Page 13 of One Pucking Wish

God, I hate Gunner Dreven.

Pulling out the wad of cash in my wallet, I give it to Julien. I don’t have the energy to count it, but regardless of the amount, he’s earned it.

He thanks me, and we exit the vehicle. Julien extends his arm and points toward my destination, shouting out directions that I can barely make out above the roar of the wind, and then he’s gone.

I secure my purse in the crook of my arm, tighten my much too thin of a jacket, and on unsteady feet, I climb out of the ditch. What was I thinking, wearing high heels and a coat that wouldn’t protect me from a bitter wind, let alone the Arctic tundra of snowstorms?

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I thought I’d be whisked from the plane to the game and back in a nice warm vehicle?” I grumble to myself. “Not on some North Pole version of the TV show Naked and Afraid.”

While not completely naked, I might as well be with all the warmth my polyester pencil skirt, satin blouse, and thin jacket are holding in. And afraid isn’t accurate either—more like furious. I’m in my own personal hell, in a reality show titled Barely Dressed and Furious in Vancouver. Admittedly, the title is not as catchy.

I make it out of the ditch and to what I can only assume is the sidewalk. The snow is up to my calves as I trudge in the direction Julien indicated. My teeth chatter, and my toes become more numb with each step until I can’t feel them anymore.

Tears roll down my cheeks, freezing on their descent. And while I feel like crying, the tears are less a result of my emotional state and more a side effect of the freezing winds whipping my face and eyes.

I hit a patch of ice beneath the snow and grab a light pole to stop from falling. The bitter wind burns my face as I cling to the frigid pole. Steadying myself, I question my life choices. How did I get here? Do I really care that much about a hockey team to deal with this?

The flicker of the bar sign catches my attention, and my chest swells with renewed confidence. I’m almost there. Twelve or so long strides and I’ll be out of this nightmare and into another. But at least that one will have a roof over my head and some heat.

I say a small prayer of thanks when my fingers grasp the handle of the entrance door, and it pulls open, bringing a wave of warmth with it. The journey to this place has tested me to the max, and if I’m honest—it’s not been a good look. Some self-reflection is probably in order. But, first, my problem at hand.

The bar has cleared out. The robust party of earlier has been replaced with less than a dozen people scattered about the dimly lit space. It doesn’t take longer than a second to find him. Bigger than everyone in this place, he stands out as he leans against the bar top, sipping a beer.

Still unable to feel my toes, I storm toward him with zero professionalism remaining. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

CHAPTER

SIX

GUNNER

My body stiffens at the sound of her voice and the abrasiveness of her words. She and I have never been ones to share pleasantries, but she usually speaks with a certain level of decorum even when she’s annoyed as hell. None of that exists now, and I admit, I like it.

“Hey, Princess, you thirsty?” I tip my half-empty bottle of beer toward her.

She halts a foot in front of me and positions her hands on her hips. “Does it look like I’m in the mood for your shit, Gunner?”

I press my lips in a line to stop the grin threatening to appear and the words that I want to say because, honestly, she looks unhinged, like she just wrestled a polar bear. She’s covered in snow. Black makeup circles her eyes, and dark streaks stream down over her tomato-red cheeks. Wet locks of her deep red hair fall from her typical updo. She appears to be shaking—from the cold or rage, I’m not sure. But the entire view is something else.

Unable to come up with a response that won’t unleash her wrath, I opt to remain quiet. At this moment, if I was betting on Penny or the bear, all my money would be on her. If looks could kill, I’d be dead, for sure.

“Do you know what I went through to get here? Do you realize we’re in the midst of the worst storm this area has seen in our lifetime? The team is gone. The plane left. My Uber crashed in a freaking ditch. I had to walk here in three-inch heels!” Her voice shakes with anger. “For you! Because you’re too goddamn stupid to keep your hands to yourself.”

Anger fills my chest. No one talks to me like that. This is the moment I’d normally fight back. I could put her in her place with a single sentence. Penny and I have had years of arguments, and there have been some memorable ones. I’m not one to feel sorry for the woman. She’s not a damsel in distress. She’s a force to be reckoned with.

Yet this time feels different.

If Penelope Stellars has an edge of sanity, I think she’s there now.

The bartender, a chill as fuck guy named Frank, joins the conversation. “I’m assuming you’re the rep from the Cranes?”

“Yes, I’m here on behalf of the Crane Organization.” Her tone immediately shifts to the level of professionalism I’m used to when she addresses Frank. “Can you please tell me what happened? And have the cops been called?”

Frank tosses the wet rag in his hand onto the counter behind the bar. “Absolutely, miss. Not sure what was exactly said, but the one over there in the Canucks jersey with that stupid blue wig atop his head said something, and your guy here punched him in the face.” He shrugs. “That’s all there really was to it. I had to call the officers. I hope you understand. It’s our policy. However.” He nods toward the front door. “With the storm outside, I doubt they’ll be here anytime soon. I’m sure they have a lot more pressing issues than a little bar fight. He’s quite hammered.” Frank motions toward the guy in the blue wig. “If he’s willing to work it out and the two parties come to a resolution that everyone is happy with, I’m fine with everyone going their separate ways. To be honest, I’d like to close up and get home to my family before I’m stuck here.”

Penny gives Frank a tight smile. “Thank you. That is what I was hoping.” She turns to me and holds out her hand. “Give me your wallet.”

“Fuck no.” I scowl.

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