Page 3 of Sweet Pucking Revenge (2-Hour Quickies #6)

Grayson

Kyle fumbles what should've been an easy zone entry, trying to dangle through three defenders instead of making the simple pass. Showboating, as usual. The puck skips off his stick, and Seattle's top line breaks away.

"Shit." I dig deep, burning lungs screaming as I chase them down. We're not losing because Kyle Finley wanted SportsCenter highlights.

Their forward dekes left. I read it, stick flashing out to intercept. The puck slides to Niklas, who's already breaking up ice.

Twenty seconds.

Seattle's defense collapses on him. He drops it back to me, and I see it—the seam they've left open, thinking I'll shoot. Kyle's standing at the far post, wide open, perfect position for once.

But I've played with him long enough to know he'll try something fancy. Try to make this moment about him.

Fifteen seconds.

I fake the pass to Kyle, drawing their defenseman that way. He bites hard, leaving Niklas with just enough space on the weak side.

Ten seconds.

The puck leaves my stick like it's magnetized to Niklas's. Perfect tape-to-tape pass through traffic. Kyle's cursing—I can see him already, ready to bitch about not getting the puck.

Five seconds.

Niklas Roth walks in alone. Their goalie drops early, and I know—just like I knew not to pass to Kyle—that this is going in. Top corner, where mama hides the cookies.

The horn blares as the puck hits twine. Vipers 3, Seattle 2.

The crowd erupts, and we mob Niklas against the boards. No playoffs this year, but we're building something here. This team, they're starting to feel like mine. Every victory matters, even the bittersweet ones.

Through the sea of black and gold jerseys, I catch Kyle preening for the cameras. He barely contributed tonight, but there he is, arms raised like he scored the winner. Classic. He even mouths “Who’s your daddy?” to the crowd like a goddamn reality TV contestant.

But my eyes drift past him to the stands, where Maggie's on her feet cheering.

She's wearing his jersey, but it's the way she lights up the entire arena that catches my attention.

Four months since that night in Vegas, and one look at her has my body reacting even harder than the first time I saw her.

Kyle skates to the glass, blowing her an exaggerated kiss. Show-off.

"Earth to Captain." Niklas bumps my shoulder. "Stop staring at Finley's girl and come celebrate. You earned this one."

He's right. The C on my chest feels lighter tonight. The trade from Philly rocked my world, but this team—they're mine now. Even if we missed the playoffs, we've built something solid.

In the locker room, steam and testosterone fill the air. Half-naked players whip towels, riding the high of victory. I try not to notice how Maggie's still affecting my focus, even from a distance.

"Yo, Captain!" Someone throws a water bottle my way. "Speech!"

I catch it one-handed. "Good season, boys. Not where we wanted to end up, but—"

"But next year we're taking the Cup!" Kyle cuts in, strutting past in nothing but a towel slung dangerously low. "Especially now that we've got money coming in. You heard about the new owner?"

Niklas, peeling off his gear beside me, snorts. "What new owner?"

"Lenora Hathaway." Kyle grins. "Total MILF. Inherited the team from her husband."

"Show some respect," I snap.

"What? I'm just saying, maybe she'll appreciate having some young studs around." He flexes in the mirror, admiring himself. "I hear she's loaded. Probably looking for a sugar baby to console her in her grief."

Several guys laugh. I don't.

"Hit the showers, Finley."

"Yes, Captain." He mock salutes, dropping his towel deliberately as he struts to the shower. A few rookies whistle.

I'm about to follow when my phone buzzes. Unknown number.

Maggie : Hi! It's Maggie. Kyle gave me your number—hope that's okay? Great game tonight, Captain ??

My heart shouldn't race like this. I save her number, debating how to respond.

"That your 'oh shit, I like her' face?"

I glance up. Malik, one of our rookies, is watching me over his protein shake.

"What face?"

He grins. "Man, I’ve seen that look on guys. You’re either about to confess your feelings or write bad poetry."

I'm saved from responding by a knock on the door. Maggie peers in, then quickly covers her eyes. "Oh! Sorry! I was looking for Kyle."

"Eyes are safe, darling!" Kyle calls from the shower. "Nothing you haven't seen before!"

She keeps her hand up, blushing. "I'll wait outside."

"Actually," Kyle emerges, water dripping down his chest, "I've got a team meeting. Boring captain stuff. Why don't you grab dinner with the guys? I'll catch up."

There is no meeting. I know it. He knows it.

"Oh." Her smile dims slightly. "Okay, sure."

"Didn’t think I’d see you in the stands tonight," I manage.

"This was my first live hockey game, actually. Worth flying back to the States for."

"How long are you staying this time?"

"Six months." Her eyes drift to Kyle, who's busy taking selfies. "Tourist visa maximum. But maybe by then..."

She trails off, but I catch her meaning. My stomach turns.

"Dinner?" Niklas saves me. "There's a group heading to The Palm."

An hour later, I'm home alone, staring at Maggie's text. Four months since that night in Vegas. Four months of trying to forget how perfectly we clicked. Four months of watching Kyle treat her like a trophy while chasing anything in a skirt.

I should tell her about Marilyn. About how there was no sick sister that night.

But what if that was a one-time thing? What if Kyle's changed? What right do I have to destroy her happiness?

My phone buzzes again.

Maggie : Thanks for making me feel welcome tonight. It's nice having a friend here ??

Friend.

Right.

I'm so screwed.