Page 102 of All Your Pucking Secrets

When the players have finished celebrating, they shake hands with the other team, and someone passes their coach a microphone. He says a few words about teamwork, and how the team will go the distance, and the stands erupt. Honestly, I think he could say anything, and the audience would go wild.

When he’s done, I expect the theatrics to be over, but instead, the coach gives the microphone to one of the players.

Tyler.

“What’s going on?” I ask Ryan as Tyler strips off his helmet and tosses it to Ruiz.

“No idea,” he replies, but the smile flitting at the corner of his lips makes me think he’s lying.

Tyler clears his throat, and it echoes through the stadium. Someone cheers. Because of course they do.

Tyler is red-faced and sweaty. He mops his damp hair off his face and raises the microphone.

“Hi, everyone.” He sounds surprisingly nervous. Public speaking has never been an issue for him before, which makes me even more curious about what’s happening. “I just have a few words to say before everyone takes off.”

His gaze lands on me again, sparkling blue, even from a distance.

“We had a good game tonight, and it was a team effort, like Coach said. It helps that we all wanted to make the playoffs, and that fueled us. It’s a nice change for me to be fueled by something other than desperation.”

There’s a confused murmuring. My stomach tightens. What is he doing?

“My father was an asshole—excuse me, Coach,” he adds when his coach tries to snatch the microphone back. “I trained hard to avoid his punishment. But he died months ago, so it wasn’t fear that helped me win this game. It was love.”

A group of girls nearby make a collective ‘aww’ sound, and a couple of them glance at me. A guy on the opposite side of the stadium jeers. My heart is beating a rapid rat-a-tat-tat while I stare at Tyler with no idea what he’ll say next.

“Love of hockey, my favorite game, but also love of a woman who’s as magical as a shooting star.” He blows me a kiss and winks, but the slight tremble of his voice belies his nerves. “Whether or not you love me, I’ll always love you, Echo Dean.”

“Holy crap,” I breathe.

This maniac. This absolute maniac.

I can’t take my eyes off him as he returns the microphone to the coach and skates off the ice. With this announcement, he’s making it clear that I’ll never be a secret part of his life again. There’s no putting the cat back in the bag. I’d bet at least a dozen people filmed his little speech on their phones and are already uploading it to the internet.

“Did you know he was going to do that?” I ask Ryan.

He shrugs. I narrow my eyes. Of course he did. That’s probably why he invited me along. Then he reverse-psychology-ed me into doing it. The question is: what am I going to do now?

“I have to go,” I say, brushing past Ryan. He shouts something over the crowd—many of whom are still eying me curiously—but I don’t make out the words.

I push through the crush of spectators, making my way to the changing room, but by the time I get there, the team is already inside.

I wait by the door, pretending not to notice the looks I’m receiving from strangers, until the players begin to emerge. The first one out is the winger, Welch, who winks at me and touches two fingers to his forehead in a little salute.

Another guy follows, a big bear of a man I recognize from the defense line but whose name I can’t remember. He gives me a thumbs up.

When Tyler finally exits, his hair slicked back and wet from the shower, freshly dressed in dark pants and a button-up shirt with a duffel bag over his shoulder, my breath hitches. Somehow, I always forget how gorgeous he is until he’s right in front of me.

When he sees me, a grin spreads across his face. He reaches for me, as if about to pull me into an embrace, but then stops.

“That was quite a speech,” I say, far calmer on the outside than I am on the inside.

He cocks his head. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah.” I can hardly deny it when he bared his soul in front of so many people. “It was sweet.”

“Sweet enough to earn me one last chance?” he asks, achingly hopeful as he steps closer.

I close the distance between us and kiss him. He grips my hips, his hands hot even through several layers of fabric. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of menthol and some kind of spicy aftershave.

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