Page 57 of Puck Princess

He holds up his hands, gliding slowly backwards. “Alright. I won’t say her name. But I can’t promise she won’t say mine.”

I have him by the collar of his jersey before I can even think. His stupid face blanches, and I can’t wait to see what he looks like with a broken nose. But before I can say or do more than that, Coach rips us apart.

The way he turns on me, I know he didn’t just hear what Santos said about his niece. If he did, he’d probably have the bastard by the throat, too.

“We have a game in four hours.” He jabs me in the chest, farther from Santos. “Play. Hockey.”

A few hours later, that’s exactly what we do.

We’re facing off against San Francisco, and I’m not the only one playing like I have something to prove. The media has been poking at the Scythes for weeks, wondering how we’ll fare without Miles Solomon on the team. Tonight, we’re giving them an answer.

But as Santos and I take turns putting the puck in the back of the net, earning a buzzer and a good-sized roar even with an away crowd, nothing about this feels like a team sport. This may be a game between Houston and San Fran, but as far as I’m concerned, this is me versus Santos.

The little punk obviously thinks my crown is slipping after the way Coach chewed into me this morning, but it’ll take a lot more than that to dethrone me.

In the last couple minutes of the game, Santos takes possession of the puck. I can tell by the way he’s scanning the ice that he’s looking to score. He doesn’t want to pass. But the defense is on him and he’s blocked in with no choice but to pass to me.

It makes sense, with me being the center, but he hates it.

Which means I love it.

Santos grits down on his mouthguard and passes the puck to me. I use the opening and score, and the crowd loses their minds.

The guys rush me as the buzzer goes off.

“Nothing like handing a team their asses on their own stomping grounds!” Dax slugs me in the arm.

Lance slaps my helmet, a wide grin on his face.

When Santos gets close, I meet his eyes and aim my stick at the friends and family box. “That one was for Callie!”

He grimaces and skates up while a smug smirk tugs at the corners of my lips.

Because two can play this game, but only one of us is going to win.

19

OWEN

“How did you manage to get me a first class seat?” Callie asks as she settles in on the plane.

“It helps to have connections.”

My “connections” are the extortionist rates the airline charges for last-minute upgrades. She would lose her mind if she knew just how much money I’ve spent on this trip, which is why I have no plans to tell her.

For me, it’s worth it. After everything that happened, I don’t want to be anywhere near Spencer. And I definitely don’t wantheranywhere near Spencer. So, reclining seats away from the rowdy team it is.

She snuggles under the complimentary heated blanket. “Tell your connections ‘thank you.’ Because I’m exhausted.”

I kiss her on the top of the head and am considering a nap myself when I hear one of the guys call my name from the other end of the plane.

“Just don’t answer it,” Callie whispers without opening her eyes. “Pretend we aren’t home.”

“Owen!” Someone—Dax, I’m ninety percent sure, calls my name like he’s in the throes of passion. Whatever poor people are stuck in business class with the lot of them are regretting not upgrading their own seats right about now.

“Let me make sure they aren’t tearing the plane apart. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.” Her full mouth tips into a smile, and I’d buy her a whole goddamn plane to see that look on her face.

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