Page 10 of Sweet Pucking Revenge (2-Hour Quickies #6)

Grayson

The Cancún airport buzzes with morning activity, but all I can focus on is Maggie’s hand in mine and how few minutes we have left.

"Your flight?" she asks softly, even though we both already know.

"Boarding soon." I tighten my grip, trying to memorize the way she feels next to me. The warmth of her skin. The weight of her fingers laced in mine. "You could come with me."

She shakes her head, a sad smile on her lips. "My family… the resort… I can’t just—"

"I know."

And I do. We spent all night trying to figure it out. No sleep, just whispers and aching silence, holding each other like it could stop time. But no matter how many versions we ran through, none ended with us in the same place.

I’ve seen it all week—how deep her roots go. How much her family loves her. How much she loves them. And if I asked her to leave it all behind—to move to a foreign country with no safety net, no culture of her own—even if she ever said yes, she might one day resent me for it.

I have to ask her before I leave. "Maggie, how were you going to do it? With Kyle, I mean. If you weren’t willing to leave?"

"He said he’d give up hockey," she murmurs. "Said he’d come work with Papá, help run the resort. I believed him."

My jaw tightens. "He was lying. He never would’ve walked away. Not from that career, not for anyone."

Her nod is slow, a little hollow. "I know that now."

I reach for her cheek. "And now you also know you deserve more than empty promises. More than someone who makes you feel like an afterthought."

Her eyes close as she leans into my touch. "You’ve taught me what honesty feels like. What it’s like to be wanted and seen, not just used."

I lower my forehead to hers, inhaling the scent of her skin, trying to memorize the sound of her voice. "Then let me keep being honest—again. I can’t leave hockey, Mags. We tried to bend it a dozen ways, but the truth didn’t change. It’s not just my job—it’s who I am."

"I know." Her voice breaks. "That’s part of what I love about you. Your passion. Your drive."

The final boarding call echoes through the terminal.

"This isn’t fair," she whispers.

"Life rarely is."

I kiss her, pouring everything I can’t say into it. When I pull back, she reaches for her hand.

Her fingers slide to the base of the ring, hesitating, then begin to twist.

“Here,” she whispers, voice raw. “It was never really—”

“Don’t.” I catch her hand, curling mine around hers. “Keep it.”

Her brows knit, lips trembling.

“You’ll need it,” I say gently. “So your parents don’t start asking questions. We agreed—you’d tell them later. When you’re ready. Not now. Not right after they opened their hearts to me. We can’t break them while they’re still believing in this.”

She tries again, shaking her head. “But you shouldn’t have to pretend—”

“I’m not.” I draw in a breath, voice low. “Leaving it with you… maybe it’s selfish. But it feels like I’m leaving a part of me with you. So you don’t forget.”

“I couldn’t,” she breathes. “Even if I tried.”

I hesitate, then say it anyway. “I know this is over. But part of me still hopes maybe someday…”

She opens her mouth again, tears shining—but I shake my head gently.

“Don’t say anything else,” I whisper, brushing my thumb across her jaw. “Just say… yes.”

Her throat works, but she nods.

I kiss her once more—soft, deep, like maybe that could make her stay—then force myself to turn before I break.

And I don’t look back.

If I see her crying, I’ll never leave.

Two Weeks Later

Outside, Vegas glows with neon and dry heat, but all I feel is cold. I went from music and sun to silence and screen glare. From the warmth of her arms to the cold emptiness of my apartment.

My phone buzzes. Probably Niklas checking in. Or someone from PR, chasing a quote I haven’t written yet. I ignore it.

I grab a beer from the fridge, twisting off the cap without caring where it lands. The ring box sits on the counter, empty.

I sink onto the couch, staring blankly at the muted TV. Some random sports recap is playing—reruns of last season’s highlights, talking heads rambling about trade rumors and off-ice drama. I should be reviewing film or hitting the gym. Should feel like myself again.

Instead, all I can think about is her.Her laughter echoing across the pool at midnight.

The way she looked wrapped in one of my T-shirts on the balcony, her hair damp from the ocean.

How we stayed up all night trying to rewrite reality—her head on my chest, my fingers tracing her back like I could memorize her skin.

She whispered, “I wish we had more time.”

And I did too.

But all the wanting in the world didn’t change the fact that I still had to leave.

My phone buzzes again. This time I glance at it.

Maggie: Made it through another day pretending I’m okay.

My chest tightens. My thumb hovers over the screen, aching to respond. To tell her I miss her. That I can’t sleep. That every time I lace up my skates, I hope I’ll turn and see her in the stands, forgetting she won’t be there.

Another message appears before I can type anything:

Maggie: Sorry. Ignore that. We agreed.

Yeah. We did.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the couch.

Part of me wants to book a flight. Just show up. No plan, no promises. Just… us.

Off-season or not, I’ll be back at the rink tomorrow. Skating drills. Strength training. Pretending the silence in this place doesn’t swallow me whole. I’ll do what I always do—be the guy everyone expects. Captain Prescott. The face of the Vegas Vipers. Focused. Unshakable.

But tonight?

Tonight I’m just a man who lost the only thing that ever felt like home.

And I have no idea how to fix it.

Because I didn’t just lose a girl—I lost my future, and she’s still wearing my name on her hand.