Page 53 of Pucks, Lies, and Sticktape

Jeannie sighed, knowing full well that the next two periods were about to get ugly.

“You better go, wife…” Matthieu murmured, hastily adjusting his gear as he prepared to join the game. He turned to her one last time, his voice softer. “I love you.”

“I’ll see you soon, handsome,” she said, blowing him a kiss.

Matthieu caught it dramatically, pressing his fingers to his lips before skating backward, his grin wide and confident. “You know it!” he called out before spinning around and charging toward the net.

Jeannie stood there for a moment, her heart full, her fingers absently brushing the new ring on her hand. She had never believed in fairytales. But as she watched her husband—herhusband—play the game he loved after marrying the woman he adored, she realized blissfully that she was living one.

11

MATTHIEU

Savage skated over,his expression sharp, eyes scanning Matthieu’s face with quiet intensity.

“Hey, is your head on straight—are you good?”

The question hit home.

Hard.

Matthieu knew exactly what Savage was asking. The weight of the moment still pressed against his chest, an invisible force that made his ribs feel too tight. He had just renewed his vows in front of the whole world. Cameras flashing, fans roaring, the kiss still lingering on his lips like a ghost that refused to let go. But his teammates knew the truth—this wasn’t just a show. This was real. And for all his years of steel nerves and split-second reactions, that reality was almost too much to process in the heat of the game.

He was a married man.

His fingers clenched inside his gloves. The cool weight of his wedding ring pressed against his skin, grounding him. Jeannie. His wife. The thought should’ve been a comfort, but right now, he needed to shove it aside, bury it deep, because this wasn’t thetime to get lost in the storm of emotions threatening to pull him under.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he muttered, forcing the words through clenched teeth.

Savage didn’t look convinced. “If you’re not, it’s okay. We can put in Lafrenière…”

Matthieu’s head snapped up, eyes dark with defiance. “No. I’m good.” His voice was harder this time, sharper, laced with the fire that burned in his veins. “We’ve got a game to win.”

A grin flickered across Savage’s face, the kind that spoke of blood and battle. “Amen, brother… amen.” He skated off, signaling to the bench before taking his position.

The moment the puck dropped, the ice exploded in a wild fervor of sticks, limbs, and angry bodies shoving at each other. Men were slammed into the boards with sickening force, and sticks slashed through the air like weapons, the ice beneath them hissing as blades carved it up with violent precision. The air was thick with curses, threats, and the raw, unfiltered hunger of men who would do anything to win.

Matthieu could feel the fight in every breath, every collision, the tension so thick it felt like it could shatter. He was locked in, eyes tracking the puck as it flew across the rink like a bullet. Then—there.

A shot was fired in his direction. He dropped instantly, instincts screaming as he sprawled to block it. The puck hit him like a cannonball, rattling his bones, but he held firm.

And it was on the line.

Noooo!

His heart pounded like a war drum.

Too close.

Too fast.

He could hear the scramble, the chaos of sticks slamming down, bodies converging like vultures scenting blood.

Can’t let go.

“BACK OFF—” he snarled, voice raw with fury.

“Stick it,traitor,” came the sharp retort from an opposing player, his stick hacking at Matthieu’s glove, trying to pry the puck free. He recognized that voice, knew it was one of the guys he’d once played with, and obviously, there were some hurt feelings with him leaving so abruptly. They didn’t care if he got fired or cut by the coach, but heaven help him if he traded up in the world.

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