces of work who are full of surprises."

I've partied with most of his players, and not one of them knows I'm the coach's daughter. It's easy to keep that secret when no one can look at me and see him in my face, or when I go by my middle name instead of Kilner. No one asks questions, and I've never offered answers.

I've built my own world at Dalton, and now I'm desperate to burn it down.

Mom rubs a hand over Dad's back. "You're getting all worked up."

Coach Kilner-because when he's like this, he's all Division I NCAA hockey coach and less of my sweet, softhearted dad-takes a deep breath that looks more painful than relaxing. "I'm fine, mahal. Just one more semester," he mutters, taking his keys from the bowl on the counter. "You want a ride to study group, Rosie?"

My hand tightens around my phone, itching to call the prison back, but it'll have to wait. I give my dad a stiff nod that makes him study me a moment longer, that familiar Coach Kilner scrutiny written all over his face. He doesn't ask a single question, not even when I tell him to drop me at Porter's.

I've been coming here since I was sixteen, when my dad would stop by to celebrate with his team. I'd read in the staff room or take pictures in the photo booth. Now it's become tradition.

Inside Porter's is the familiar hum of the neon sign flickering overhead and the low murmur of the barback stacking bottles behind the counter. Scott, the owner, waves when he spots me.

"Another memory?" he asks.

"First day of senior year," I tell him. This photo booth is like my personal memory box-first day of high school, prom, last day of high school, first date, the list goes on.

I slide onto the narrow bench and pull the curtain shut. After popping in a few coins, the three-second countdown blinks across the screen, and four flashes go off. The thing is old as hell, so it takes forever to print the pictures. As I wait, I scroll through my social media, seeing the pictures of move-in day for the new sorority sisters. I have so many memories in the Beta Phi house that I almost miss it. Almost.

The picture falls out of the dispenser, and that's when I notice the time on my phone.

"Shit!" I shove the strip into my bag and bolt out the front door.

I'm already ten minutes late for my study group. I hate being late. There's so much that could go wrong when one thing is thrown off, and I really, really don't like surprises.

Two

Kian

I jump out of the bushes before she's even had the chance to exit her car.

The door to the gray Altima slams shut, and she steps out with folders upon folders, a laptop bag, and a mug of coffee. She has her phone wedged between her ear and shoulder as she talks.

After our early hockey practice, I only had one goal in mind: to make sure my courses were still confirmed. A five-credit course isn't handed to someone with my GPA. Getting it approved was a fluke. Athletes aren't a priority, and those spots usually go to prospective grad students.

"Ms. Lai!" I jump in front of my guidance counselor before I've thought this through.

Dorris Lai shrieks so loud I cover my ears.

Her coffee mug goes flying from her grip, the file folders she was juggling flutter to the wet ground, and her laptop bag slips from her shoulder and hits the concrete.

I cringe at the irreparable sound that comes from the bag.

She's breathing hard, staring at the coffee splatters on her gray pants and fuzzy black sweater. "Mr. Ishida," she says my name through clenched teeth. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Sometimes I wonder why she's so averse to my presence, but then I recall freshman year. I was covered in shaving foam for a rush week challenge and I bumped into her while I was bolting down the sidewalk.

I scratch the back of my neck, finally meeting her sharp glare.

"I need to talk to you about my transcript." I try to help her gather her stuff.

"Don't." She takes a deep, deep breath. "Don't touch anything." Then she collects her papers and tosses the ones covered in rainwater and coffee into a nearby trash can. Then I follow her into her office.

"I'll take those to the dry cleaner for you," I offer. "Or wash them by hand. I'm great at laundry. Ask Coach."

She sits at her desk, then gestures for me to take a seat. "That won't be necessary. Are you here about your missing credits? I received all eight of your frantic emails from last week. I would have gotten back to you."

I slide onto her desk, but the look she gives me forces me to the plastic seat. "But I need to make sure I've secured my spot in Advanced Stats. I got an email that even if it was approved during course selections, it's subject to change for priority students."

She raises a brow, typing on her computer. "That's because it's an advanced, senior-level course. It's not an elective. There's a reason it's five credits."

"Exactly. Paired with my electives, it's the exact amount I need to graduate."

"Mr. Ishida, you don't need Advanced Stats. Your GPA is the minimum needed for hockey, and you've got a career ahead of you. There are many athletes who come through my office knowing they're only here until they get called up."

I'm trying to understand why my academic adviser is advising against academics. It probably doesn't help that my super-senior status doesn't inspire confidence.

Even at practice this morning, Coach Kilner ran us into the ground until we were nothing but sludge. I'm sure the man was hoping he'd be done with us last semester. But we had to rotate leadership, which means new captaincy and updating lines. Dylan Donovan, my best friend, got the majority vote, and he was not happy. He was even more pissed when he found out I voted for him. It was supposed to be a harmless joke.

Dylan prefers to live by his own rules without having anyone follow. Now everyone is looking to him for leadership.

Dorris stares back at me with an irritated look, but it's nothing I haven't seen before. "So you're telling me I should just leave my degree incomplete, Dorris?"

"You have that option, yes."

It might be the three classes I flunked in sophomore year, or the electives courses I never bothered to attend, but I was hoping for a little encouragement from the woman today.

"I can't do that. I need to finish my classes." I need to graduate.

I thought I was on track to do it, until we got our final transcripts last semester. The plan was that either Dylan and I got called up early to the NHL or we'd finish school before heading to the big show. But we only just got drafted to New York this summer, which means we still have until January to finish school. It hit me like a bag of bricks that I'd get to live my lifelong dream of playing professional hockey . . . only to lose my dad's by not graduating before leaving Dalton.

"You can still walk the stage, if that's what you're worried about," she offers.

That's not what I'm worried about.

Four years ago, I got the worst phone call of my life. My dad died, and I had to get on the next flight to Japan for the funeral. He'd been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer six months earlier, and no one told me.

That whole year is a blur to me, and I'd rather it stay that way because I wasn't myself. My friends noticed, but to everyone else I was coping excellently. Coping. What a joke.