Page 25 of Pucking Amazing

That does the trick. Emma happily launches into a story about Slade and Alex and some hilarious miscommunication between the three of them recently.

I try to listen, but my mind keeps circling back to her unique relationship dynamic. Emma always seems so content, so fulfilled, balancing four incredible men who support each other just as much as they adore her.

I can’t help but wonder—could something like that ever work for me? The thought of being with both DJ and Tyler, of all of us together, like the illicit fantasy I indulged in before heading home…

It sends a naughty thrill through me.

Shit, I think I have a crush. On Tyler…and on DJ.

CHAPTER 8

DJ

My blades send off a spray of snow shavings as I slice to a stop beside Ethan. The kid’s been struggling with his puck control at higher speeds, and since our trusty team captain has his hands full with all the tensions on the team right now, I’ve made it my mission to help him level up before practice, take a bit of that pressure off Slade.

Gotta pay it forward, right?

“Alright, let’s run it again,” I say, snagging a puck. “Remember, soft hands on the stick. Guide it, don’t grip it.”

Ethan nods, brow furrowed in concentration beneath his helmet as we take off down the ice. I keep my speed in check, watching his technique, and feel a surge of pride. He’s getting there.

We weave through a series of cones, passing back and forth. As we hit the far blue line, I call out, “Now faster on the crossovers!”

Ethan digs in, powerful strides eating up the ice. The puck wobbles on his blade but he maintains control. Beautiful.

“Hell yeah!” I whoop as we reach the end. “You’re getting it, man. Those hands are pure silk right now.”

“Thanks, Deej,” Ethan says, flashing a grin. “It’s way better after those tweaks you showed me.”

“Anytime, kid. I’m always here if you need advice, on or off the ice. Us Blizzards gotta look out for each other, yeah?” I reach out for a fist bump.

Ethan returns it with enthusiasm. “For sure. Means a lot.”

I can’t help but smile as we set up for the next drill. Folks like to run their mouths about my rep as a player, on and off the ice. And yeah, maybe I play a little fast and loose when it comes to sex and my personal life. OK, a lot.

But the tabloids don’t see moments like these.

I vividly remember being the rookie, wide-eyed and eager to prove myself. If it wasn’t for leaders taking me under their wing back then, I wouldn’t be the player I am today.

Nah, this right here—building up the next generation, making sure they know they’ve got support—this is the legacy I wanna leave.

As Ethan and I finish up our last drill, a sudden stab of pain shoots through my knee. Aw shit, not again. I wince and stumble, catching myself before I face-plant on the ice.

“You good, DJ?” Ethan calls out, skating over with a look of concern.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to stretch out the ache that’s radiating from my kneecap. “Just the old war wound acting up again.”

But even as I brush it off, memories of that fateful game all those years ago come rushing back...

It was conference finals my sophomore year of college. We were neck and neck with our biggest rivals, fighting for a chance at the national title.

I intercepted a sloppy pass and rocketed down the ice, the roar of the crowd spurring me on as I deked around their d-man. I was about to snipe top shelf when out of nowhere, their goon of a defenseman slammed into me from behind.

My skate caught an edge and my knee twisted at a sickening angle as I smashed into the boards. White-hot agony exploded through my leg and I collapsed on the ice, screaming. Next thing I knew, I was being stretchered off to the hospital.

Sitting out that whole next season, watching my team struggle without me, was pure torture. Hockey was my life, my identity. Who was I if I couldn’t play?

I fell into a dark spiral of self-pity and doubt, only pulling myself out of it by focusing on rehab after my surgery, the promise of being able to play again senior year my only light at the end of the tunnel.

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