Page 4 of One Pucking Wish

Penny opens her mouth to speak as the bar door opens, and Iris—the team’s party planner and wife of our other forward, Cade Richards—pops her head into the foyer, wearing a pleased grin on her face. “Oh, good! You’re both here.”

“Iris…” Penny takes a step forward.

Iris backs away. Opening the door, she waves us in.

Moving a step back, I allow Penny to take the lead, and I follow her through the door. The bar is dark, and I squint in an attempt to see what’s going on. As soon as we’re firmly inside the bar, the door closes behind us, the lights flick on, and a rumble of “Surprise!” and Happy birthday!” reverberates through the space.

My gaze flicks to the entire team standing before us with what I can assume is a less-than-impressed expression. Each round wooden table has a bouquet of multicolored balloons. There’s confetti, party hats, a huge-ass birthday cake, and way too much cheer for my taste.

I steal a glance toward Penny. A smile is plastered across her face, but I know her expressions well enough to know that it’s fake as hell. She’s just as uncomfortable as I am with all this attention.

Birthdays were never a big deal growing up. I think my mom realized that the less attention she brought to me, the happier my life would be. She never wanted to put me on the radar of the various men she dated over the years, and for good reason. My mom sure knew how to pick ’em. The revolving door of men coming in and out of our house consisted of deadbeats, sometimes drunks, oftentimes gamblers, and always abusive pricks.

The fact that I’m referred to as the Beast now is ironic because I spent most of my childhood and teenage years as a scrawny little rat. I’m what they called a late bloomer, not hitting my big growth spurt until I was damn near well out of high school. For eighteen years, I was skin and bones and easy bait for my mom’s boyfriends. She conditioned me to hide, be quiet, and stay away.

There were no birthday celebrations to remind the jerks that there was someone else in the house they could beat on besides my mother. No, it was just a day like any other day, save for one minor detail. Each birthday before the current man sleeping in my mother’s bed would wake, she would sneak into my room and wake me up with a kiss on my forehead.

“Happy birthday, my sweet boy,” she would say.

She would ask me what my birthday wish was, and I would always say, “To be great at hockey,” but I would always secretly wish, “To grow strong enough to save you.”

She would then pull two donuts out of a bakery bag. They were always frosted in a bright hue and covered in sprinkles. It was the one time a year I ate a donut, and something about the birthday donut was next level.

I once asked her if all donuts were so delicious, and she said that birthday donuts were extra yummy because they were filled with birthday magic.

We would sit atop my bed and slowly eat our donuts. I’d savor every bite and every second where I could just be in the moment with my mom, happy and hopeful. There was a time when I actually believed that this birthday magic my mother spoke of was real, and I dreamed that it would eventually save us from our circumstances.

When the special treat was gone, she’d give me one more kiss on the forehead and sneak back out of my room as quietly as she had come in. And that was the entirety of my birthday celebration.

I made my secret wish every year for as long as I can remember, but in the end, I couldn’t save her. Now, birthdays serve as another reminder of my failure. And, wouldn’t you know, I share the day with one of my least favorite people.

“Our birthday isn’t until next week,” I grumble.

My protest does little to remove the smile from Iris’s face. “I know, but we’re going to be in Vancouver. We couldn’t have a proper celebration so far from home, so we decided to throw you a party a little early. Plus, this way, it was really a surprise.”

“Oh, it’s definitely a surprise,” Penny says through her forced grin.

Iris waves us forward. “Enjoy! We have lots of food, and of course everyone is here to celebrate you both. We’ll cut the cake in a little bit.” With a nod of her head, the music starts up, and it’s a full-blown party.

Now that I understand what’s going on, I realize Penny was probably called here under the guise of fixing some issue, and of course she thought said problem was me. Her questions from the foyer make complete sense.

I turn to her, narrowing my gaze. “I guess I didn’t do anything now, did I?”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut it,” she says before heading toward the crowd of people waiting to celebrate us.

My birthday twin isn’t fond of me, but I have to say the feeling is mutual.

Sebastian Calloway, our center, who we call Bash, hands me a bottle of beer. “Happy birthday, old man!”

“Cookie.” I dip my chin in acknowledgment, using his other nickname, which he despises. The name is idiotic, and I feel like a complete jackass uttering the word, but Bash’s adverse reaction brings me a little bit of joy every time.

His mouth falls into a frown, and he sighs. “Seriously? We agreed to let that go.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so, and I’ll be calling you a lot worse if you call me old again.”

We have a pretty young team, and to someone like Bash, who just turned twenty-four, I might be considered older for this profession, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear it. I’m sure I’m living in denial, but I plan on holding the starting goalie position for this team for years to come, provided my knees and hips hold out.

Bash waves his arm out in front of him, motioning to the scene before us. “Pretty cool, huh? Were you surprised?

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