Page 32 of Pucking Secret

“Fine. I’ll talk to you later.”

We hang up and I clutch the phone so hard, I wouldn’t be surprised if I cracked it. My mom has this special ability to make me feel like absolute shit no matter how well things are going in my life. Nothing will ever be good enough for her, and I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me for getting pregnant as a teenager, even though the same thing happened to her.

God, if she found out about Owen being around, she’d go nuclear. She’d see any bit of civility between us as me being weak again.

Owen and Millie’s laughter fills the arena as my guilt and anger swirl together until it’s overwhelming.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“Millie!” I call out. “Time to go! You have school tomorrow.”

“Aw, five more minutes?” she pleads, her lower lip jutting out.

“Now,” I say firmly.

“You better listen to your mom, kiddo,” Owen tells her. I give him a small, grateful smile.

“Okay, fine.” Reluctantly, Millie skates over and begins taking off her skates. Owen comes over and gets off the ice to help her. He drops to one knee and removes one of her little pink skates, and my heart stops. Their heads bent together like that…the resemblance is undeniable. Anyone looking at the two would know they were blood related.

Shaking my head, I quickly move to pack up Millie’s stuff.

“Say thank you, Millie,” I tell her.

She jumps up and wraps her little arms around Owen’s neck.

“Thanks for playing with me,” she says, looking up at him with a kind of pure adoration that makes my heart clench.

Owen crouches, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Anytime.”

Her giggle echoes as she rushes back to me, and I grab her hand, leading her toward the exit.

As we leave, I glance over my shoulder. Owen is still standing there, watching us go. He waves us off in a friendly manner, but his expression is distant. Forcing my gaze away from him, I hurry along, holding tight to Millie’s hand. When I step into the crisp evening air in the parking lot, I realize I left a piece of my heart behind in that arena… along with the man who doesn’t even know he still has it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: BAD HIT

OWEN

I’moff my game today… again.

Practice started fine—passing drills, shooting exercises, all the usual stuff—but the second I caught sight of Stacey in the stands, everything shifted. And now I can’t focus.

She’s sitting up there, clipboard in hand, watching the team with a focused expression. Her hair’s pulled back, her eyes sharp, and she looks so damn composed. It makes me think of her sitting in the stands, watching Millie and me skate with that guarded expression, like she wasn’t sure whether to stay or run. The way her eyes softened when she thought I wasn’t looking. The way she pulled Millie close when they left, as if afraid of the little girl leaving her side.

I still don’t know how to fix things between us. I want to have some sort of relationship with her… if not a romantic one, I want us to at least be friends. She was such an important part of my life, and I don’t want her to slip through my fingers again. I didn’t expect her to still be holding onto this much anger, and I really didn’t expect her to have a kid.

Millie’s great, and I enjoy hanging out with her. I actually had a lot of fun skating with her, when usually I tend not to be all thatcomfortable around little kids because they’re so unpredictable. Millie’s smart and funny, just like her mom, and there was a moment when we were racing across the ice where I could picture a future with that little girl in it.

It’s clear I’m going to need more than an apology to get back into Stacey’s good graces. I just don’t know what more I can do.

“Pay attention!” Carson yells, snapping me out of my zooming thoughts.

Too late. One of the guys on the opposing scrimmage team barrels toward me, and before I can fully brace myself, he slams me into the boards.

Pain radiates through my shoulder immediately, sharp and hot. I groan, rolling off the glass as the play moves down the ice. Shit! I can’t afford another injury to this same damn shoulder.

Carson slides next to me. “You good?”

I rotate my shoulder, wincing. “Yeah, just a bad hit.”

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