Page 25 of The Puck Stops Here

You were the one who said, “be my guest”!

Didn’t mean he had to like it though.

Didn’t mean he was jealous.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t as messed up as everyone said.

He stalked through the locker room, stripping as he went, every player present parting like the sea did for Moses. He hit the shower and slammed it to cold.

Let Aiden do the talking; it’s safer that way.

She’d only hate you if she knew you.

The real you.

He scrubbed at his chest, his nails raking over the tattoo she had taken such time over and its meaning… his brother’s apt description…

‘Tell me that I’m wrong.’

No, his brother wasn’t wrong. The eagle was about him, the compass was about him, the words too. It was all about breaking free of the past, the pain and his mistakes… the problem was, he still felt as chained to them as ever.

And here he was, hiding out in the locker room like he had as a teen, anything to avoid going home. To avoid the drunken onslaught, the fighting and the shouting…

The noise that never ceased.

Until he’d made it cease.

His gut rolled and he pressed his palms into the cold tiles, willing the memory away. The police, the blood, the?—

‘You alright, Blake?’

It was Harry, the young rookie Aiden had been with in the hallway. The lad looked nervous as hell as he stood in the doorway. Not too dissimilar to the boy he’d once been in these same four walls. Green, freshly drafted, trying to find his place in a team of peers and idols alike.

Took some balls for the lad to come and ask, and he took pity on him. Gave a smile.

‘Aye, I’m alright, Harry.’

Or at least he would be once he put himself back in the driving seat of his own destiny…

‘Every man is the architect of his own fortune.’

Time to start acting like it.

4

‘You have to excuse my brother.’

Aiden set a glass of prosecco down beside her glasses on the table and slid into the cosy pub booth across from her, his knee grazing hers as he took a slug of cold beer straight from the bottle. She eyed his thirst-quenching drink, the condensation around the neck, the light layer of foam just visible through the glass and resisted the urge to smack her lips.

She really wanted a beer. It didn’t need to be a fancy IPA, just any old beer would do. But Aiden’s ladies were classy. Classy meant lady-like drinks, straight posture, crossed legs and a demure smile. Check, check, check, and?—

‘You did ask for a prosecco, right?’

‘Hmm?’ She refocused on his face, the puzzled crease to his brow. ‘Oh yes, of course, thanks.’ She grabbed her glass, almost knocking it over in her eagerness. ‘Prosecco is the answer to everything.’

Or it had beenbeforeshe’d had a few too many in a snowy airport and felt the aftereffects for days…

He turned his head, giving her the side eye as he took another slug and her mouth watered. ‘You sure about that?’

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