Page 35

Chapter 35

Puck Around and Find Out

Miles

I unlocked the door to our house, holding it open for Nora as she walked through the doorway. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy with the weight of defeat.

Game One of the Stanley Cup Finals. Lost.

Not just lost but demolished. The Pacific Storm had run us over like we were amateurs playing our first hockey game. The fact that Nora’s father was on the opposing bench as head coach only added another layer of complication to an already shitty night.

“Want tea?” I asked, tossing my keys into the bowl by the door.

Nora nodded, her hand resting on her very pregnant belly. “Please. I’m going to change into something that doesn’t make me feel like I’m being slowly suffocated.”

“Take your time.” I gave her a tired smile. “Carter texted that he’s grabbing food. Dom’s getting his shoulder worked on but should be home soon.”

“Is his shoulder okay?” Worry lines appeared between Nora’s brows.

“It’s precautionary. It was that hard hit in the second period.”

She hesitated, looking like she wanted to ask more, then seemed to think better of it. We’d made an unspoken agreement in the car: no hockey talk tonight. Not when the wounds were still fresh.

While Nora disappeared upstairs, I filled the kettle and pulled out two mugs, moving through the kitchen on autopilot. My mind replayed key moments from the game, dissecting each missed opportunity, each failure, most of them mine.

The breakaway I’d botched in the first period. The power play where I’d lost the faceoff that led directly to their shorthanded goal.

The kettle’s whistle jolted me back to reality.

My brain still wanted to pick apart every screw-up from the game like if I cataloged them hard enough, it would somehow fix the score. But what good was that going to do now?

Yeah, I messed up. And yeah, it sucked. But Nora didn’t need me wallowing. She needed tea. She needed me. Just me. Not the guy who tried to fix everything before it broke, or the guy who apologized for taking up space.

Just Miles.

I poured the water over a decaf tea bag for Nora and a chamomile tea bag for me and carried the mugs into the living room, trying to leave the weight of the loss back in the kitchen.

Nora was already curled up on the couch in flannel pajama bottoms and one of my old college shirts that stretched accommodatingly over her belly. Her hair was piled messily on top of her head, and she’d removed her makeup. She looked younger, softer, and utterly beautiful.

I handed Nora her mug, watching as she gratefully wrapped her fingers around it, inhaling the steam rising from the surface. She shifted on the couch, wincing slightly.

“Back hurting?” I sank down beside her, my body suddenly reminding me of every hit, every sprint, every battle along the boards.

“Everything is hurting. I’m pretty sure GB is using my spine as a dance pole.” She took a cautious sip of her tea, then leaned toward me with a little groan. “Mind if I...?”

“Come here.” I lifted my arm, creating a space for her to tuck herself against my side.

She nestled into me, her head finding that perfect spot between my shoulder and chest. Her belly pressed against my side, and I felt a distinct little thump.

“Your daughter is saying hello.” Nora smiled up at me, the exhaustion of the day softening around her eyes. “Or possibly asking why you couldn’t keep possession of the puck in the offensive zone during the third-period power play.”

I winced. “Low blow, Hastings.”

“Sorry.” She patted my thigh. “No hockey talk. I’m cranky and ready for this baby to come.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. It was still strange sometimes, living here with all of them. Our weird, wonderful arrangement that had started as a solution to a problem and morphed into... this.

“What do you think we’ll tell her?” My fingers absently traced patterns on her shoulder. “About all of this. When she’s older, I mean.”

She looked thoughtful, her free hand moving in slow circles over her belly. “The truth, I guess? Age-appropriate versions as she grows up.”

“Which version of the truth? The one where her mom had a wild threesome and wasn’t sure which guy knocked her up? Or the one where I was pining over you and decided to pretend to be her dad while her actual dad was panicking about becoming a father?” I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped.

“Both? Neither?” Nora’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “When you say it out loud, it sounds like the plot of a really bad soap opera.”

“Or a really good one.”

She tilted her head up to look at me. “Maybe we start with the easy part: that a bunch of people who care about each other found a way to make a family that works for them. The rest can wait until she’s... I don’t know, thirty?”

“Solid plan.” I pressed my lips to the top of her head, taking in the faint smell of her shampoo. “You know what’s weird?”

“Besides literally everything about our situation?”

“Besides that.” I smiled against her hair. “If I could go back to the day you walked into that first team meeting and tell myself where we’d end up... I wouldn’t believe it. But I also wouldn’t change it.”

Nora’s hand found mine, our fingers intertwining. “Not even the part where you’re constantly sharing a bathroom with Carter’s ridiculous skincare routine?”

“Small price to pay.” I squeezed her fingers. “Even if he does use my towel when he runs out of his fancy Egyptian cotton ones.”

“He does not.”

“He absolutely does. Dom caught him once and threatened to use his ridiculously expensive imported moisturizer to polish his skate blades.”

Nora dissolved into giggles, then suddenly clutched her belly. “Oof, don’t make me laugh. GB does not appreciate it.”

“Sorry, little one.” I moved my hand to rest on the swell of her stomach, feeling another kick in response. “You know, for a kid who’s not genetically mine, she sure has my attitude about being told what to do.”

“Miles Collins, are you taking credit for my daughter’s stubbornness? Because I’m pretty sure that’s coming straight from her father’s DNA. The man argued with me for twenty minutes yesterday about whether pineapple belongs on pizza.”

“It absolutely does not.”

“See? Stubborn.” Nora shifted to find a more comfortable position. “But you’re right. When I pictured my life, it wasn’t living with three men while helping coach two of them through the Stanley Cup Finals against my dad’s team. But here we are.”

“Here we are,” I echoed, feeling a surge of protectiveness. “And you know what? GB’s going to have the best childhood ever.”

Nora hummed in agreement, her body relaxing against mine as the tension of the day began to melt away.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Nora groaned, clearly reluctant to move from her comfortable position.

“Want me to get that?” I offered.

“Please. It’s probably Dad with his obligatory ‘good game, honey’ text that we both know is bullshit because he’s actually doing a victory dance in his hotel room.”

I reached for her phone, glancing at the screen. “It is your dad, but it’s not about the game.” I frowned, reading the message preview. “He says to turn on Puck Around and Find Out. ”

Nora sat up straighter, looking suddenly alert. “That’s weird. Dad never watches those sports talking-head shows.”

A knot of unease formed in my stomach as I reached for the remote. Whatever prompted Brett Hastings to tell his daughter to watch a hockey podcast right after their teams played couldn’t be good news.

I pulled up the streaming app and navigated to the latest episode of the popular hockey gossip podcast that every organization despised. The episode thumbnail showed the host, Troy Maxwell, sitting with a guest I recognized immediately.

“Is that...?” Nora’s voice trailed off, her body going rigid beside me.

“Garrett Wilson.” Dominic’s father. The knot in my stomach tightened.

I pressed play, already dreading whatever was about to unfold on our screen.

“Joining us tonight is hockey legend Garrett Wilson, whose son Dominic Wilson is currently playing for the Tri-State Titans in the Stanley Cup Finals,” Troy was saying, his professional smile firmly in place. “Garrett, thanks for being here.”

“My pleasure, Troy. Always happy to talk hockey.” The elder Wilson’s voice was smooth and practiced, the voice of someone who’d done a thousand interviews.

“Let’s get right to it. There’s been some unusual buzz around the Titans’ organization this season, particularly regarding your son and his... domestic situation. Care to comment on that?”

Garrett’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, Troy, I think that’s putting it mildly. What we’re seeing is a complete breakdown of professional boundaries. My son is living with his skating coach, a woman who happens to be pregnant with his child, while simultaneously claiming to be in a relationship with both his captain and another man with financial ties to the team.”

“Fuck.” I felt Nora stiffen beside me.

“That’s quite an accusation,” Troy leaned forward, clearly salivating at the drama. “You’re suggesting impropriety within the Titans’ organization?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m stating facts. Nora Hastings was hired as a skating coach, but she’s clearly much more involved with the team than her professional capacity allows. And let’s not forget that her father is coaching the opposing team in the Finals. You have to wonder about the information being shared across that dinner table.”

“Motherfucker,” Nora whispered, her hand clutching mine so tightly my fingers started to go numb.

“So, you believe there’s a conflict of interest?”

“At minimum.” Garrett’s expression hardened. “The league has clear guidelines about fraternization, and this goes well beyond that. We’re talking about a coach sleeping with multiple players while feeding information to her father on the opposing bench. If that’s not a conflict of interest, I don’t know what is.”

I paused the interview, unable to stomach any more. Nora was trembling beside me, her face drained of color. The warm, intimate bubble we’d been wrapped in minutes ago had completely evaporated, replaced by the cold reality of what we were facing. From cozy to catastrophic in the span of a hockey podcast.

She couldn’t seem to find words, her eyes wide with shock. “He just aired our entire life on national television. And accused me of—” Her voice broke. “Of compromising the team.”

I pulled her against me, rage building in my chest. We were by no means keeping things secret between the four of us, but we had decided to keep specifics of our relationship and the baby private. Management agreed, and for the most part, our relationship hadn’t taken up much space in hockey news.

Tears welled in Nora’s eyes. “What are we going to do? Dom’s going to—” She cut herself off, but I knew what she was thinking.

Dominic was going to lose his mind. His father had publicly outed our relationship, questioned the integrity of the team, and implied that Nora was feeding information to the opposition.

I was already reaching for my phone. “We need to call Dom before he sees this somewhere else.”

As if on cue, the front door slammed open. Heavy footsteps thundered through the entryway before Dominic stepped into the living room, his face a storm of fury and pain.

“Have you seen it?” His voice was dangerously quiet, his body vibrating with tension.

One look at our faces gave him the answer.

“That fucking bastard.” He started pacing in front of the coffee table, fists balled at his side. “He couldn’t stand that I was happy and ignoring him. That I was making this work without him. So he had to burn it all down.”

He stopped suddenly, his eyes falling on Nora, and his demeanor completely changed. “Baby, are you okay?” He dropped to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms around her, placing his cheek against her belly.

Nora nodded wordlessly, her fingers threading into Dominic’s hair, her other hand still gripping mine. I saw the tears she was trying to blink back, the way her jaw clenched like she was holding everything together by force of will alone.

“I should’ve known,” Dominic murmured against her stomach. “This is what he does. He sees something he can’t control, and he tries to destroy it.”

“We’re not destroyed.” Nora was already rallying and pulling herself together. “We’re pissed off, but we’re not destroyed.”

Dominic lifted his head, eyes locking with hers. “I’m not going to let him twist this. I’ll handle it.”

“Dom,” she started, but he shook his head.

“No more hiding. No more playing nice. He wants to turn this into a scandal?” He stood, his face hard with purpose. “Then I’ll face it head-on.”

“Are you sure?” I already knew the answer.

He nodded, his jaw set with a determination I knew all too well from the rink; an unshakable resolve that made him such a formidable competitor. The muscles in his neck bunched under the collar of his shirt as he squared his shoulders.

“If he wants a war, he picked the wrong damn family.”

Something fierce and protective surged in my chest at his words. Because that’s what we were now—a family—unconventional as hell and currently under siege, but a family nonetheless. I’d faced down enforcers twice my size without flinching, but the raw emotion in Dominic’s voice hit me harder than any body check ever could.

Dominic’s father had pucked around, and he was about to find out.