Page 49 of The Pucking Player

The Defenders win the face-off, and the game intensifies quickly. As I skate toward the puck, I notice Carl Strafer, the Titans’ rising star, aggressively checking one of our wingers into the boards. The ref doesn’t call it, and tensions start to rise on the ice.

A few plays later, Strafer and I are battling for the puck in the corner. As we tussle, he leans in close, a sneer on his face. “How’s it feel knowing your girl’s the real star tonight, O’Connor? Bet she loves the attention.”

Something in me snaps. I shove him hard, my gloveshitting the ice before I even realize what I’m doing. “Keep her name out of your filthy mouth, Strafer,” I growl.

Suddenly, we’re both throwing punches, the game forgotten. The crowd roars as the refs rush to separate us. I barely hear the whistle over the blood pounding in my ears.

“Five minutes for fighting, both players,” the ref announces, escorting us to the penalty box.

Shit.

As I skate off, I catch Coach Novak’s eye. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. He storms over to the penalty box, his face a mask of barely contained rage.

“What the hell were you thinking, O’Connor?” he seethes. “And what’s this about my daughter wearing your jersey?”

“I was just as surprised as you, Coach.”

He scoffs, clearly not believing me. “You expect me to buy that?”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “Look, it’s good PR for the team. What’s the big deal?”

His face turns an even deeper shade of red. “Good PR? Is that what we’re calling it now? I should’ve never agreed to this bullshit!”

I grip the edge of the penalty box, frustration mounting. “Coach, I’m telling you, I didn’t plan this. But now that she’s out there, maybe we should just roll with it?”

Coach Novak looks like he’s about to explode. “Better focus on the game now, O’Connor. We’ll discuss this later.” He storms off, leaving me to stew.

I glance up at the stands, catching a glimpse of Sophie. She looks worried, and I feel a pang of guilt. This is not how I wanted things to go down. I need to get my head back in the game and sort out this mess later.

I slump against the wall. This deception is eating at me. Maybe it would be better to come clean, tell Coach the truth about our arrangement. I’m not some schoolboy with a crush; I’m a man who...who what? Is smitten with his daughter?

The conflicting thoughts swirl in my head as I watch the game continue without me. Five minutes have never felt so long.

When I finally step back onto the ice, I’m seething. At Strafer, at Coach, at myself. It’s time to channel this frustration into the game.

19

THAT’S MY SEAT, BARBIE

SOPHIE

I’m perched on my barstool at the Penalty Box, soaking in the electric atmosphere like a human sponge. The place is so packed, I swear the walls are bulging. The air is thick with the smell of victory.

And beer.

Lots of beer.

“Holy hockey pucks,” Jessica exclaims, her eyes wide. “That game was wild!”

Jenna nods so hard, I’m afraid her head might pop off. “When O’Reilly scored in the last thirty seconds, I thought I was gonna pee my pants!”

“And Nate’s save?” I chime in, still riding the adrenaline high. “I haven’t seen moves like that since I tried to dodge my ex last year at the campus coffee shop!”

We’re cackling like hyenas when suddenly the bar erupts in cheers. The Defenders swagger in, looking like they just stepped out of a sports movie finale. They’re all sharp suits and cocky grins, with a few shiners thrown in for good measure.

And then there’s Liam.

Oh. My. Gawd.

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