Page 96 of Pucking Wild

“It’s an invitation to mefromme,” he barks.

“So, you’ll be RSVPing ‘yes’ then, right? And you’ll notice, I gave you a ‘plus three.’ So, Rach, you can come too,” I add, flashing her a wink.

“Tess, what is this?” he says again. “I told you to keep me out of it—”

“No. Youveryspecifically told me to keep you out of the decision-making process, which I did.”

Rachel glances between us. “What the hell is happening?”

“This is a punishment for the way I behaved at the office,” he says, not looking at her. “You know I’m sorry for that. I apologized, and you accepted. I thought we moved on.”

“Wait—what behavior? What apology?” Rachel says, eyes wide.

He’s not lying. Hedidsend me an apology email. A stiff, formal apology of three sentences. I was about to call him and chew him out when a delivery person arrived at the office with an edible arrangement of chocolate covered fruits and a massage gift card—both from Mars.

I square my shoulders at him. “Yeah, and don’t for one second think I don’t know you went to Jake to help you make that apology,” I counter. “That’s the reason I forgave you, Mars. Because you showed yourself a big enough person to lean on your partners and ask them for help when you’re clearly out of your depth.”

His anger softens, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“You’re out here giving me all this sage advice about being myself and taking control? Well, congratulations, the lesson stuck,” I say, waving my hand at the envelope.

He bristles again. “This isnotwhat I meant!”

“It’s perfect,” I shout back.

“Well, I’m not doing it. Get Jake to do it. He loves being the center of attention.”

“Oh, yes, you are. Everything has already been arranged. You can’t back out now, Mars Mission.”

“Back out of what?” Rachel cries. “Someone better tell me what the hell is going on.”

Slowly, Mars holds up the envelope. She snatches it from his hand, pulling out the supercute invitation I designed. It’s got a watercolor motif of sea turtles and coral at the top. She reads it over quickly, her panic fading to confusion, which gives way to a smile.

“This is…amazing,” she says at last, looking up at Mars. “Kulta, why wouldn’t you do it? This is what you want, right? To attract donors? To help Out of the Net grow?”

“Yes, but the right kind of donors,” he counters, clearly exasperated. “People who care about the environment, people who want to see legislative changes, better protections for the dunes. Not…this,” he says, pointing at the invitation.

“Look, Mars,” I say, gently plucking the invitation from Rachel’s hand. “We’ll get those donors too, trust me. Plenty of people will be drawn to the work of Out of the Net because they care about the sea turtles. But do you know whatelsepique’s people’s interest? Stupidly handsome, two-time Stanley Cup-winning NHL goalies with an intoxicating air of mystery.”

He huffs, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.

“You wanna know how you help this organization? Be yourself. I’ve never asked you to be any different, Mars. We don’t need the help of marine biologists and conservation specialists right now. We need attention. We need money. We need donors. You are the perfect person to get us all three. So, I present to you: A Night with Ilmari Kinnunen Price.”

He mutters a curse in Finnish.

I wave the invitation in the air with a flourish. “It’s a black-tie gala where you are the star, and you get to shine your light onto your favorite pet project and ask for donations. You’ll mix and mingle and be yourself, and the donations will flood in, I promise you. And you won’t be alone,” I add. “We’re having reps from some of the other turtle orgs come in. Cheryl and Nancy are arranging it all. We might even have an animal ambassador program. Real live baby sea turtles.” I glance to Rachel with a grin. “Can you imagine?”

“Oh god, Caleb will literally pop a lung trying to play it cool around baby turtles,” she says with a laugh. “I really think this will work,” she adds, glancing up at her husband. “Fans and friends will donate just because it’s you doing the asking.”

“It is not my way to put myself forward and ask for things,” he admits, letting a bit of his insecurity shine through again.

And goddamn it, but I love him more for it. I know I’m asking a lot of him, but I also know he can do it. He’s more than just hockey. They all are. And he doesn’t need a fancy degree to impress people with all he knows about dune restoration and wildlife conservation. Citizen science exists for a reason. He’s perfect just as he is.

He just needs to see it too.

Next to me, Rachel smiles, and I know she’s thinking the same thing. “You asked me to sit next to you on the plane.”

He goes still, not looking at her.

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