Page 5 of My Pucking Enemy (The Milwaukee Frost #4)

I gape at him—taking a year off? “That’s just…not something people do, Cal.”

He turns back to the grill, red creeping up his neck as he shrugs. “I love hockey. You know that. But I love Sloane—and I care about my family—more. I just want to take the one year off, then come back.”

“No way admin is going to allow that.” I’m trying to keep the anger from my voice, but it’s not easy.

“They already did.”

My mouth is fully open now, and I’m not quite able to shut it. “I…can’t believe that. Letting you take a year and promising you can come back?”

“Yup.”

And they didn’t consult with me first.

“So what’s holding you back?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Other than how that’s going to fuck with the team, and your career?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you’re ‘thinking’ about taking a year off—why are you not just doing it?”

He swallows, looks at me. A beat passes, then I get it.

“Me?” I ask, fighting not to laugh at the idea of that. He should know better than to think I’d agree to something like this.

I’m the main scorer on the team, but Cal is the closest second, and part of what allows me to perform so well. Without his passes, composure, and our general collaboration on the ice, the Frost is going to suffer.

“What, you want my blessing or something?”

“Something like that.”

“You know you’re not going to get it, Cal,” I grind out, “right?”

“I know it’s going to take a second for you to adjust,” he says, opening the lid again and putting his full attention into the burgers on the grill.

“But you’re my best friend, and you’re a good brother to Sloane.

When you think it through, you’re going to realize why it’s best for me to be home with her after the baby is born. ”

I have to work to keep from clenching my jaw. It’s not my fault they decided now was the perfect time to get pregnant, but I’m going to suffer. The team is going to suffer. But it’s not going to be worth it to say any of that to my sister. She’s emotional on a regular basis, let alone pregnant.

There’s more that we could say. I could tell Cal that he’s never going to convince me, and he could hold firm that he knows I’ll change my mind. We’ve been friends long enough that we both know, without saying, that it’s better to just move on.

“These look good,” he says, pulling the burgers off the grill and closing the lid once more, turning to me with a grin. “I’ll come back for the dogs after we run these out.”

I hold the door for him, and wonder what in the world the team is going to do without its right winger for an entire year.

***

“Cal!”

I holler his name, but he’s already passing me the puck, sensing that I’m open without me having to communicate anything. It’s the beauty of how we work together on the ice.

Receiving the puck without losing an ounce of my speed, I skate hard toward the goal, eyes set on it, eyes on the goalie’s form as he stares me down. I imagine the bead of sweat on his forehead, his heart racing as he prepares himself to try and block this shot.

I imagine the fans in the stands, watching as I rocket it past him and into the goal, imagine the feeling of the puck against my stick when I draw it back and slap it in. I can practically hear the buzzer sounding, loud and stark, signaling our point ahead.

And then, at the last second, without turning my head in his direction, I dump the puck into Cal’s lap, and he slides it into the goal without fanfare.

The horn blares and we collide into one another, laughing and clapping each other on the back. That puts us one point ahead of the Maple Leafs, and with only a minute left in play, it’s not likely that they’re going to be able to tie it up, let alone pull ahead.

Not that it really matters—this is just a pre-season game. But it still feels good to score. To win.

“Holy shit!” Maverick says, slamming into us, his helmet already off as he thrusts his hand through his dark hair. “I had no idea you were gonna pass it, McKenzie.”

“That’s the idea,” Cal says, laughing. He holds his hand out to me. We do our shake—a complicated maneuver of high fives and knuckles, then the celebration is over and it’s time to get back to the game—which should be a piece of cake.

Except the Maple Leafs manage to catch us off guard, throwing us into a disadvantaged power play, so we’re playing on our heels the rest of the game. They get a couple of good shots off on the goal, and we’re lucky none of them go in.

By the time the game is over, we’re thoroughly exhausted, but skating off the rink with pride. This was going to be our hardest pre-season game, and the fact that we beat them says great things about the rest of the season.

I’m still riding the high of the win until I come out of the locker room and see Wren standing with Coach Vic, talking to him quietly. A sour taste blooms in my mouth. Under her arm is a sheath of notes, and despite the fact that I would kill to read them, I pretend not to notice her at all.

Walking straight past them, I stop to give Sloane a hug and take a picture with one of our interns.

If I’m going to catch Wren Beaumont off guard, she can’t know I’m coming.