Page 94 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

“Ms. Bennett,” he greets me, his smile smooth as butter left in the sun.

“Mr. Blue,” I return, folding my arms, not even bothering to fake politeness.

“So, let’s get right to it,” he starts, voice carrying a hint of barely restrained glee. “Anything you’d like to say about Ethan Carter? Scandal, rumors? I’ve heard his family’s been very forthcoming.”

Family? I narrow my eyes. “His family, you say? Well, considering they’ve barely ever been around, I wonder where you’d dig up a scoop like that.”

“Oh, my sources are reliable.” Blue’s smirk is one I’d love to wipe clean off his face. “Care to comment on the break-up with Jake Roland just a few months back? Certainly seems convenient.”

My patience snaps like an overstretched rubber band. “Mr. Blue, this gala isn’t about me or my past. So if you’re here to interview, stick to the event.”

“Oh, but I think people would love to know more about the woman who’s captured the heart of Chicago’s favorite ice king,” he presses, feigning innocence.

I meet his stare, unflinching. “Actually, they’re here to support a cause, Mr. Blue. Not feed your clickbait fantasies. Stick to the event or find the door.”

His smile fades, but a glint of something darker appears. “Very well, Ms. Bennett. But don’t expect me to be quite so forgiving, next time.”

With a polite nod and a glance toward the door, I end the conversation. He finally gets up, casting one last patronizing smirk before he slinks off.

I walk slowly back to my desk; the weight of the day presses down like a leaden blanket. Ethan’s sacrifice, his protective withdrawal … it all clings to me, mingling with memories of his gaze, his quiet promises, and my own helpless longing. And beneath it all, the tiny, fragile hope for a future I’m still too scared to believe in.

As I sit down, pen in hand, a plan forms. The gossip, the rumors, they’ll circle. But I can keep my chin up. Because some things are worth the fight. And no matter what, Christmas comes with the bright, undeniable promise of something new, something hopeful, hidden beneath every flickering light.

32

ETHAN

The winter skyhangs heavy as I pull into the arena’s parking lot. Snowflakes swirl down like they have nothing better to do, floating in slow, lazy circles before dotting the windshield. Fitting, somehow—like the whole world’s decided to take a breather just when mine feels flipped inside out. Holly’s words echo somewhere deep, and with every step closer to the rink, the weight feels heavier.

Just before I can slip inside, a familiar, unwelcome figure appears by the entrance, grinning as though he’s just found a fresh way to annoy me. Raymond Blue.

“Starting to feel like I’m babysitting my own shadow, Blue,” I say, brushing past him.

“Now, now,” he croons in that grating, mock-concerned tone. “No need for all that brooding hostility. Don’t think of it as being shadowed. Call it family protection.”

“Family?” Stopping, I glare down at him, jaw tight. Blue’s smug grin is practically screaming for a fist to wipe it off his face.

“Oh, yes. With your cousin Jake Carter and our mutual friend, the illustrious Mr. Roland, we’re like a littleteamourselves. Not quite the Blizzards, but we’re ready to dig intoyour delightful little soap opera of a life.” Blue leans in, eyes glinting. “But Holly? Poor girl—might just get swept up in the excitement, don’t you think?”

My hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms, but I keep them firmly at my sides. “Mention her again,” I say, my voice low, “and you’ll regret it.”

Blue’s laugh echoes as I finally shove through the entrance and head into the locker room. The sight of my team—my actual team, the one that matters—draws my focus back, though even their faces look unfamiliar, washed over with wary expressions. Ryan and Liam step forward, bracing themselves with the kind of look I usually reserve for dodging a puck at eighty miles per hour.

Ryan clears his throat. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, well, if by okay you mean losing my mind, yeah.” I yank my jacket off, each word tight. “This whole mess—she’s all I can think about. But if she wants to be away from me, I’m … I don’t know. Maybe it’s what she needs.”

Liam just shakes his head with an exasperated grin. “Or maybe you’re both too damn stubborn to admit you’re both miserable.”

Ignoring the glances and loaded silences, I swap into my gear and hit the ice. The cold is sharp, biting, just the way I need it. Time to force out every ounce of frustration, to turn everything off for a while. Each slap of the puck feels like a release—one way or another, a means to let out whatever storm’s been building up. But the sense of control doesn’t last.

Pucks thud against boards and skates cut paths through the rink like knives tracing old scars. Each drill is a command, each shift a reminder of what it means to hold on when everything slips. The noise fades, replaced by the rhythmic pulse of focus. But my focus fractures when my eyes catch movement by the sidelines—a dark-haired actor with a smirk that has launcheda thousand soap operas, leaning next to the snake himself, Raymond Blue.

The cold twist in my gut replaces the morning’s coffee. Out of the corner of my eye, there he is—Jake Roland, standing with Blue on the sidelines like some smug, paparazzi-driven specter. I don’t even have to see his face to know he’s smirking. Jake’s antics are a toxic mix of attention-seeking and boredom, and having him here is a blatant attempt to provoke me.

The puck slides past as Cain, a teammate who’s never been known for his subtlety, swerves toward me. “You’re looking a little distracted there, Carter. What’s the matter? Hypocritical romance eating you up?”

I lock my jaw, forcing my eyes to the ice. Focus, Carter.

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