Page 35 of Good Pucking Luck

Hayes grins, which makes me feel like I just scored a winning goal in a big game.

“Fine. Whatever. I’m hungry.”

“Good. Is rice okay with it? I do a lot of meal prepping, and I have rice and veggies in the fridge.”

“I don’t trust people who meal prep.” I snort out a laugh, and he continues, “That’s fine.”

“Is working at the Rockwell what you wanted to do? Follow in your parents’ footsteps with the hotels?” I pull the chicken off the grill, and he follows me inside, where I start to warm up the rest of the food.

“I don’t really know if there was ever something I really wanted to do. I’ve just always known what I was going to do. Which is fine by me. I’m good at it, and I enjoy it. What about you? Did you always want to be a hockey player?”

“I was seven.” I smile, leaning against the counter and looking at him. “My mom had this part-time job for a while at an ice rink. I knew hockey was a thing, of course, but I didn’t know anything about it. I just imagined ice-skating going on there. There was an hour overlap between when my dad had to leave for work and when my mom got off, so he took me to the rink. I was supposed to be coloring, keeping quiet and out of the way while Mom worked her last hour. There was a hockey practice going on. The kids were older than me, teenagers or something, and I was enthralled. I couldn’t look away. I thought they were fucking magicians—seeing how fast they skated, the way they handled the puck, watching the goalie use his body to block shots. I’d never even been on a pair of ice skates before.”

The microwave dings, and I pull the bowls out, then make us plates. I hand his over, and we go back outside.

“It’s all I could talk about all night. My parents were a little thrown simply because I’d never been so excited about something before. I asked if I could go watch again the next day, and they let me. On the third day, Dad was off—Mace isn’t my biological dad. I can’t remember if I told you that. But he’s the only father I’ve ever known. He was always good to me. So hehad the day off, and though we didn’t have to go to the rink, he asked if I wanted to go watch the practice. I did, and afterward, he asked if I wanted to try and play.”

I pause for a moment, surprised I’m sharing all this. I haven’t thought about it in a long time.

“And you did?”

“I was stuck because I wanted to, but even though I was young, I understood that things like this cost money, and we didn’t have a lot of it. Mom had me when she was young, and my biological dad left us. Neither my mom nor Mace were college educated and didn’t have high-paying careers. Money was always tight, though much better after Mace came into the picture, but…I wanted it more than anything, and I knew—I know it sounds unbelievable—but I knew from that first moment that hockey is what I’m supposed to do. So I said yes. My parents were fucking great. They had to buy equipment, and I had to learn to skate, but I just…I can’t explain it. It felt right. And I was a natural. I caught on to everything right from the start. That’s the first time I ever remember feeling good at something.”

I feel Hayes looking at me, but I don’t lift my gaze to him. I’m not one to be embarrassed about much, but for whatever reason, I am right now.

“There you are,” Hayes says, and that strange statement makes me give him my attention.

“What do you mean?”

“The real you.”

I shift uncomfortably. “I’m not fake. Everything you see about me is real. People can be more than one thing.”

“True. I guess I’m talking about the serious you.”

“That makes more sense.” Still, I feel…weird. The thing is, I don’t think I’ve ever told that story the way I just did. So honest and open and not joking my way through it. “Does it help if I tellyou that even the first time I put on a pair of skates, I showed all those other little fuckers up? I’m basically the greatest ever.”

He shakes his head but chuckles softly. “You and your family are close?” Hayes changes the subject.

“We are. My parents sacrificed a lot for me over the years, and Mace…he worked hard to give me all my dreams when my biological father didn’t care enough to stick around.” I pull out my cell phone and show him a photo of them. My mom has fair skin but dark hair like me. Mace is Black, his hair short with tight curls. “They’ll be out here later this week. Dad was diagnosed with MS a couple of years ago. He’s doing okay, but the cold winters don’t always agree with him, so they’re going to stay here for the next few months. I can’t wait.”

He frowns as if unsure how to respond.

“What? A tough hockey guy with great pecs isn’t allowed to love his parents?”

“Oh my God. I never should have let you know I like your pecs.”

“They like you too. It’s why they get so bouncy when you’re here.”

Hayes sobers as he pushes his broccoli around his plate. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

“The fact that we’re talking to each other like normal humans? No.”

“That we’re here together at all. You’re…you, and I’m…me.”

Jesus, what the fuck did this Malcolm guy do to Hayes? But really, I think whatever he’s feeling has happened over a lifetime, and Malcolm just made it worse. He took advantage of Hayes, and I fucking hate people who do shit like that.

“Still not weird. I like who you are, and we both know I like who I am. So now I like who we are together—nottogether, together, but you know what I mean.”

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