Page 76 of Pucking Strong

Decision made, I order my Uber. Destination? Riptide’s Bar and fucking Grill.

The Uber pulls up in front of the beachside bar. Even before I get out, I hear rock music. It’s not karaoke night, but there’s definitely a party in full swing. I’ve been with the guys in the gym all week, and no one mentioned anything …

Entering the busy restaurant, I look around for anyone I know. Tess’s flaming red curls are hard to miss. Man, it’s packed in here. People are clustered by the bar, waiting for tables to open. I don’t see any Rays. Definitely no sign of Henrik.

The hostess perks up as I approach. She’s a pretty Chinese girl with a septum piercing and pink hair in tight space buns. “Hi! Did you have a reservation?”

“Uhh, actually, I’m looking for the hockey team.”

“Yeah, sure. Everyone’s already outside. Are you one of the guests of honor?”

“Guests of what? No, I don’t think so.”

Her smile falls a little. “Oh, well, everyone’s outside. Do you know the way?”

“Yep, all good.” I duck around her stand and head for the double doors. Through the wall of glass, I can see out to the crowded beach bar area. Yeah, it’s definitely the Rays. But I don’t see any actual players. There’s Maribel, Paulie’s Brazilian supermodel wife. Erica Woodson is laughing with DJ Perry’s girlfriend, Jessica. And they’re all wearing matching bedazzled jackets.

Wait, did Tess invite me to a WAG party?

I step outside, and someone instantly yells, “He’s here!”

All the women turn as one, cheering and screaming my name. I swear to god, I jump a foot in the air. “What the fuck—”

“Teddy!”

“You made it!”

“Welcome to the WAGs, Doctor O’Connor!”

My backpack is left at the door as the crowd of women surround me. Very much against my will, I’m led over to the corner booth, where Tess is waiting with Caleb and Mars Price. They stand as I’m hauled forward like some kind of sacrificial tribute. The Price guys are wearing the same jackets as the women. I know exactly what they are, and hell is gonna freeze over before—

“Glad you finally decided to show up,” says a deep voice. I glance over my shoulder to see Colton Morrow standing behind me. Like the others, he’s wearing a sparkly WAG jacket.

“Oh god.” Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around him in a tight hug.

“Oof—” He laughs, patting my back. “Good to see ya, Doc.”

It’s no secret that Colton Morrow is one of my NHL idols. Like me, he was a Black kid just trying to make it in a sport that’s been notoriously hostile towards any efforts at diversity. I may be fighting behind the bench, but our struggles are the same. I got to watch him play with the Rays during my intern year. I watched him come out to the world too, declaring his love for Poppy and Novy. Black and queer in hockey? Just consider us a couple of trailblazers.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I mutter against his chest.

He pulls away first. “Come on, it’ll be more fun than you think. I promise.”

I take in his flashy jacket. “Not possible.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Poppy leads me away. Man, she must have left the interview quick. And she changed out of her little business suit. Now she’s in jeans and a white T-shirt, stretched tight over her baby bump. She’s also sporting a WAG jacket. Morrow’s jacket has Novy’s number twenty-two on the arms, but Poppy has the number one on the arms and back. And across her shoulders it just reads, “POPPY.”

“What, you didn’t wanna rep Novy at the games?” I tease.

“Oh, I think I rep him just fine,” she says, patting her pregnant belly. “But at the games, I’m usually on the clock too. And there’s onlyonePoppy St. James.”

“Point taken.” I glance around at all the chaos. “You couldn’t have warned me about this earlier?”

“What, and miss seeing the look on your face? I recorded it, by the way.”

Of course she did.

She leads me to the front of the pack, not stopping until I’m standing before Tess, Caleb, and Mars. A giant Finnish ex-goalie, Mars stands in the middle with his arms crossed in his bedazzled WAG jacket. “Ilmari” is embroidered in a script font over his left chest, with Jake’s number forty-two on both arms. Under his name is what looks like a motorcycle club patch that reads, “PRESIDENT.”

---