Page 35 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)

TWENTY-FIVE

DEVAN

Now

C hris Brown's Freak blasts through the speakers, bass vibrating off the locker room walls, and I'm right in the middle of it, hips moving, arms thrown up like I just scored the game-winner.

The boys are losing it, singing, shouting, grinding on air.

Some are better than others, but it's the thought that counts.

I've got my towel slung over one shoulder and my shoes squeaking on the tiles as I spin and slide through the middle of the room like I own the damn ice and the floor it's built on.

The energy is electric, pulsing through every corner of the space, and I'm feeding off it like it's oxygen.

Even Sebastian's nodding along, arms crossed and slight smile on his face, his feet tapping to the beat.

That's practically a full-blown dance routine for him.

Derrick's laughing from the bench, shaking his head like we're all ridiculous, but he's got that glow, that post-win, post-‘my man just shut out Chicago in their own barn’ kind of glow.

His eyes are bright, following Bast's every move with undisguised pride.

We're all riding it, this high that comes after playing our hearts out and coming away victorious.

Sebastian gave a masterclass tonight. Shut down every critic, every doubter, every dumbass talking head who said he couldn't lead a team while ‘living a double life’.

Man's a machine. Smooth, silent, unbothered.

He didn't just shut out Chicago, he shut out the noise.

Thirty-eight saves like they were nothing, like he was born with those reflexes hardwired into his DNA.

The way he moved between those posts tonight was pure poetry.

Coach Lennox claps his hands, shouting above the music. "Hell of a game, boys! You earned this one. Now, get cleaned up, we fly out soon!" His voice carries that perfect mix of pride and authority that makes you want to run through walls for him.

Everyone cheers again, but I'm still buzzing.

Not just from the win. From everything. My life's looking like something I dreamed up when I was a kid staring at the stars through a cracked Texas window, making wishes I never thought would come true.

The team, the career, the family I'm building, sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming.

I've barely seen my penthouse in weeks. Glitzy's basically moved in with Lia, along with all her extra hair, her judgy stares, and her full-blown obsession with Chloe.

I swear, the cat thinks she's that baby's damn nanny.

Hops up on the counter every time a bottle's being made like she's about to grade Lia's performance.

She's taken to sleeping curled around the edge of Chloe's crib, this massive white guardian angel with attitude.

It's chaotic and beautiful and mine. Ours.

The way Lia rolls her eyes when Glitzy struts into the room like she pays the bills.

The way Chloe's tiny hands reach for that fluffy tail.

The way the house feels alive in a way my penthouse never did.

Tobias. . .he's right there too. Most nights we're at Lia's place, just the four of us, five if you count Glitzy, which, let's be real, she demands to be counted.

The house is big enough, warm enough, full enough.

I don't even miss the quiet. He fits into our lives like he was always meant to be there, cooking breakfast with Lia while I feed Chloe, or reading bedtime stories in that deep voice that makes even me want to drift off to sleep.

The three of us have fallen into a rhythm that shouldn't work but somehow does, like the universe decided to make an exception just this once in allowing us to find each other.

Even with how perfect it's been, I know this moment is temporary.

The media storm won't stay on Derrick and Sebastian forever.

Eventually, they'll come sniffing around for the next scandal, the next headline, and our situation, well, it's a full spread waiting to happen.

‘NHL Stars in Three-Way Relationship’ isn't exactly the kind of headline the league PR department dreams about.

I can already see the speculation, the invasive questions, the way they'll try to make something beautiful sound dirty.

Still, I'm hoping we can just make it through the holidays. Past Christmas. Through Lia's launch. Maybe into the playoffs before anything detonates. Just a little more time in this bubble we've created where the outside world can't touch us.

Speaking of Christmas, we need to decorate.

My munchkin needs some lights and tinsel.

So, does my Glitzy Princess. I've already ordered a miniature Santa hat for the cat, which will probably earn me a few new scratches, but it'll be worth it to see Chloe's face light up.

I want to give her everything I had and more as a kid; stability, joy, our own traditions we create together.

The kind of Christmas magic that stays with you forever.

I glance across the locker room and catch Tobias looking at me.

His gaze is hot and soft at the same time.

Familiar. The kind of look that carries history and promises all at once.

I give him a half-smile, and he returns it quick, hidden, like it's just for me.

We're still learning how to exist in the open, even if no one's really watching yet.

Old habits die hard when you've spent years keeping parts of yourself locked away.

Except Ridley. Of course he is.

I catch him watching us too. Not with judgment, more like.

. .curiosity. Caution. My gut tightens, but I throw on another smile and keep dancing.

His protective big brother instincts are always on high alert where Lia's concerned, and I can't blame him.

There's something in his eyes that tells me he's putting pieces together, and I'm not ready for that conversation.

Nothing to see here. I attempt to twerk my butt a little harder, adding an extra shimmy for distraction. Just Devan being Devan. The lovable goofball, the team's resident hype-man. Nothing complicated about that, right?

The flight home is quiet compared to the post-game chaos.

Everyone's got snacks, headphones, and pillows.

The cabin lights are dimmed, and the steady hum of the engines creates a cocoon of white noise.

I've got my hoodie pulled up, half-asleep against the window when I feel a shift beside me.

The seat creaks, and I sense a presence before I even open my eyes.

Jamie Maxwell gets nudged out of the seat like a pawn, and Ridley drops into the spot like a damn boulder. He doesn't say anything at first, just settles in like he belongs there, shoulder pressed against mine.

Tor's looming in the aisle, arms crossed like a very well-dressed, extremely nosy bouncer. His captain's face is on, the one that says he's about to have a ‘chat’ that you can't escape from.

"Hey, what's up?" I ask, blinking the sleep from my eyes, trying to play it cool. My heart rate picks up, though, because this formation, this ambush means they've been talking about me.

"Thought we'd check in," Tor says, eyebrow raised. His tone is casual, but there's an undercurrent of concern that makes my stomach clench.

"About what?" I ask hoping like hell they don't call me on my shit. I straighten up, trying to look more alert and less like a man with secrets.

"You," Ridley says, glancing sideways at me. "You've been real chipper lately. Suspiciously chipper. Everything okay with my sister?" His emphasis on ‘sister’ is subtle but unmistakable.

That's not a question. That's a brother probe. The kind that comes with invisible lie detectors and promises of pain if the wrong answer comes out.

"Lia's good," I say, careful not to overstep. "She's just stressed. Between Chloe, the launch, and everything else." I keep my voice steady, focusing on the facts, the parts I can share without opening doors I'm not ready to walk through yet.

Ridley mutters, “Stress I get. But you? You look like hell, D. Like you’re carrying more than you’re saying.” His eyes flick toward the front of the plane, to where Tobias is sitting and then back to me. Watching. Measuring.

Tor leans in, voice even. “He’s right. You’ve been quieter lately. Not just tired. Distracted.” His eyes don’t miss a thing, they never have. That’s what makes him such a good captain.

I laugh, short, nervous. “Part of the job.”

“Sure,” Ridley says, skeptical. “But jobs don’t explain the back and forth between you and Groves. One minute you two look ready to drop gloves, the next it’s like you’re sharing a secret. Make up your mind already.”

My throat works. Heat presses under my collar. I swallow hard.

Before I can answer, Sebastian drops into the seat across the aisle, arms folded across his chest. His presence alone changes the dynamic, adds weight to what was already a heavy conversation.

He grunts once, loud and deliberate. “If you need help. Ask. You want to talk. Talk.” Each word is measured, precise, carrying the weight of someone who understands complicated relationships better than most.

My throat tightens. Not just from the weight of the offer, but from who it’s coming from. Sebastian doesn’t do heart-to-hearts. He doesn’t do vulnerability. Here he is, offering both, because he sees something in me that needs it.

Tor nods. “You’ve always had our backs. We’ve got yours.” His voice is firm, unwavering, the same voice that’s pulled us through third periods when we’re down by two.

“Even if there’s more going on than you’re saying,” Ridley adds. “We just want to make sure you’re good.” There’s no accusation there, just concern, and something else. Understanding, maybe. The kind that comes from knowing what it’s like to have your heart pulled in directions you never expected.

I look between the three of them, my friends, my family, my brothers in everything but blood.

I’ve watched them all fight for the people they love, take hits for their happiness, and still show up for the next guy.

Through breakups and coming out and media firestorms, they’ve weathered it all without breaking stride.

They know something’s brewing. They’re just waiting for me to say it. To put words to the complicated tangle of emotions and relationships that’s become my life. How do I explain something I’m still figuring out myself?

“I’m good,” I say softly. “But when I’m not, you’ll be the first to know.” It’s not a lie, not exactly. I am good, better than I’ve been in a long time. I’m also terrified of losing it all, of having this fragile happiness shatter in my hands.

Ridley eyes me for another beat, then bumps his shoulder against mine. “Better be.” The warning is clear, but so is the affection behind it.

Sebastian grunts again, which I’m pretty sure is code for don’t screw this up. Coming from him, it feels like a blessing of sorts, an acknowledgment that sometimes the heart wants complicated things.

Tor smiles, squeezing my shoulder. “We’ve got you, D. Whatever comes next.” His grip is firm, grounding, a physical reminder that I’m not alone in this, whatever this turns out to be.

I nod, letting it settle deep in my chest. The acceptance, the support, the unspoken promise that they’ll stand beside me even if they don’t understand every choice I make.

I’ve never been more certain of anything.

These men, this team, they’re my foundation, the constant in a life that’s suddenly full of beautiful uncertainty.