Page 57 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

Bria’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Can you…can you get me a pregnancy test?”

She tried her best to keep her face neutral, but I could see the utter shock, the concern, the sheer terror that I was maybe projecting. But Bria nodded anyway, rushing off to run the most important errand of my life, leaving me and my bench to worry alone.

Well, maybe notalone. My hand rested on my roiling stomach, hoping for nothing more than those proverbial butterflies.

31

SAWYER

The rink felt colder than usual, but I knew it wasn’t the ice. It was me. My stupid goddamn nerves, back again to ruin the party. It was game night—first one back after the Thanksgiving holiday—and I should’ve been locked in, more focused than ever. But I wasn’t. My head was full of Rachel.

It made no sense. Things were supposed to be good now. Hell, better than good. Rachel, Wes, Roman, and I had finally stopped pretending we didn’t want this, stopped skirting around what we felt for each other—well, what us three guys felt for her, and she felt for each of us in turn. We’d all admitted it: we wanted to be together, even if it wasn’t conventional. Even if people wouldn’t understand.

So why was Rachel pulling away now?

The puck dropped, and I settled into my stance, watching the play unfold in front of me. Wes had the puck, skating up the wing with that calm confidence he always had lately, ever since Rachel and her magic pussy came into the picture. Roman was on his other side, ready for the pass. Michael hung back, waiting for the counter. All the pieces were moving, just like always. But all I could think about was Rachel.

She’d been distant. Not cold, not exactly, but…distracted. Her texts were shorter, her replies coming hours later.Sorry, got work to do tonight. Rain check?I’d barely seen her outside of work the past few days. And when we did see her, she was off. Withdrawn. Not herself. I couldn’t figure it out, and it was eating at me. Was she having second thoughts? Was she regretting this whole thing with us so soon after I thought we’d figured our shit out?

I forced myself to focus as the other team gained possession. A forward charged down the ice, Nakamura hot on his heels. My heart pounded, but it wasn’t from the breakaway. It was from the thought of losing Rachel.

Not now, Sawyer. Get it together.

I could see the play coming together—Nakamura forced him wide, pushing him toward a bad angle. The forward took a shot anyway, but I blocked it, the puck bouncing off my pad. Roman scooped it up, firing it to Michael, who was already sprinting toward the other end of the rink.

I should’ve felt relieved. I should’ve been in the zone. But still, I wasn’t.

Rachel’s face flashed in my mind. Her smile, the way her eyes lit up when Roman surprised her into a laugh. But that sparkle hadn’t been there the last few times I saw her. What if she was realizing this was too much? What if she didn’t want this anymore—didn’t want me? Us?

I swallowed hard, the anxiety building in my chest. The crowd’s roar pulled me back to the game, but just barely. The puck was back in our zone, and I focused in on the skaters in front of me. Wes and Roman were doing their job, but I felt slow, like I was two steps behind everything.

Then, before I could blink, there was a break. The other team had a man open, a quick pass snapping across the ice. I pushed off the post, trying to get in position, but I was late. Too late.

The puck rocketed toward me, and I stretched out, trying to get my pad in front of it. The shot was harder than I anticipated, and the moment I hit the ice, I felt it—sharp, agonizing pain in my knee.

Shit.

32

RACHEL

When I walked into Sawyer’s apartment, my heart was still pounding from that awful fucking phone call. I rushed over as soon as Roman told me about Sawyer’s injury, even though he’d tried to cushion the news by letting me know they’d won their silly little game. He and Wes both assured me that Sawyer was fine—“Just a knee,” Wes had said, “and his knees are old and giving out anyway,” Roman joked—my mind had gone to the worst place. I’d seen enough injuries on the ice to know how quickly things could turn serious. And the thought of something happening to Sawyer, of him being in pain, had left me breathless.

It shook something loose in my stupid heart that I’d been trying to ignore all this time. A certain word I’d been resistant to use, even in my own head.

When I made it inside, I spotted Sawyer’s skates thrown against the door, messier than he usually let things get. I practically sprinted to his bedroom, finding him in bed with his leg propped up on pillows and an ice pack resting on his knee. He looked tired, worn out, but when he saw me, his face lit upwith that familiar warm grin that made my stomach flip every time. It was a full back handspring this time.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice a little hoarse, like maybe he’d been in more pain than he wanted to let on.

I dropped my bag by the door and rushed to his side, careful not to jostle him as I sat beside him on the bed. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?”

His eyes went soft. “Didn’t mean to. I’m tougher than I look, Rach.”

I rolled my eyes, even though the knot in my chest didn’t loosen completely. “You already look pretty tough.”

“True,” he smirked.

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