Page 48 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

We go out harder in the second. I dig deep and shut everything else out until I see an opening along the left boards.

Russo’s waiting on the far post. I send the puck low and sharp.

He buries it.

The goal light flashes red. The horn blares. The crowd erupts.

But the other team doesn’t stay down. They slip one past our goalie before the period ends, tying it up again.

We hold them through the rest of the second. Still tied. And by the time we’re in the third, I’m soaked in sweat, lungs burning, but there’s no slowing down. Not tonight.

Not when it means everything.

Final minutes. One more play. One rebound kicked out too far. I’m there.

I don’t think, just act. The blade of my stick meets the puck and sends it flying. Top shelf, glove side.

Goal.

The arena explodes. My pulse does, too.

Final seconds drain off the clock. The buzzer blares.

We won.

The SteelClaws are going to the playoffs.

The guys swarm me. Gloves fly. Russo howls something unintelligible before practically tackling me.

I’m grinning, breathing hard, heart pounding like it might punch straight through my ribs.

Not just from the game.

From all of it.

The moment. The noise. The weight of everything we’ve been carrying is finally giving way to something else.

I look up once more.

Ava’s on her feet, hands cupped over her mouth. She’s grinning. Wide, bright, unguarded.

She’s clapping, cheering so hard it looks like she might lose her voice. Everyone else in her row is right there with her.

But I only see her.

Chapter Thirteen

AVA

His mouth is on my neck, burning with intensity, a feeling so real it almost makes me gasp. I feel his hands, warm and sure, sliding up my back, pulling me closer. His breath is hot against my skin, each kiss moving lower, across my collarbone. I arch into him, desperate for more, feeling his body press against mine. I gasp, my body aching for more, and his mouth moves lower, trailing wet heat down my stomach.

I wake with a sudden inhale, my skin flushed, heartbeat racing.

For a moment, I’m disoriented. The dream felt so real.

Then it rushes back. The guest room, the soft morning light pressing through the curtains, the quiet hum of the house.

And no Jackson in my bed.