Page 9 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

UNCHARTED TERRITORY

Bennett

T he bar is quieter than I expected for a Thursday night. Low lighting, soft music playing in the background, a few clusters of people chatting over drinks. No screaming fans, no flashing cameras—just normal people living normal lives. It’s nice. And it’s perfect for this.

Lucy follows me inside, her eyes flicking around like she’s assessing the place, making sure it meets her standards before she fully commits. I have a feeling that’s just how she operates—always measuring, always deciding.

“Good choice,” she finally says, like she’s doing me a favor by approving.

“Glad it meets your high expectations,” I say, holding back a grin.

We slide into a booth in the corner, across from each other.

As she unbuttons her coat and drapes it over the seat, I take in the fitted black dress hugging her curves—trim waist, ample chest, long legs emphasized by those tall boots.

Given that I’ve only seen her in Stampede hoodies, it’s definitely not what I expected, but I’m not complaining.

I smirk. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘dress up for a book club’ type.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t read into it. It’s comfortable.”

A waitress swings by, and Lucy orders a whiskey, neat. I lift my brows at that but don’t comment. I get a beer, and when the drinks come, we both take a second to settle in, the moment stretching between us.

For the first time since I met her, she looks a little unsure.

I’m used to the sharp, confident, firecracker version of this girl—the one who challenges me, calls me out, and doesn’t hesitate to tell me exactly what she thinks.

But now, as she swirls the whiskey in her glass, there’s something more careful about her.

I decide to make the first move. “So, what made you decide to become a paramedic?”

Her head tilts slightly, like she wasn’t expecting the question. “Wow. Straight into the deep questions, huh?”

I shrug. “Just trying to figure you out, Quinn.”

She exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Good luck with that.”

I wait, letting the silence do the work, and eventually, she sighs, leaning back against the booth.

“I like being the one who stays calm when everything else is falling apart,” she finally says. “I like knowing I can walk into a situation and actually help. Make a difference. Some people freeze up when things go bad. I don’t.”

I nod, taking a sip of my beer. “Yeah, I can see that. You’ve got that whole unshakable thing going on.”

She scoffs. “Oh, please. I’m plenty shakable.”

I raise a brow. “Really? Because so far, I’ve seen you handle everything from a live debate to a room full of hockey fans without breaking a sweat.”

Her fingers tap lightly against the side of her glass. “It’s different at work. There’s no time to think, no time to second-guess. You just do .”

Kinda like hockey, I think. But I don’t want to compare my job—which is literal child’s play—to the important work she does.

“It sounds pretty intense.”

She shifts, tucking her hair behind one ear.

“Yes and no, it’s not always life and death.

A lot of calls are just picking up old people who have fallen down, or nursing home transfers, or taking someone with chest pain to the hospital who turns out to have indigestion. But I did deliver a baby once.”

“What was that like?”

“Messy,” she says with a chuckle.

“I bet.”

She leans in, her eyes lighting up as she talks.

It’s cool to see how passionate she is about her work.

“Anyways, it’s cool being part of something that exists solely to help people in the middle of their worst situation—and no matter what—be it during a hurricane, a tornado, or in the middle of the night, we’ll show up.

We’ll come running in and help you—even if you don’t have health insurance, or you’re an asshole, or even if it turns out there’s actually nothing wrong.

People trust us to enter their homes, to see them at their worst, buck naked on the bathroom floor, or passed out drunk…

and for the most part, we don’t judge… we just roll up our sleeves and jump in. ”

“You’re a real life superhero, Quinn. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Some days it feels like that’s true, other days, not so much. Burnout’s high in this job. And sometimes, the second I slow down, the second I let myself think too much…” She shrugs, like she doesn’t like where her own thoughts are going. “That’s when things get messy.”

I study her for a second. “What happens when things get messy?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes a slow sip of whiskey, like she’s weighing whether or not to tell me.

Then, quietly, “I don’t like not knowing what comes next.”

Something about the way she says it makes me think she isn’t just talking about work.

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “See, I think that’s what makes life fun. The unknown. The surprises. The moments you don’t see coming.”

She looks at me, her expression unreadable. “Like this?”

I smirk. “Exactly like this.”

For a second, we just sit there, watching each other. The air between us feels different now—less teasing, less combative. Just… something else .

I notice everything—the way the light catches on the golden flecks in her hair, and the subtle way her mouth curves into a hidden smile.

“How long have you been a medic?”

“Seven years,” she confirms.

I narrow my eyes, realizing I should probably know this. “How old are you?”

She laughs. “Twenty-nine. You?”

“Twenty-seven.”

I’m guessing she already knew that, she knows so much about the team, the players. Lucy clears her throat, clearly wanting to shift the conversation. “Alright, enough about me. Why hockey?”

I grin. “I mean, obviously because I love it. But if you want the real answer—it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me. No matter what else was going on in my life, I knew who I was when I was on the ice.”

She tilts her head, considering that. “Must be nice.”

“You don’t have that?”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. “Not really. I mean, I love my job, but it’s not who I am . It’s just something I’m good at.”

I nod slowly. “Maybe you just haven’t found it yet.”

She snorts. “Yeah, well, unless it turns out my true calling is yelling at hockey players on the internet, I think I’m out of luck.”

I laugh. “Hey, you’re really good at that. Maybe there’s a career in it.”

She smirks, but there’s something softer in her eyes now. Something that wasn’t there before.

I wasn’t expecting this. I thought this would be another round of verbal sparring, another game of who can get under the other’s skin first. But now we’re here, in this quiet bar, talking about real things.

And I like it.

A lot.

“Is there a girlfriend waiting for you at home…or a jealous puck bunny who’s going to slash my tires for meeting up with you like this?” she surprises me by asking.

I lean in closer. “You want to know my relationship status.”

She nods, presses her lips together. She’s got an amazing mouth. It’s distracting as hell. “I guess so.”

“Let me put it to you this way… I’ve been painfully single for a long damn time.” Too long.

She smiles, knowingly. “How long are we talking?”

“Current dry spell is going on…” I glance at my non-existent wristwatch, “six months.”

She scoffs. “That’s nothing. I haven’t dated anyone in almost two years.”

“Two years?!” I sputter.

“Yes, but they make some pretty good substitutes these days, so I’m not totally destitute.”

If she’s talking about something battery operated, I might die of a brain aneurysm.

Lucy signals our server for another round. “Can I get a big ice water and an order of cheese fries?”

“Good choice,” I say, recovering.

Her gaze flicks to mine. “FYI—I don’t share fries, so… do with that information what you will.”

I look at the server. “Make that two orders please.”

She scribbles it down and dashes away.

“So where’d you grow up, anyway?” Lucy asks, swirling the last of her drink in her glass.

“Little town outside of Minneapolis,” I say. “Cold as hell in the winter, but it’s basically a rite of passage up there. You’re either freezing your ass off on a pond playing hockey or you’re freezing your ass off shoveling snow. No in-between.”

She laughs, a real one, and I can’t help but grin. “Sounds miserable.”

“Nah,” I say, leaning back. “I loved it. Small town, tight community. Everyone knew everyone. I had a whole crew of guys I grew up with—most of us played on the same team from mites all the way up through high school.”

She nods, taking that in. “What about your family?”

That question always hits a little differently.

I shift, rolling my glass between my hands.

“Big, loud, a little overwhelming. My mom’s the type to make a meal big enough to feed an army even if only three people are coming over.

My dad’s old-school—taught me to skate the second I could walk.

And I’ve got two older sisters who made sure I never got away with anything. ”

Lucy smiles like she can picture it. “Let me guess. You were the golden boy?”

I laugh. “Try ‘annoying little brother who got stuffed into a snowbank on a regular basis.’”

She smirks. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

“Of course you would.”

Our server appears with two large glasses of ice water and two mountainous baskets of fries smothered in melted cheese, bacon, and green onions.

Lucy wastes no time digging in, carefully selecting the perfect fry—just the right amount of cheese, yet still crispy. It’s a delicate art form, and I appreciate her strategy.

I pull my own basket of fries closer before flipping the question back to her. “What about you? Three brothers, right?”

She hesitates, just for a second, then says, “Yeah, but we’re all in different states now. My mom died two years ago and Dad’s kind of slowed down.”

There’s something in the way she says it—like she’d rather keep that door closed for now. I don’t push. Instead, I keep my voice easy. “I’m sorry about your mom. What about Max?”

Her face softens immediately, and damn if that doesn’t do something to me.

“My best boy,” she says, shaking her head fondly.

“I adopted him a few years ago. He was a mess when I got him—skinny, skittish, didn’t trust anyone.

Now he’s living the dream. Sleeps in my bed, eats better than I do, and thinks he owns the apartment. Which he basically does.”

“So a lot like you,” I tease.

She scoffs, grabbing a fry and bringing it to her mouth. “Excuse me?”

I hold up a hand in defense. “I’m just saying. Stubborn, opinionated, takes up all the space…”

Her eyes narrow. “And yet, I don’t see you moving farther away.”

She’s right—I’m closer than I should be. But she hasn’t moved away either.

I tip my glass toward her. “Fair point.”

She watches me for a second longer, then shakes her head, like she’s trying to make sense of me. “You’re not what I expected, Bennett Wilder.”

Something about the way she says my name makes my chest tighten. I lean in a little, dropping my voice just enough to make it feel like a secret between us. “And what exactly did you expect?”

She smirks. “Still figuring that out.”

I grin, because I like that answer way more than I should.