Page 25 of Pucking Secret

I shake my head. “Yeah. Just distracted.”

"Get your head in the game. You’re skating like a rookie.”

His words sting more than they should. I force myself to focus for the rest of practice, but it’s impossible not to think of Stacey, Millie, and the asshole who swept into my girl’s life when I wasn’t around to stop him. By the time practice is over, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. My legs ache, my lungs burn, and my mind is still a tangled mess. I head to the locker room, peeling off my gear in silence while the rest of the guys chatter around me. All I can think about is Stacey. I was so confident things would warm up between us once I apologized and cleared the air, but that didn’t go well, and then…

Fuck, I knew I wasn’t over her, but I didn’t realize I was still this crazy about her. I tried so hard over the years to move on. When I never got a response from her to my letter, part of me hoped she just never got it… but she did.

Did it mean nothing to her?

I poured my heart out in that letter, and then never heard from her. I’d thought we were in love. Really, truly in love. Wasn’t that worth anything to her? It always stunned me how easily she could ignore what I’d written to her, but it never crossed my mind that she’d actually find someone else. Be with someone else.

Have a child with someone who wasn’t me.

The thought makes me clench my teeth as frustration pulses through me. Damn it, I need to know more.

Who the fuck dared to touch my woman? Is he still in her life? If he is, he needs to know that Stacey is mine.

I catch Carson as he’s packing up. If anyone knows something about Stacey, it would be him. I hesitate, but then approach him, clearing my throat.

“Hey, Carson,” I say as casually as I can manage. “What’s the story with Stacey’s kid?”

Carson raises an eyebrow.

“Millie? Oh, she’s awesome.” He chuckles. “You’ll see her around a lot, I’m sure.”

I try to keep my tone light, acting like I’m just making conversation. “So, um… is Stacey seeing anyone? What about the father? He in the picture at all?”

Carson shrugs, grabbing his duffle bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Far as I can tell, she’s single, but she’s also super private about that kind of stuff.” He pauses, glancing at me, as if trying to read between the lines of my questions. “Millie’s dad isn’t in the picture. Stacey told us it was just some guy she hooked up with after high school. A one-night stand thing.”

I bite down hard, barely managing to keep my face neutral. I hate the idea that she was with someone else right after I left, but what right do I have to be upset over it? We weren’t technically together anymore. She could do whatever she wanted. I have no right to want to drill my fist into the guy’s face over and over, whoever he might be.

“You look tense, man,” Carson says.

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Just…”

“Tough practice.” Carson laughs. “Hey, listen, the guys are all hitting The Night Hawk tonight. It’s our go-to bar. Named after the team and what not. We haven’t given you a proper welcome yet, so if you’re game, we could go grab a drink and hang out for a while?”

“Yeah,” I quickly nod, latching onto the idea. “That sounds great. I’m totally down.”

“All righty,” Carson slaps me on the shoulder. “I’ll let the other guys know and we’ll head out.”

“Sounds like a plan.” This is perfect. Not only will I get a distraction from my spiraling thoughts, but I’ll be able to bond with my new teammates. It’s a win-win.

The Night Hawk is a busy place, even for a weekday. Walking through the door, there’s a dance floor to the right, tables, chairs, and booths to the left, and the long bartop straight ahead. Night Hawks hockey memorabilia hangs from every wall. Carson, Jensen, Wilder, Zander, and Jayce are already grouped together at one end of the bar.

When I reach them, they all greet me with wide smiles and bruising thumps on the shoulders and back.

“Dude, what’d you want?” Carson asks.

“Just a beer. Lager. Whatever’s on tap,” I say. Beer is safer when I’m in public. It’s a lot harder for me to get fucked up on beer.

Once I have my drink, Wilder drops his arm around my shoulders.“Tell me, is it true your nickname in Canada was ‘Choir Boy?’”

“Oh, shit, how’d you hear about that?” I say with an embarrassed chuckle.

“Got my sources.” He winks and drops his arm from around me. “You’ve got a reputation as a bit of a golden boy. No scandals. No drunken escapades. Not gonna lie, man, you seem kinda boring on paper.”

Boring. Yes, I’m sure I might seem that way to most people. I’m actually okay with that. I’d rather keep my wild side a secret. Confined to the bedroom, where I’m the one in total control for a change. The press back home would have a field day if my proclivities were ever leaked.

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