Page 32 of Penalties and Proposals

Yet here we are, in the bright light of day, having breakfast and holding hands. It feels more natural than anything else hasto me in a long time. Probably since I first gripped a hockey stick.

“I like this,” I whisper, letting my thumb and forefinger drift across the soft skin of her wrist. There are lots of soft, vulnerable places on her body I’d like to get to know better. My eyes lower from hers to her lips, following the curve of her neck. There’s a spot there, at the base, that I’d like to make sure I pay attention to one day soon. “I never want to let go of your hand.”

“Maybe you won’t have to.” Her tone may be flirtatious, but a soft pink flush takes over her cheeks as she peers over her shoulder. When she looks back, so much is happening behind those smoldering green eyes of hers. I wonder if she can feel the intense pull in her stomach as much as I can feel the tug in mine?

Clearing her throat, she shakes her head and takes a big breath. “Anyway, even if we are able to get the money together in time, she’ll still need to get on top of things so this doesn’t happen again.”

“Don’t let it get to you right now.”Come on, Noah. You can do better than that.“What I mean is, you just found out. Let the news sink in and then the thoughts and ideas will come. You and your mom will figure it out. You have to trust that.”

Her eyes land on where my hand grasps hers and she smiles. “Hey, who knows? I’m still trying to find that bird. It could be a case of the Blue Rock Thrush saves the day.” She then pulls her hand from mine, taking her warmth with her, as she snaps her fingers and grabs the brown paper bag off the seat beside her.

“I almost forgot,” she says, a wicked grin playing on those beautiful, kissable, soft pink lips of hers. She dips her hand into the bag and pulls out a tiny item, handing it across the table to me. “For luck.”

When I look to see what she’s placing in my palm, I crack up. “A bird pin?”

“Not just any bird pin,” she says, almost defensive. “Thebird. It’s a Blue Rock Thrush.”

Looking at the tiny gift she’s placed in my hand, a passivewarmth fills my insides. I place the pin to my lips and kiss it. “Thank you. I can guarantee I’ll be wearing it for tonight’s game. I can use all the luck I can get.”

Somehow, she’s made birdwatching the most interesting—and sexy—sport I’ve ever witnessed. You bet your britches I’ll be wearing that pin tonight, if for no other reason than to score more time with those lips.

“You know,” I say as I slide the pin into my jacket pocket, “I wish I could help in some way. With your mom.”

“That’s kind,” she responds, dipping her head. “But like you said, we’ll figure it out. Hey, in good news, I have a call today with the reporter working on your story. Your article is the thing to help me get promoted and land steady work. Just keep your fingers crossed that it all works out. Deal?”

I hold my coffee in the air and toast her words. “Deal.”

A second later, Shirley May is back and sliding our plates in front of us. We both tuck into our meals, enjoying the kind of silence usually reserved for old friends.

Which is what I guess we can say we are now.

The arena is electric, the energy from the crowd coursing through me like a second heartbeat and the sound of “Ice Ice Baby” playing in the distance somewhere fills my ears. The roar is deafening, a wall of sound that pulses with every play.Thisis why I love playing this sport. These moments.

The ice beneath my skates gleams under the harsh lights, a pristine battlefield where I am ready to make my move. My eyeslock on Dan, who is battling hard for control of the puck against two defenders. The boards rattle with each hit, the clatter of sticks and skates blending into the symphony of the arena. Fans jump up, screaming, and are on their feet, their tension palpable as they lean over the rails, eyes wide with hope and nerves.

I can see Dan’s jaw tense as he grits his teeth and manages to wrestle the puck free. Our eyes met for a split second—a silent agreement, a moment of perfect understanding. With a powerful shove, he sends the puck sliding across the ice straight toward me.

The crowd’s noise is like a crescendo, a wave that pushes me forward. I catch the puck on my stick, the smooth glide of the ice beneath me a familiar, comforting sensation. The opposing team scrambles, their defense tightening, but it’s too late. I’m in the zone. This is my happy place.

I weave through them with practiced ease, my movements a blur of precision and power.

As I approach the goal, the noise in the arena swells to a fever pitch. Fans screaming, their voices mingling into a single, urgent chant … and tonight, it’s not for Dan.

The Lumberjacks goalie braces himself, eyes wide with determination and following my every move. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, my focus narrowing to a single point: the small, vulnerable space just above the goalie’s glove.

With a final, powerful stroke, I take a breath before sending the puck flying. Time seems to slow as it soars through the air, the entire arena holding its breath. Then, in a flash, the puck slips past the goalie and into the net.

There’s a moment of silence before the entirety of the arena explodes in sound and motion. Fans leap from their seats, shouting and cheering, their joy a palpable force. Teammates rush to me, their faces alight with triumph and relief. As they pile onto me in celebration, I glance around the arena, taking in the jubilant faces, the waving banners, the sheer ecstasy that snaps, pops, crackles, and fills the air.

When I’m free of the pile, I lift my hand and stroke my lucky charm: the pin Willa gave me. I’d made sure to put it on my jersey ahead of the game so I had her with me. I let my eyes scan the crowd hoping to find her in the stands nearby, but I can’t see her.

The team makes their way off the ice, and I follow, high-fiving the guys. Even Cooper cracks a smile as we fist bump. I keep one eye on the crowd, waiting to see if Willa will pop into view, but I stop short when a familiar face I wasn’t expecting appears at the edge of the rink.

“Noah!” Dan waves at me, pulling me away from my target. “Great game. Honestly, Ted may be the Bear, but you’re a beast.”

“Thanks, Dan,” I say, clapping his back as he steps off the ice. “I’ll take the high praise.”

Turning my attention back to the figure who obviously waits for me, I feel a little bit of air deflate from my lungs. She is not the person I want to have here. Not right now. Not tomorrow. Not at all.

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