Page 24 of Pucks, Lies, and Sticktape

He sighed in relief at the recognition in her gaze. That washisperson, his partner, his friend. He spent the last few days wanting to make the house perfect for her arrival because he desperately wanted her to be happy here with him.

The last two weeks had been so different, so wonderful, seeing her smile at the end of each day. Leaving the practice rink had always been a good thing but coming home felt like a place to relax and unwind. He had never felt like he belonged until the moment he truly saw her. It had caught him off guard. He was exhausted, his body aching from practice, and there she was—pulling a frozen pizza out of the oven, her face lighting up when she saw him.

“Hey, you—are you hungry?” she’d asked so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And at that moment, he had known.

He had known how incredible it was to have someone. To belong somewhere. To belongwithsomeone.

In hockey, the guys had their favorites—a well-worn stick that felt like an extension of their arm, a pair of socks riddled with holes but steeped in superstition, a brand of stick tape that had to be wrapped just right. Precision mattered. The wrong grip could throw off their entire game. If it was too tacky, it slowed them down. If it wasn’t wrapped perfectly, it became a nagging distraction, an imperfection they couldn’t shake.

Jeannie was his favoriteof everything.

She fit him in ways he hadn’t realized he needed. She gave him space when he craved quiet, yet her presence filled every corner of his world. She never demanded his attention, but somehow, she had all of it. And when she smiled—those rare, fleeting smiles—it was like the sky shifted. Like the sun burned just a little brighter. She would glance away, cheeks tinged theprettiest shade of pink, composing herself as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t just upended his entire existence with a single look. But he felt it—every time.

She made him wish for things he’d never considered. He was falling for his make-believe wife, and it was wrecking him.

If it were anyone else, he would know exactly what to do. At a bar, he’d send a drink and let his reputation do the work. At an event, a simple glance usually set things in motion. Confidence had never been his problem. He knew what he brought to the table—what women saw when they looked at him. But Jeannie? With Jeannie, he felt like some rookie scrambling for footing on fresh ice, outmatched and out of his depth.

She was brilliant and meticulous, always thinking ten steps ahead while he barely thought past the next day. He’d seen it in the way she handled everything—how she had utilities set up before they even arrived, how she mapped out every detail of their move while he stood there, useless. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to do those things because she just did them.

Jeannie was the details of his own life. She made his world brighter. And he was just now realizing how much he needed her. And now, his detail—his heart—was breaking into a thousand pieces in the other room.

The sound of her sobs gutted him. It wasn’t a quiet, repressed cry. It was raw, unfiltered pain, tearing through the walls and sinking into his bones. He could feel every shuddering breath, every ounce of grief she tried—and failed—to contain.

He’d bought the roses, hoping they would make her smile, picturing that small, shy happiness that always warmed his chest. He’d even gone for a used car, knowing she’d never accept something extravagant. She would’ve outright refused a BMW or a Porsche and would’ve given him heck for even thinking about it. That was Jeannie. She was careful, considerate, determined tolive within her means—never even pausing to wonder what his might be.

She had no idea how much he made, how much he had saved. She never asked, never cared. Because, in her mind, it was about making sure they lived responsibly, that they didn’t take things for granted. She was always looking out for him. Always making sure he had enough.

But in his mind?

He never wanted her to do without. Not for a single second. And now, despite everything, despite how hard he tried, she was in the other room, falling apart. And he didn’t know how to fix it.

He sat there, helpless and alone, for what felt like forever. He thought about knocking on her door, asking if she was okay, if he could help, if he could do anything to stop her from crying - and he didn’t move. He was terrified that the reason she was so upset… was because of him.

The next morning he woke up early and crept into the kitchen to make the coffee, hoping to entice her into sitting with him for a bit before he had to head to the arena for the last practice of the week.

He waited…

And waited…

And waited some more, before realizing that she was up and moving around in her bedroom and not coming out. That sickening fear that he had last night, wondering if the problem and the reason she was crying was due to something he did?

That came crashing back down on him – hard.

He had obviously done something to upset her and had no clue what it was. He bought her a car, bought her some flowers, heck, he bought her the house he wanted to see them living in twenty years from now… and had no idea how to make her happy.

If it wasn’t things, was it gestures?

Maybe she needed a symbolic gesture to feel special? But what would that even look like? This was killing him on the inside, knowing she was miserable, and if tonight involved another round of brokenhearted sobbing – he would cry himself. How did you make someone fall for you if they were miserable?

“Hey Jeannie?” he called out, trying to be nonchalant. “Would you like some coffee? I thought maybe we could have breakfast together on the overlook and see if we can hear any birds chirping, cars driving by, ships… uh,shippingor whatever cause I feel like a fool,” he finished lamely, his voice getting quieter and quieter the more he spoke, before uttering under his breath. “Just come out, and I’ll make any noise you need to draw you out of that shell…”

To his surprise, her bedroom door opened, and he felt his stomach give a painful rumble seeing her swollen eyes and reddish nose. Apparently, she had been crying this morning, too.

Don’t say anything…

Don’t say anything…

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