Page 20 of The Pucking Player

Jessica bumps her shoulder against mine, a gentle nudge of encouragement. “Hey, you’re young, and you’re hot. What have you got to lose, baby girl? Your virginity?” She chokes on her own joke. “You’re old enough to appreciate a good old romp between the sheets now, and who better to give up your V-card to than someone with experience? Live a little, Soph. Besides, I have a feeling that Liam might surprise you.”

I raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. “Speaking of walking on the wild side, how’s your love life these days? Any lucky hockey player caught your eye?”

Jessica snorts at my attempt to change the topic, shaking her head. “Please. With Dad always lurking in the shadows, I’m lucky if a guy even looks in my direction. I swear, he must have put the fear of God into the entire team. Or I’m just hideously ugly and no one has the heart to tell me.”

I swat at her arm, my eyes wide with disbelief. “Shut up, Jess. You’re gorgeous, and you know it. Those guys are intimidated by your brilliance and your killer right hook.”

We dissolve into giggles, the sound echoing off the porch and into the quiet street. Our laughter is interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

“There are my girls!” Mom exclaims, her face lighting up with joy. Margaret Novak is a vision, even in her mid-fifties. Tall and slim, she moves with effortless poise, her high cheekbones catching the light and her piercing green eyes—eyes that seem to see straight into your soul—dancing with warmth.

She’s dressed in one of her signature looks: a black boat-neck dress that hugs her figure perfectly before flaring into a playful tulle skirt that swishes when she moves. The outfit, like her, is an expert mix of elegance and flirtation.

Mom is relentless when it comes to staying sharp—physically and mentally. Every morning at five-thirty a.m., she’s in the home gym lifting weights, tackling the workout routines Dad creates for her. “Why hire a trainer,” she always says with a sly smile, “when you can marry one?”

But tonight, none of her usual edge is on display. Instead, she’s all warmth as she takes us in, her smile wide and radiant. “What are you two doing out here in the cold?” she asks, her voice rich with affection. “Your father and Adam are playing chess in the living room.”

Jessica and I exchange a knowing glance. “Just catching up,” I say, standing and pulling Jessica to her feet. “You know, girl talk.”

Mom raises an eyebrow. “I see. Well, don’t let me interrupt. But don’t take too long, okay? Dinner’s almost ready.”

“We’re coming,” I say and we follow her into the house, shedding our coats and scarves. As we make our way toward the living room, Jessica leans in close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, missy. I want to hear all the details as your situation unfolds.”

I groan. But as much as I dread the interrogation I know is coming, there’s something comforting about having a sister who knows me so well.

As Jessica and I step into the living room, the familiar warmth of home wraps around us like a favorite blanket. The last rays of the winter sun stream through the largewindows, casting a golden glow across the room. The fireplace crackles softly, its flickering flames filling the space with a comforting heat, while the shelves lining the walls are stuffed with books that tell the story of our family’s lifelong love of reading.

In the center of the room, my father and Adam sit hunched over a chessboard, their concentration so intense, it’s almost comical. Adam’s dark hair is tousled, his jaw tight as he moves a knight to capture one of Dad’s pawns.

“Nice try, rookie,” Dad mutters, leaning back in his chair as he surveys the board with a knowing grin.

I step over to Dad’s side, resting a hand on his shoulder. He glances up at me, his blue eyes crinkling with warmth. “Hey there, sweet pea. Come to witness your old man crush your brother in real time?”

Adam snorts, shaking his head. “In your dreams, Dad. I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”

Jessica sidles up to Adam, peering over his shoulder. “I don’t know, bro,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like Dad’s got you cornered. You might want to rethink your life choices.”

I study the board myself, noticing Dad’s queen hovering dangerously close to Adam’s king while Adam’s remaining bishop and rook seem stuck in a desperate defense. Dad’s trademark patience is on full display, and I can already tell the game’s outcome.

“Checkmate incoming,” I tease, grinning at Adam.

He groans but doesn’t take his eyes off the board. “Not happening.”

Dad lets out a chuckle, clearly enjoying himself. “We’ll see, son. Never underestimate experience.”

Before he can make his next move, Mom’s voice rings outfrom the dining room. “Dinner’s ready, everyone! Come and get it while it’s hot!”

Dad stretches, standing with a smile as he places his queen into position anyway. “We’ll call it a draw for now. But don’t think you’re off the hook, Adam. This game’s to be continued.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Adam grumbles, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips as he stands to follow us out of the room. “You’re just stalling because you know I was about to win.”

Jessica snickers, nudging him. “Sure, Adam. Keep telling yourself that.”

The dining room is a Norman Rockwell painting come to life, all warm wooden tones and soft candlelight. Mom’s china gleams on the table, a stark white canvas for the colorful feast she’s prepared. The aroma of roasted chicken and herbs makes my mouth water as I slide into my usual seat.

Daddy takes his place at the head of the table, his presence as commanding here as it is on the ice. “Alright, troops,” he says, reaching for the mashed potatoes, “let’s dig in.”

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