Page 5 of Our Pucking Secret (2-Hour Quickies #4)

Logan

A Few Weeks Later

The puck hits my tape with a satisfying snap. Perfect pass from Martinez. I cut across the blue line, faking left before dragging the puck between my legs. The move usually draws defenders in, but today my mind's elsewhere.

She's back.

Third time this week. Same spot in the practice rink's nearly-empty stands. Blonde hair, loose and a little messy, like she doesn’t care how good it looks.

Simple clothes, nothing flashy. Definitely not a puck bunny—those travel in packs and wear crop tops even when it’s snowing.

She’s beautiful in that slow-burn way that sneaks up on you.

And she watches with this intense focus that’s both unnerving and... intriguing.

"Head in the game, LaRue!" Coach barks as I nearly miss a pass.

Right. Hockey first. Mysterious stalker later .

I force my attention back to drills, but I can feel her eyes on me. Every time I glance up, she quickly looks away, like she's been caught doing something wrong. It's starting to drive me crazy.

Practice wraps with conditioning sprints. By the time we finish, I'm drenched in sweat and my legs are burning. Most of the guys head straight for the showers, but I linger, stealing another look at the stands.

She's gone.

Something twists in my gut—disappointment?

Relief? Before I can decide, she appears at ice level, standing by the bench.

Up close, she's... stunning. Not in the obvious way I'm used to, but something about her pulls at me.

Her eyes are sharp, intelligent. She holds herself with this quiet confidence that makes my pulse kick.

I skate to the boards where she's waiting. "Let me guess—you're here to tell me I need to work on my backhand." I flash my media smile. "Though usually my critics don't look quite so..." I let my eyes drift over her, "...qualified to judge form."

She blinks, clearly thrown by the flirtation. "I'm here to talk to you."

"Most people are." I prop my stick against the glass. "Though most don't spend three days studying me first. Not that I minded the attention."

A slight flush colors her cheeks. "You noticed."

"Hard not to. You're kind of terrible at being sneaky." I grin. "Plus, you don't exactly blend in with the usual crowd. No bedazzled jersey, no 'Marry Me Logan' sign..."

"Logan LaRue," she cuts in, all business.

"In the flesh. Though if you're not a reporter or a marriage proposer, I'm running out of guesses." I lean closer, oddly drawn to her serious energy. "Maybe you're a talent scout? Secret agent? Time traveler here to warn me about the next game against Boston?"

She doesn't crack a smile, but something flickers in her eyes. "Were you born twenty-six years ago? On Christmas? "

That stops my playful momentum. "Yeah, actually. In some tiny hospital in Tennessee." I recover with a smirk. "What, did you bring me a belated present? Because I accept both cash and dinner invitations."

She meets my gaze, and suddenly the air feels heavy. Different. Her eyes—there's something familiar about them that makes my chest tight.

"You and I," she says quietly, "were switched at birth."

For a second, I just stare at her. Then laughter bubbles up—sharp, disbelieving. "Right. And I'm secretly Batman."

"I know how it sounds—"

"Crazy? Because that's how it sounds." My eyes narrow. I push away from the boards. "Look, if this is some kind of setup for a story, you're wasting both our times."

"I have proof."

"Sure you do." I start to skate away, but she calls after me.

"Your mother went into labor early. They were passing through Tennessee, caught in a Christmas storm. Bellwood General was the closest hospital."

I stop. Nobody knows that story except family.

"You were supposed to be a girl," she continues, her voice steady. "The ultrasounds all showed—"

I whirl around. "Who the hell are you?"

"A vet from Bellwood. Who just found out her genetic condition doesn't match her parents' DNA." She pulls something from her pocket—a business card. "And who spent months investigating why."

"A vet." I laugh again, but it sounds hollow. "Right. And you just happened to track down a hockey player to, what, share your medical drama? "

"The PI found hospital records. Two babies, born minutes apart. One to the Collins family, one to the LaRues." She holds out the card. "Both families got the opposite of what the ultrasounds showed."

"This is insane ."

But my hand takes the card anyway. Dr. Amanda Collins, The Bark Side Veterinary Clinic. "You actually expect me to believe—"

"That your parents were expecting a girl? That a small, understaffed hospital during a Christmas storm might have made a mistake?"

"Nice research, “Doctor.’" I crumple the card. "Next time you want an exclusive, sweetheart, just call my agent. This whole switched-at-birth routine? Amateur hour."

Her eyes flash. "You think I want publicity? I have a life, a career. Parents I love who can never know about this because it would destroy them." She steps back. "I'm only here because you deserved to know. What you do with that information is up to you."

"What I'm doing is leaving." I toss her crumpled card onto the bench. "And if I see you here again—"

"You won't." She turns away, then pauses. "But when you're ready to hear the rest, my number's on the card."

"Don't hold your breath."

I snatch my stick and head for the locker room, leaving the crumpled card behind. Just another crazy fan with an elaborate story. The city's full of them.