Page 139 of Puck My Life

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m going to sing it to Indy for her birthday. Deacon asked me to do it as a special present.”

And just like that, the cold of the night returns, leaving me frozeninside.

PRESENT

Jansen drags me to the game. Of course, I kick and scream and protest with curses and threats that don’t mean anything, but he just smiles and tells me that since he saved my ass from my drunken love declarations, therefore, I owe him.

I just don’t understand why I have to be here.

I sit low in my seat, glaring at the game, trying not to pay attention, but habits are hard to break, and as much as I thought I was starting to hate the game, I have missed it.

So, I’m keeping track, and I’m paying even more attention when they enter the ice. The sounds of their skates as they travel up the ice, the whistles, the cheers of the crowd.

This is home.

I’ve missed this place almost as much as I’ve missed them.

The two centers bend over their sticks, the tension in the stands goes through the roof. The referee stands still, and the puck drops into the silence. They collide, two powerhouses. The Scorpions gain the upper hand. The puck flies out onto the waiting stick of our forwards, and they’re off.

I can’t concentrate on the game. I try, but I have no idea who is even playing; all I can do is keep glancing at the bench where I can see Deacon watching the game fiercely.

I see Mal and then, to my surprise; I see Raynor just behind the bench in the stands, sitting alone.

He’s staring right at me, no, he can’t see me. He has no idea.

I break out into shivers.

The line changes, and the forwards head in one direction. They take the puck, fighting viciously to keep control while the defenders exit the ice. I jerk up, shocked by what I’m seeing. Mal and Deacon are on the ice at the same time.

The entire team is moving like it’s a precision artistic display. They flow and move, filling space, running attacks. Deacon is relentless, crashing into the Eagles player, who is left stunned as he flicks the puck towards Mal, who grabs it with a waiting stick and puts on a power display, moving so fast it almost seems impossible.

He sends the puck to Thorne Gray, who comes up against Lewkoski and sends it back to Mal, who has moved closer. He skates directly at the goalie, feints to the left, feints right.

I stand up, my hands balled into fists pressed against my mouth. He moves his stick so fast it blurs, and then the puck is in. The siren sounds.

The team rush each other, but I’m still screaming. He did it!

I look up the other end of the ice and find Deacon with his helmet off. He’s scanning the crowd, but, after a while, his shoulders slump, and he turns away.

The crowd goes insane, but I know it’s a message for me.

The game ends in a tie, 1-1, but just as I go to stand up, Jansen grabs my nape and holds me still.

“Nah, let’s stay and watch the end credits.”

I cast him a dark look, this isn’t a movie theatre.

He does this lazy-ass shrug and gets even more comfortable.

“Hello.”

I sit up straight, trying to peer through the throngs of people leaving.

“My name is Deacon Katz. This is my teammate and alpha, Malcolm Evans, and our third, Raynor Hadthrop, and we have a request of our fans.”

People have stopped moving. Jansen has let go of my nape, but I haven’t noticed that I’m now standing staring down at my pack of idiot alphas.