Page 71 of Puck Prince

“Someday, you’ll have kids of your own and then you’ll be doomed like the rest of us.”

“Not in the cards for me,” I say with a shudder. “No kids. No thanks.”

“Why not?” She squints at me. “I’ve seen you with Nicky. You’d make a great dad.”

“After everything I’ve been through, bringing kids into the world is the one mistake I won’t let myself make.”

And it’s true. I’ve never seen myself as a dad. Hell, I’ve never even seen myself married. If there’s anything I have learnedfrom my past, it’s that people fuck up. Kids only become collateral damage.Iwas collateral damage.

I didn’t go into the full details of that with Summer. Never have, never will. What’s the point? She doesn’t need to know how badly I was abused. How I got into hockey because violence was the only thing I knew, the only place where people told me it was okay to hit and hurt.

No. I think I’ll bypass the dad route on thisGame of Lifeboard.

Even if Callie makes me feel different than anyone I’ve ever met.

Even if she drives me wild and makes me want to drive her wild.

Even if she’d look good with my baby inside of her.

23

CALLIE

If I thought being in a car was brutal for morning sickness, that was because I hadn’t been on a plane yet.

As I sit in the back row of the 747, I keep my head back, eyes closed, and hands strangling the armrests. The team is all sitting in front of me, day-drinking and throwing things at each other like the bunch of overgrown middle schoolers they are.

My uncle was smart enough to book first class for himself and is oblivious to (or purposely ignoring) the shenanigans. Meanwhile, I am debating rushing into the bathroom so I can scream or puke. Screaming while puking is also on the table.

“Is this seat taken?” I don’t even have to open my eyes to recognize Owen’s voice.

I’d rather not, anyway. The sight of him does weird things to my insides, and I’m on the verge of anExorcistmoment as it is.

“I’d advise against taking it,” I mutter. “Even my uncle has chosen not to sit with me.”

“He’s a wise man.” I feel—or rather,smell—Owen plop down in the seat next to me. For reasons I won’t unpack, it’s the one scent that doesn’t make me want to gag. That in itself annoys me. “Who knew you were such a nervous flyer?”

I’m not. I love flying. The third wheel in my belly here is the one that does not.

“Motion sickness.” I lie. Owen places something in my lap, and I peek one eye open to see a handful of vomit bags. A grotesquely sweet gesture. “Thanks, I think?”

“Consider it an apology for shoving you out of my apartment the other day.” He buckles up like he plans to stay awhile. It’s not like he can run off to handle mysterious phone calls when we’re thirty-thousand feet in the air. He probably would if he could. Whoever was on the other end of the line was obviously more important than the preservation of our fake relationship.

He’s also taking a risk sitting in the splash zone, given how green in the gills I am.

Speaking of that…

“Excuse me.” I open one of the bags and dry heave into it. Painfully—or thankfully, I can’t decide—nothing comes up. But the very act is embarrassingly painful in itself. I lower the bag and take a deep breath. “Seriously. I won’t be offended if you’d rather hang out with the guys.”

On cue, one of them belches. Another one farts. They all laugh.

Men.They are foul creatures, every last one of them.

“I’ll pass. They’re nasty.” He offers a quarter of a smile. A smile that, if I weren’t so nauseous, would make my stomach flutter.

“Nastier than me nearly puking?”

“Even nastier than that.”

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