Page 22 of Puck You Very Much

Dax took a step closer and slowly leaned down to her, depriving her of the space and air to breathe. “Size doesn’t always matter, Lucy,” he whispered, his voice so raspy and soft that goosebumps crawled down her spine. “The others just don’t seem to know you and your iron will as well as I do.” He jerked upright again and stepped back. “So, will you promise me? It’ll be our secret?”

He stuck out his hand and looked at her expectantly.

What else could Lucy do but grab it and whisper, “I promise.”

Like jackals to carrion, the press descended on Dax and Jack as soon as they walked onto the podium and dropped into their seats.

Lucy expected this and was usually good at skipping the awkward questions and directing the sensible ones to the right recipient. Today, however, she was…muddled. Not focused. She found the questionWhat?!on her mind as often as the wordassholeusually was when she thought about Dax. She would have liked to blame it on the cacophony the two dozen journalists created with their shouted questions, but that wasn’t true. She just wasn’t listening properly. Her mind was filled with questions and doubts…and the image of Dax’s face: Gentle, not hard.

Leslie had disappeared to deal with another PR emergency, leaving Lucy in charge, and she was happy about it. She didn’t want her boss to see how slowly her mind was functioning today, how long it took her to tell reporters that they were “not disclosing detailed info about training status at this time” and “had no information about Darron Clark’s son possibly taking over as owner.”

In fact, she was grateful for Jack West. She only knew him from the arena and interviews on television, but one thing became clear to her within seconds: He knew how to deal with the press. He knew how to market himself as saintly, which had earned him his nickname. He exuded consistent, warm peace and serenity—while Dax was a lone, tense bundle who didn’t open his mouth.

Lucy watched the two, their hands clasped on the table, Jack with a smile on his face, Dax’s expression not hostile, but not exactly child-friendly either.

Brothers. They were brothers.

Half-brothers.

But they apparently grew up together and… It was irrelevant. They had more in common than rivalry. They were connected by the blood that flowed through their veins.

She slowly let her gaze wander back and forth between the two. They were incredibly different men. Jack was blond with green eyes and Dax was dark with blue eyes. Jack was clean-shaven, and Dax’s stubble was a lumberjack’s dream. Each had a distinct posture: Jack’s was open and free; Dax’s was tense, his shoulders hunched.

But then there were their strong jaws, the way their eyebrows furrowed when one of the journalists asked a stupid question…and she knew Dax’s cheek had the same dimple that Jack sported when he laughed.

Yes, they were related.

And yet, Dax hated Jack.

What happened? What could a seemingly kind-hearted and open person like Jack West have done to turn his family against him?

“Mr. Temple, your rivalry with Jack West is well known to all hockey fans,” a male voice boomed over the constant flurry of flashbulbs. “How do you feel about having to work with him now and play for the same team? Will your mutual dislike affect your game?”

Lucy’s stomach lurched.

One question. She had promised him that she would let one question through to him. And this was it.

She nodded at him, allowing him to respond, and their eyes locked for a few seconds. They were like two interlocking rings, designed to hold tension. Then Dax replied slowly, but in a firm and neutral voice, “I have always respected Jack West as a worthy opponent.”

It didn’t answer the question. But it was a good quote. The quote she had put into his mouth.

She smiled. A relieved, generous smile—and for a second, she almost thought the corners of Dax’s mouth were twitching in response. But she wasn’t sure because a second later she was distracted.

“Mr. West,” the same reporter called out, “what doyouthink?”

Jack shrugged nonchalantly and gave Dax a quick pat on the back. “I’m looking forward to playing with Dax. He’s one of the best and most ambitious strikers in the league…” He grinned and gave Dax a sideways glance. “…And certainly keen to learn a few more things from me.”

Lucy gave Dax credit for not showing any signs of anger. Instead, he raised a single, cynical corner of his mouth and said calmly, “We’ll see who learns what from whom.” The next moment, he held out his hand to Jack—and the other player grasped it firmly.

Lucy’s shoulders lost their tension and she smiled again. That was all she had wanted to see—and all the press would get to see.

“No more questions,” she said sharply, standing before motioning for Jack and Dax to leave the stage.

Yes, they were brothers. Yes, they were estranged and Lucy was itching to find out why. But it was irrelevant. She didn’treallycare. It wasn’t like she was friends with Dax. She wasn’t a part of his life. She was simply his babysitter.

It’s very, very hard not to respect you. You put up with my stupid comments, you’re brave, and you speak your mind. Not many people do that when they’re standing face-to-face with me.

She swallowed and turned her back on the flurry of flashbulbs. Yes. Just his temporary babysitter.

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