Page 26 of Hat Trick

I pull my lightweight sweater over my head in a heartbeat, already reaching for where I left my phone on the bench. Henri Bordeaux, a left wing from Montreal, inches it close tome.

“Thanks, man,” I mutter, already swiping my finger across the touchscreen.

Gwen.

Just the sight of her name on my phone brings a ridiculous smile to myface.

“Yourwifer?”

I lift my gaze to Bordeaux’s open expression. “What?”

He dips his chin, pointing to my cell. “Your wifer. Isn’t that what they callit?”

Beaumont snaps his locker shut to my right, dragging a ball cap onto his head in a smooth motion as he turns around. “Pretty sure he meant wifey. You know, what all the kids are calling their girls thesedays?”

“That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard,” I mutter, only to crack a grin when Duke Harrison throws out, “That’s what I said about that smizing shit. We’re gettingold.”

I loop the strap of my duffel bag over my shoulder and across my chest. “Speak for yourself, old man. I’m ten years younger thanyou.”

Harrison rubs his middle finger along the side of his face. “Don’t forget that goalies have long life spans. Forwards, on the other hand? How do you like the prospect of retirement by the age ofthirty?”

Like Cam Neely for the Bruins in the 90s or Mark Messier for the Edmonton Oilers, I’m what the NHL fondly calls a power forward. In layman’s terms, I’m a center that kicks ass on the ice. In reality, Harrison’s probably right—unless I pull a page out of Messier’s Hall of Famer book and end up having a twenty-five-year long career. I wouldn’t be opposed tothat.

Still, I flash the veteran goalie the bird just to keep the joke going. There’s been some talk that Harrison plans to retire this year. I really hope that’s not the case. It’s not often that you get along with every guy on a team, and this season’s roster is top notch, all A-plus quality players. Beyond that, I consider these douchebags to be actual friends of mine. Brothers in uniform, if youwill.

In all honesty, they’re more family to me than I’ve ever hadmyself.

While my teammates rag each other about sagging balls and gray hair growing out of their ears, I swipe my phone again, hesitating only briefly before opening Gwen’s text. You never know what you’ll get with her—not that I’mcomplaining.

I didn’t need toworry.

It’s a photo of her leaning against my truck. She’s decked out in a female Blades jersey that’s trimmed tight at the waist, along with a Blades ball cap pulled down low. Her red hair is long and straight, and I’ll be damned if I haven’t been imagining it spread across my pillow for weeksnow.

Years,really.

The caption of the photo reads,Want to go on an adventure withme?

Is that even aquestion?

Hell yes Ido.

I clap my teammates on the shoulders, issuing an encouraging “we’ll do better on the road this weekend” before I’m palming open the locker-room door and escaping into the dimly lithallway.

If I had known turning Gwen down would light a fire under her ass to actuallyseeme, I would have done it years ago. Six years ago, to be precise. But maybe life was supposed to happen this way—fate and all that othershit.

For a moment, I let myself consider the alternative: of Gwen and I getting together way back when. I wanted it then just as much as I do now. Doesn’t mean it would have worked out. A three-year age gap is nothing once you’re past college. But a three-year age difference while Gwen would have been diving into the workforce as I sat at a classroom desk? Yeah, maybe fate did play a heavyhand.

By the time I make it to the parking garage, I don’t waste any more time. Feeling like some meathead out of a cheesy rom-com movie, I push my sleeves to my elbows and break into a light jog, ready to get my girl. My duffel bag slaps the outside of my right thigh as I cut over to where I left mytruck.

There sheis.

Andthere—

I slam to a stop, my bag swinging forward with the abrupt change inmomentum.

No, shedidn’t.

Laughter floods my chest, and it sure as hell doesn’t die down when Gwen rearranges her massive poster and lifts her chin to see me over the lightweight whitecardboard.

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