Page 33 of Exes That Puck (The Honey Badger Puckers #4)

Finals week is always so chaotic. I look up from my laptop where I’m studying the hell out of my notes, watching a group of stressed freshmen argue over a psychology assignment. One girl looks close to tears. I can’t take it anymore, so I stand up.

“Mind if I help?” I ask, approaching their table.

Ten minutes later, they understand attachment theory well enough to tackle their essays. As they pack up, the crying girl stops by my table.

“Thank you so much. I don’t want to fail this class.”

“You’ve got this,” I tell her. “Psychology’s supposed to be hard. It’s about understanding people, and people are complicated.”

She nods and hurries off. I return to my studies, smiling at the irony of me giving advice about understanding people.

My phone buzzes.

Zeke: Game ends at 9. Pick me up at 9:30?

Kara: Good luck, baby. See you then.

I close my textbook and head back to our apartment. The place still smells like the dinner I burned last night—ambitious attempt at homemade pizza that ended up being cereal for dinner instead. Zeke pretended it was fine, which is how I know therapy’s actually working on him.

I’m changing into jeans when Payton calls.

“Are you watching the game tonight?” she asks.

“Going to pick him up after. Why?”

“Because there are scouts there. Like, NHL scouts. Emma saw it on the team’s Instagram.”

My stomach does a small flip. We haven’t talked much about what happens after graduation, mostly because we’re still figuring out how to be good at this relationship thing in the present. But NHL means leaving town. Maybe leaving the state.

“He didn’t mention it,” I say.

“Maybe he doesn’t know?”

“Or maybe he does and doesn’t want to jinx it.”

After we hang up, I sit on our bed staring at my phone. The smart thing would be to text him good luck again, maybe with some encouragement about the scouts. The old me would’ve called him fifteen times demanding to know why he didn’t tell me.

The current me recognizes this feeling in my chest—that familiar panic about being left behind—and does what my therapist has taught me. I name it. I acknowledge it. Then I choose what to do with it.

I’m scared he’ll get drafted and leave without me. I’m scared I’ll hold him back if he does get drafted. I’m scared of being proud of him and terrified for our future at the same time.

All of this can be true. None of it means I need to create a crisis about it tonight.

I grab my keys and head to the rink.

The parking lot is packed, which is unusual for a Tuesday night game. Inside, the energy feels different too—sharper, more electric. I spot the men in suits immediately, clipboards out, watching warm-ups with the kind of focus that makes my palms sweat.

I find a seat halfway up the bleachers and try to watch the game like a normal girlfriend instead of someone whose boyfriend might be about to have his entire life change.

Zeke plays like he doesn’t know the scouts are there, but I can tell he does.

There’s an extra precision to his passes, a calculated aggression that’s different from his usual style.

When he scores in the second period—a beautiful wrist shot that finds the top corner—the entire arena erupts. Including the suits.

We win 4-1. As the team celebrates on the ice, I watch Zeke scan the stands until he finds me. He raises his stick in a small salute, and I wave back, my heart doing complicated things in my chest.

Twenty minutes later, he emerges from the locker room looking like he’s trying very hard to appear casual.

“Good game,” I say when he reaches me.

“Thanks.” He slings his gear bag over his shoulder. “You ready?”

“Are you going to tell me about the scouts, or are we pretending they weren’t there?”

He stops walking and looks at me. “What?”

“Kind of hard to miss. Payton told me about it.”

We get to his truck before he says anything else. He tosses his bag in the back and leans against the tailgate.

“Coach pulled me aside after the game,” he says. “Three teams are interested. They want to meet with me next week.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Is it?”

I study his face. “You don’t look like someone who just got scouted by the NHL.”

“Because I keep thinking about what it means…for us.”

There it is. The conversation we’ve been avoiding.

“What do you want it to mean?”

He runs his hands through his hair. “I want to play hockey. I’ve wanted that since I was six years old.”

“But?”

“But I also want you. And I know that’s not fair to ask you to follow me around the country while you’re trying to build your own career.”

I sit on the tailgate next to him. Above us, the parking lot lights buzz and flicker, and students stream past heading to bars or back to dorms while we sit here talking about potentially upending our entire lives.

“What if we didn’t have to choose?” I ask.

He looks at me.

“What if we figured it out as we go? Like everything else we’ve done since we’ve been back together.”

He looks at me skeptically. “Long distance won’t be our strong suit. Remember when you went home for three weeks, and we broke up twice?”

“We were different then. We didn’t know how to communicate without fighting.”

“And now we do?”

“Most of the time.”

He laughs, but it sounds stressed. “Most of the time isn’t going to cut it when I’m in Calgary and you’re here finishing school.”

“Who says I’d stay here?”

The question surprises both of us. I hadn’t planned to say it, but now that I have, I realize I mean it.

“Kara, you can’t just follow me around—”

“I’m not following you around. I’m choosing to build a life that includes both of us pursuing what we want.”

“What about your degree?”

“What about it? There are graduate programs in other cities. There are internships and research opportunities and ways to make it work if we want it to work.”

He’s quiet for a long time, staring across the parking lot.

“Are you sure?” he asks finally.

“Yes.” I don’t think he realizes how much I’d put on the line for him. I would do just about anything.

He turns to look at me. “What if I don’t get drafted? What if this whole conversation is for nothing?”

“Then we’ll figure out that scenario too.”

He grins softly. “You make it sound easy.”

“Take this as your warning that it’s not. Always easier said than done.”

He reaches over and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. I love you too.”

“What if I drag you to some frozen wasteland in Canada?”

I smile. “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t freeze to death.”

He kisses me, soft and quick, tasting like Gatorade and possibility.

“So we’re really doing this?” he asks. “Whatever this turns out to be?”

I look at him—this boy who taught me what it means to love someone enough to fight for them, to change for them, to grow with them—and I know that whatever comes next, we’ll figure it out.

“Yeah,” I say. “We’re doing this.”

I hope you enjoyed this book! Thank you for reading. Please leave a kind review ?