Page 51 of Right Pucking Daddy (Daddies of the League #7)

AIDEN

I did my thing, dancing across the ice to hype up the crowd, smiling like a hyena as I sang and danced along to the music blaring through the arena. I couldn’t believe I was here. That I’d made it. It all felt too good to be true.

Two days ago, I was Aiden Mercer, center forward for Manchester University.

After losing to Rainier State, I skated off the ice, and my world flipped on its head.

A quick flight back to Minnesota, where I never even left the airport.

I stepped off the team’s charter and onto a private plane with HOLT ENTERPRISES emblazoned on the side and throughout the cabin.

Nervousness wiggled itself to the surface when I moved into the face-off circle.

C’mon, Aiden .

Don’t screw this up!

The team needs the win.

You need this puck.

Everyone’s watching.

“Welcome to Nashville & the NHL, Aiden. You ready?” the ref asked while we stood center ice.

“Absolutely.”

“You ready, Johnson?”

“Drop the puck and we’ll see.”

Michigan’s center. Bruce Johnson was a well-known jerk on the ice, joking and sniping at the other team. I didn’t mind trash talk during a game. Most everyone did it to throw the other team off their game. Not happening. Not to me. Not today.

“Have a great game, gentlemen.”

The puck hit the ice. Johnson chirped at me, making jokes while battling for the puck. Giving him a shove, I scooped it up, passing it to Gavin. Elation exploded like the fireworks in July. I did it. I won my first NHL puck drop.

Shaking away the victory, I refocused on the game.

I was on the line with Gavin, Swartz, Donetti, Machivelli, and Sully, aka Mike Sullivan stood in the net.

These guys, they were the ones I watched on television, the ones I dreamed of playing with, and now I shared the ice with them.

I’d be pinching myself multiple times a day for the foreseeable future.

The guys on the other team held nothing back. The playoffs loomed around the corner, and every team in the league wanted a spot. Michigan needed a win, and they played like it. But we needed the win more. If we didn’t pull this one off, the Nighthawks would be playing golf.

Michigan played a brutal game. A minute left in the third, and neither team had anything to show for it but a big goose egg glowing on the scoreboard.

I’d been in some hellacious games, but nothing like this.

My legs burned, sweat soaked my uniform and gear, dripping into my eyes.

My whole body ached, and a kaleidoscope of bruises bloomed like spring flowers on my ribs.

They tried to put me through the boards every chance they got—no grace for the rookie.

We pressured them, pushing and passing, trying to make a move. Swartz had the puck, picking it up off the boards. I moved into place, working hard to get to the nectar—that beauty of a spot in front of the net just outside the crease.

“Mercer!” Swartz yelled, the puck blazing across the ice, dripping in sauce.

Time slowed.

The crowd beat the glass, roaring and chanting.

My focus narrowed, everything fading to nothing.

Just me and the puck that skated toward me, through a Michigan D-man’s legs, before tucking itself against my twig like it belonged there.

I spun, slinging the biscuit at the basket.

And the world exploded.

Lights flashed.

The buzzer blared, and the horn sounded .

And the announcer yelled through the PA system, “With a snipe, Mercer sinks a puck, scoring a goal in his NHL debut and taking the W for the Hawks!”

My linemates surrounded me, thumping my shoulders and back. The bench emptied, Nighthawks pouring over the boards. Players and coaches rushed us.

And there, coming through the gate, was the man of my dreams, Hawk walking proudly at his side. This sort of chaos put him through a wringer, but Alex strode across the ice toward me like we were the only two people in the building.

I pushed through the madness, pulling the bucket from my head. Dropping the helmet, my stick, and finally, gloves to the ice as I made my way toward him. The man I loved beyond measure, who made me feel loved and seen in ways I never would’ve thought possible.

As I reached him, he pulled me into his arms. My skates lifted me so we were nose to nose.

“I love you, baby boy,” he murmured against my lips as he kissed me right there in the middle of the ice for all the world to see.

THE END