Page 69 of Puck Prince

As I rip my way down the street, my mind is scattered. Half of it is hellbent on getting to Summer as fast as possible. And if that piece of shit ex of hers happens to be there? Well, he won’t be for long.

The other half of my brain is still back at my apartment with Callie.

I had a fucking terrible day. Given the events of the last game, Coach didn’t lay into me as hard as I expected him to. Butbetween the contract and the dad speech, I left his office with a headache.

And of course, the guys weren’t any help. They hounded me from the moment I stepped into the locker room. It only let up when I put them all in their places on the ice during practice.

By the time I got home, I was paying for it. I was both mentally and physically drained. But when Kennedy shoved Callie into the hallway—into my arms—my mood flipped.

She was a snarky little ray of sunshine at the end of a shit day, and I didn’t even have to force myself to invite her in. I actually wanted to catch up a little. Maybe even flirt. Hell, if Summer hadn’t called, it could have led to more.

Maybe it’s a good thing Summer interrupted, after all. Because that is out of the question.

It also goes against our predetermined conditions.

“Callie Coleman is off-limits,” I growl to myself. Even if things did feel different today. Even if she knows how to zig whenever I zag. Even if I leave achingly hard every time we interact, but with a stupid, dreamy smile on my face anyway.

She’s off-limits even if her eyes shift from blue to green and back again like ocean tides, depending on her mood.

She’s off-limits even if her lips curl up in the corner when she’s trying not to laugh.

She’s off-limits even with that tiny freckle in the heart of her dimple.

She’s off. Fucking. Limits.

I physically shake the thoughts from my head as I pull into the parking lot and kill the engine. I need to focus.

“Where is he?” I grunt as soon as Summer unlocks the deadbolt, letting me into her place.

“He’s not— I mean, it was just a text.” She gulps, revealing that this wasn’tjustanything. “But I didn’t know if he knew where I was or if he would be ballsy enough to show up or what. But I’m fine. I promise. I just overreacted.”

But she isn’t fine. She is anything but fine.

She drops onto her couch, a rumpled tissue in her nervous hands, rocking back and forth. I sit next to her and pull her against me. “It’s okay. I’m here now. It’s okay.”

“I just wish he’d go away for good. I wish I never had to worry about it. Even here, I’m paranoid when I’m alone. I keep Nicky in the room with me at night. That kid is going to co-sleep ‘til he’s in college.” She tries to laugh but it comes out soggy.

“Can I see the texts? Did he threaten you?”

Summer tenses up. “No, it’s fine. Really.”

“Summer, I am trying to help you and Nicky. But I can’t do that without your permission.”

Summer stands up, tossing the tissue in the trash. “I overreacted, Owen. I’m sorry. I’m fine. Really.”

I stand up, too. “No, you’re not fine. You’re shaking! You’re terrified of him. I can help you. I can make sure he never texts—never calls, never comes anywhere near you—again. But I need to know who he is.”

It’s easier to see to it that he never breathes again if I have a name, but I leave that detail out for now.

“So you can what? Beat the shit out of him and get caught on camera doing it? You've been good at that recently.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” My brow furrows.

“Please, O,” she scoffs. “I watch your games, you know. And if I had to guess, your life has gotten harder since that incident with the fan.”

You have no idea.

“Owen…” She sits back down and pulls me with her. “You’ve done so much for us already. The last thing I want is for you to get in trouble—or worse—all because you wanna see Nicky’s dad out cold on the ground.”

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