Page 23 of Puck Love

“Hey,”Van says, as heand Emmett come back from practice two days after our hunting trip. Emmett heads to the kitchen without so much as a hello, and I wonder if the novelty of having me stay has worn off already. As nice as it is to get away from the crazy of Nashville and the paparazzi, it’s almost too quiet, and I’m going out of my mind with boredom while Van and Emmett attend practice. So much so that I wouldn’t say no to another moose chase. I’d been here four days, and it is the longest I can ever remember not working. I’ve started a handful of songs only to scrap them all, and I’m still avoiding the TV like theplague.

“Hi. How wastraining?”

“Painful.” Van flops onto the couch beside me, but he winces and shrugs his shoulders up and down, as if he’s trying to smooth out thekinks.

“Are they working you too hard?” I frown. “I mean, shouldn’t you be resting if you have aninjury?”

“You’d think that, but no. Working through it is the only way to heal. We call itrehab.”

“Sounds likehell.”

“It is.” He yawns and sits up. “You wanna get out ofhere?”

I make a face. “Where would wego?”

“Not hunting.” He grins, and I can’t help but get swept up in his good mood. “It’s on theproperty.”

“Sure.”

“You’ll need to bundle up, though. You’re a size six,right?”

“Excuseme?”

“Your shoe size? Emmett had to Googleit.”

I frown. “Wow, that’s not creepy at all. Can you Google my bra size,too?”

“I don’t know, you want me to see? Then at least I’d know what size to get you.” He pulls out his phone, and I snatch itaway.

“God, there really is no limit to the useless crap people want to know about you because you’refamous.”

“I guess I’ve never thought about it that way. I’m used to having hockey stats broadcast for everyone to see, including my height, weight, and fat-to-muscle ratio. But I don’t look too hard at all the other shit that’s out there. I don’t care what people think—let them believe what they want. I know the truth. The people I care about know the real me. Everyone else doesn’tmatter.”

“I wish I could see it thatway.”

He shrugs. “Singing is what you do. It doesn’t mean you have to give your fans all of you. They can own that part, but only you get to own what’s in here.” He presses his hand to my heart, and for a beat I’m taken aback by how sweet a sentiment that is, but when his gaze turns to a leer I narrow myeyes.

“Be honest. You said that line just so you could cop a feel, didn’tyou?”

“Not just because.” I shove his hand away, and he chuckles. “Now, come on. We’re taking youskating.”

“What? No! I can’tskate.”

“Everyone can skate,” Emmett says, coming out of the kitchen with a sandwich in his hand. “It just takespractice.”

“But I’ve never done itbefore.”

“Then you don’t know youcan’t.”

“Van—”

“Do you trust me,Stella?”

“Yes,but. . .”

“Youdo?”

I stare in disbelief. “Was I supposed to answer no to thatquestion?”