Page 42 of Triple Pucked
“I know what it means to you.” But it’s me that Fleet’s serious gaze settles on. “And maybe I didn’t take the job because of you but because I’ve been watching this new star player from the stands. You’re the best that I’ve seen in decades, Prince. I’m impressed.”
D’Angelo shrugs away from Fleet. “You should be. He’s good. Dedicated too.”
My cheeks glow at the pride in D’Angelo’s voice. I straighten my shoulders under the coach’s inspection.
I worry that his gaze is too knowing.
Fleet flicks his gaze to D’Angelo. “I look forward to seeing howgoodhe is.”
My blush deepens on the low, rumbling emphasis that he puts ongood.
Why does it feel like he’s talking about more than my hockey skills?
My skin is too hot. My pulse flutters in my neck.
Fleet’s gaze sharpens.
“Of course, it’ll be nothing compared to how much you’ll admire my play.” D’Angelo smirks.
Fleet suddenly looks a lot less friendly.
I shiver.
“Don’t get cocky with me, D’Angelo.” Fleet’s voice deepens. “Get back to your drills and show me what you’ve got. Send Zach over to me, before he collapses too. And don’t think that I won’t kick your ass just because you’re the captain and we’re?—”
“Bros?” D’Angelo salutes.
Then he smirks and nods at me to follow him out onto the ice.
As I turn, however, my mind is dangerously elsewhere.
I should be focused on impressing Fleet and preparing for the first game on Tuesday.
Yet I’m haunted by thoughts of Robyn.
What if these are my final two weeks with her?
At least Eden wasn’t in the meeting. Right now, he’s at Cody’s house and has no idea that our entire world could be about to fall apart once again.
How am I going to tell him?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tide Cottage, Freedom
Eden
“I’ll tell you a secret,”Cody whispers, conspiratorially, pushing the large, frosted cake that is topped with blackberries between us on the kitchen counter. “The recipe isn’t special because of the fruit, layers, or even the cinnamon and cloves. It’s the coffee that I add in the icing, which gives it the kick. Of course, now you know the secret, I’ll have to kill you.”
I blink.
Are family recipes that serious? I shared my mum’s scones with him.
Don’t we have a swap agreement?
Baking is deadlier than I guessed.
I cross my arms. “I asked in our WhatsApp group. You promised to share Mike’s favorite recipe with me last week. You’ve never broken a promise before.”
