Page 57 of Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny

Then we all hugged like we’d helped our boys out on the ice, and I liked to think we had in our own way.

“You’re going down, Quinnipiac,” Lyla called. “Just wait till Lindsay’s boyfriend smashes your face into the wall.”

I smothered a laugh. Lyla’s version of trash talk was always a bit different from the rest. I liked how she called Ryder my boyfriend, though—I couldn’t hear it enough. I was seriously close to being the girl who drew her and her boyfriend’s initials in a heart with a plus sign and an equals True Love Forever, like I was in high school. Except back in high school I never would’ve done that.

When Lyla looked to me, I assumed for backup, I shouted, “That’s right! Nobody messes with my boyfriend!”

We giggled and dropped back into our seats. Happiness tingled through every inch of me. When I first started hanging out with these girls and slipping into the hockey world again, I’d been too scared to fully believe my life had changed. Too afraid that if I let myself think I had friends and a guy who was as crazy about me as I was about him, that when I inevitably found myself alone again, I would no longer know how to deal. But these girls kept showing up, even on the days when our boys were too busy with hockey to hang out. We already had plans to head to the Howl at the Moon piano bar after the game to celebrate our win—we refused to discuss any other option. I’d even worn the same outfit I did for the quarterfinals game since they’d won that night.

Which meant I was now not just a hockey fan, but a superstitious one. I guess that sounded better than puck bunny.

I glanced toward the area where I used to frequent, and several of the usual suspects were there. Misty and her temporary, until-a-guy-paid-her-attention friends. Other girls I recognized. New girls who were flashing lots of leg and cleavage despite the chilly temperature of the rink.

I sorta wished I didn’t understand them anymore, but part of me still did. Sometimes it took a lot of effort to capture a guy’s attention—not everyone was as persistent as Ryder. I wasn’t judging, either. If it made them happy, go sexual revolution and all. I just hoped that they were, in fact, happy. That they didn’t get their hearts broken, and the guys they hooked up with at least treated them decently. But I knew there’d be a few who’d accidentally fall head over heels. Who’d be treated poorly right afterward—just kicked to the curb like they meant nothing.

Residual hurt rose over the times I’d been treated that way, when it took everything in me to convince myself that it was okay, because I’d been in control. I tried to focus on the other times, the ones where mutual fun was had and both parties walked away satisfied. Live and learn, right? That was the important thing.

I looked back at the girls next to me, all three of them leaning forward and watching the game with intense expressions. I’d heard parts of their stories, and I knew they’d had their fair share of bumps along the way to falling in love. I also knew it wasn’t always easy for them to find time to spend with their boyfriends. Or for Megan’s brother to resist the urge to kill hers when Dane got a little too handsy in front of him.

A grin stretched across my lips, and the tingly blissful vibes I’d felt this past week multiplied. These girls loved their guys with their whole hearts, and I wouldn’t call any of them weak. I wished I could stop waiting for things to go south, but a part of me still struggled to believe fairy-tale relationships were possible. That the happily ever after in books belonged only to fiction.

But my beliefs were slowly changing and reshaping.

Hope took hold, and instead of pushing it away, I held on to it.

After all, there were jobs around here, and I’d bet money there was less competition for newspaper spots in Boston than New York. Cost of living would be cheaper, too. Maybe I could find something and stick around for a couple more years. Did that make me naive? Desperate? Weak?

The other team broke for their goal and I scooted forward, my focus turning back to the game. Ryder slammed into the guy from the opposing team who’d gained possession. He hit the boards with a loudthwack, and Hudson swooped in, stole the puck, and took off in the other direction.

When we scored again and the other team called a time-out, Ryder looked up into the stands. He tipped back his helmet and shot me a smile that made my insides go all melty on me.

I blew him a kiss, and just like that, my plans shifted. I’d start applying for jobs here, so that even after I graduated, I could keep dating Ryder and see what happened. We owed it to ourselves to at least try, right?

A prickling sensation tickled my neck, that feeling of being watched, and I glanced around to find a guy somewhere in the forties age range staring at me. He looked familiar, but it took me a couple of seconds to figure out why. I’d only seen him from a distance last game, so I couldn’t be sure, but I was almost certain it was Ryder’s dad. He had Ryder’s same dark hair and general build, but his features were more angular, and instead of warmth, the guy radiated a cold, calculating vibe.

A memory tickled my brain, this strange déjà vu sensation I didn’t understand settling in.

But then the whistle blew, the game clock started again, and I turned back to the game, trying to ignore the unsettling cold lump that’d formed in my gut.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Ryder

I wasn’t sure what happened to us the last half of the third period. Maybe we’d gotten too cocky—my father would certainly think so—but the long and short of it was that if we didn’t get it together, we were going to lose this game. With single elimination, that meant this year’s hockey season would be over before we even made it to the Frozen Four Tournament, and we’d forfeit our title.

I can’t let that happen. I’ve worked too hard—we’veallworked too hard.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins and my concentration narrowed to the puck and the guy from the opposing team skating toward our goal. Daniel cut him off, the crash of helmets and pads carrying across the ice, and the puck got lost in the shuffle.

But one of his teammates was right behind him, looking to pick up where the other had left off.

I charged, determined not to let that happen. He got the tip of his stick on it, just enough to send it toward another teammate. Without me between him and the goal, there was nothing in his way, and he took full advantage.

He shot, and I held my breath, praying that Barnes, our goalie, could block it.

Barnes stretched forward, but the puck slid in the tiny hole underneath his leg, and Quinnipiac’s lead grew to three points.

As soon as I heard the whistle, I knew I was about to get my ass chewed. Never leave the goal open—it was a cardinal rule. I’d gotten too hungry and abandoned my post.

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