Page 89 of Puck Happens

“You know I love it when you go all big brother on me. I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll just say this. When I saw you with Liv, in the short amount of time I saw you together…it looked real. Like real, real. Don’t discount that.”

I wasn’t discounting it. I was simply choosing to walk away from it. For the sport.

The sport first. Always.

“See you, Wend. I’ll email the tickets.”

“Thanks, Dillon. Love you.”

“Ditto.”

I disconnected the call and shoved my phone in my back pocket, still staring out over this city where I was a hero.

Liv was going to leave and I was going to skate out onto the ice against Tampa. The fans would do the chant and we would win, or we wouldn’t. No matter what, I was pretty sure I would still be hung up on Liv.

I had no clue how long it was going to take to put Liv firmly in the rearview mirror, but I knew it wasn’t going to be measured in days or weeks.

There was a knock on my door and it startled me

Bang. Bang. Bang.

This was Portland, Maine. Not New York City. We didn’t have staffed doormen in the lobby, but we did have a locked building door that required people to be buzzed in. It hadn’t happened too often, but there had been a fan or two who had tried to follow me home after a game. The residents of the building were cool and they knew not to let just anyone inside.

Maybe a neighbor needed something?

I stalked to the door and opened it. When I saw Liv standing on the other side of the door with a bottle of gin tucked under her arm, I felt all the jagged edges of bones and joints and muscles in my chest resettle into a puzzle where all the pieces fit.

She’s here.

Thank God.

“Your neighbor on three recognized me,” she said. “She thinks we’re doing an Ice Capades charity event together and I’m here to help you pick a costume. Let me in, Dillon. Let’s say goodbye the right way.”

17

Liv

Iset the bottle down on the island in his big ass kitchen.

“Tell me you have tonic,” I demanded.

“And limes,” he said, walking over to his fridge. He pulled out two small bottles of tonic and a lime. He wore a pair of gray sweatpants that sat low on his hips and hugged his ass. Those sweatpants should be outlawed in all fifty states.

I found the cabinet where he stored his glasses. Of course, his fancy refrigerator made ice. so I filled both glasses to the top and set them on the counter. I hit each glass with some gin and Dillon came around me with tonic, a squeeze of lime, then he popped a lime wedge into each glass.

“Cheers to never seeing me again,” I said, raising my glass.

He said nothing. Just looked down at his glass.

“For the record, you fucked this up, not me.”

He nodded. I liked that he looked unsure. A little shattered.

“Novek told me the guys have noticed how you watch me. So it’s not just Morgan who is on to you. On to us, I guess. But now I’m leaving before your behavior costs me the rest of my career.”

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