Page 92 of Puck Prince

Owen looks at me strangely. “Yeah. Staged. Maybe a little. I just don’t think that people should rush things like that. Even if it does get the press off your back.”

There’s a beat of silence before he goes on. “Speaking of staged… Did you know you’re the first girl I’ve ever brought as a date to one of these events?”

“You’re lying.”

I happen to know there are countless women who would crawl through the ductwork for the chance to dance with Owen Sharpe.

Owen laughs. “I’m not. Scout’s Honor. This is a first for me, walking in through those doors with a girl on my arm.” He must not buy my expression, because he asks, “What’s that face?”

“Nothing. You’re just becoming less and less of who I thought you were.”

“Really. And who is it you thought I was, Callie Coleman?”

We float around the floor as I think on how to answer that question. “I’ve been around athletes for… a while,” I say slowly. “It’s not easy being in this industry as a woman. Especially the medical side where the lines of personal and professional get blurry. I’m used to dealing with a lot.”

Understatement of the century, but again… what Owen doesn’t know can’t be used to judge me.

“I’m sure you are.”

“I was pretty convinced that all hockey players are, well… players. But you’ve proven me wrong.”

Owen lets out a low, gritty laugh, and my stomach does a somersault. “I guess I just always saw this as a serious event. Not the kind of thing you bring a one-off date to. And I haven’t had a lot of… romance… in my life.”

“Really? A suave guy like you?”

He rolls his eyes, but with a smile. “I’ve had more important things to focus on. Like hockey. And?—”

“Protecting your sister?”

We are dancing close and our voices are low so no one can overhear. Something in Owen’s face softens before he goes on. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.”

“It’s not just that she’s my sister, and I’m puffing my chest like a hot-headed baboon. It’s… it’s deeper than that.” He pauses, like he’s about to raise the blinds on a window he usually keeps shut. “My childhood was… I was going to say, ‘a shitshow, for lack ofa better word.” But honestly, there isn’t a better word. It was a shitshow.”

“I get that.”

My other hand is in his, and I find myself stroking my thumb over his.

“My mom was with a lot of men. Like, a lot,” he doubles down. “More than I can count. And none of them were good guys. I saw her go through a lot. Kids often end up getting hurt in the process of things like that, you know?”

“Yeah,” I whisper softly. “I do.”

“I got in the way a couple times. I wanted to protect her. I think she was just lonely and wanted someone to love her, but she wasn’t picking the right guys.” He pushes his hair back from his forehead. “I have this scar on my forehead from the time I tried to pull a guy off of her in the kitchen. He was a monster of a man in every way—size and nature—and he just grabbed me by my shirt and chucked me. I bashed my face on the corner of the counter. That’s when I realized I probably needed to start going to the gym.”

Owen chuckles like he’s trying to make it into a joke, but my heart aches for him.

I reach for the scar and run my finger across the jagged edge.

Our eyes meet, holding each other hostage.

Once the moment becomes too heavy to bear, I bring my hand away. “I understand. I’ve been hurt before, too.”

“I’m sorry.” He says it like he really means it.

“I’m sorry, too.”

He shivers and shrugs like that’ll ward off the memories. “It is what it is. I can’t change the past, but I can try to keep Summer from falling into the same pattern. I don’t want her to end up like our mom. And I want a better life for Nicky than I had. Sometimes, I feel guilty.”

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