Page 52 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

As of now, things were going to get heated.

“Last time I checked, you guys got Coach Johnson,” Wyatt comes onto the ice, surprising me even more because I didn’t expect him to be here.

Seeing as I haven’t seen Jayce or Maddox, I can safely assume they’re not doing hockey as a living. I already knew Maddox had been really serious about the firefighter career, so I wouldn’t be too surprised if he was now a chief or something along those lines.

Jayce, however, used to breathe hockey. The man was so obsessed, he went through a period where he carried his equipment everywhere, so he’d be ready to jump on the various skating rinks across the town during the winter season. I guess it fed his ‘craving for the thrill’ but I really would have thought he’d make it onto a team like this.

Oh, well. Not my business… Wait a minute. Did he just say Father’s name?

Why does it just dawn on me?

Father got accepted as the coach of a new hockey team!

“Now, Equipment Manager, don’t go choosing sides now,” Wolfgang declares with a taunting smirk. “Just ‘cause we got Coach Johnson, doesn’t mean we can’t get the coach’s daughter on our team as well.”

Players on both sides are talking and staring my way from the grand reveal that I’m related to Coach Johnson.

“If you guys didn’t know that, you should have done your research,” Ace proudly states before winking my way. “Morning, Mickey.”

Now, I’m smiling.

“You guys aren’t being all wooed at the fact Wyatt is Coach Cyrus’ son,” Oscar reminds them which makes Damien chuckle.

“No one fears the coach’s son, Oscar. It’s the daughters you gotta be afraid of.”

“It’s true, man,” Wolfgang continues. “You see Coach Cyrus in action. If he had the opportunity, he’d throw Wyatt to the wolves and walk away when he cries for help.”

Some of them break out in laughter while Ace pats his friend’s shoulder with his glove.

“But when it comes to the daughters, oh boy. Y’all better not make our girl shed a single tear, or you’re all pucked!”

“Pucked?” A few guys mock and look at Ace weirdly, but he shrugs.

“Pucked aka fucked. That’s rule number one, boys. You gotta swear, you say, Puck, Pucking, or on the off chance, Duck. Don’t go saying Ducking, or you’re gonna get some idiot dropping to the floor and killing their knees.”

“You gotta be kidding me?”

“Bruh, no one is saying that shit.”

“Puck and Pucking. You guys trying to make us look like kids?”

I try not to cringe at the obvious mockery over the correctional term, but Ace, Damien, and Wolfgang are standing their ground with this. They’re not even emotionally moved by the obvious laughter and gossip.

“Either you stick with it when we’re forced to share the rink together or enjoy sitting outside while you reflect on your inability not to swear for a few hours.”

My heart goes from relaxed to palpitation at that husky Daddy voice that makes me want to melt into a fucking puddle of slick.

No pucking way.

No pucking way is Maddox here.

Lifting my gaze from my feet, I confirm Maddox O’Riley Wilson was indeed on a hockey team.

My ex-not-my-ex Maddox is the Captain of Strattonville Vipers.

And he’s skating our way with another familiar face.

You gotta be pucking kidding me.

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