Page 22 of Triple Puck Valentines

“Um. Ah.” Abel glances frantically at Jesse and Hutch. They see what I’m doing and play along.

“Dude. So wrong. Definitely don’t say it that way? How else should she take it?” Jesse looks away, a hand over his mouth, so Abe can’t see the laughter that’s trying to bubble out of him.

But, I can’t hold it in and laughter fills the room. Abe sees he’s been caught and laughs himself. This is what I love about these guys. They get mad at each other at times, but don’t stay that way. Their friendship is almost more important than anything. Except for us. The four of us is what’s more important.

“Since we’re doing this. I have something for you Kat.” Hutch lifts up until he’s on his knees.

“What next?”

He slides off the bed, to the bedside table. Reaches inside and grabs something small. Walking over on his knees, “Kat. Since I’m already on my knees here goes. I love you more than anything. Will protect you with my everything. Want you to be my forever. Will you marry us?”

“Us?”

Abe and Jesse kneel on each side of me. Rings in both their hands. “But. What?” I’m overcome. Never expected all three to want to marry me and become a family. Why I don’t know. I know how much they love me.

“Well? No answer?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you. All three of you. But how will it work? I can only marry one.”

“We’ll figure that out later. Maybe play rock, paper, scissors to see who gets the chore.” Hutch laughs, his lips kissing my belly where our baby lies. My baby. His baby. Abel’s baby. And Jesse’s baby. Ours. Our one big happy family.

THE END

SNEAK PEAK INTO TRIPLE PUCK PLAYERS

CHAPTER 1 - KATRINA

Whack.

The puck flies through the air, soars like the highest tone of a song, slipping by without clipping the ear of the goalie.

The horn blares the win in a cacophony of sound. We just won the championship. Fans from both teams leap to their feet, shoes banging hollow thunder on the metal floors.

I spring to my feet, my arms raise and wave, and shrieks and screams and stomps and yells from the lovers of hockey in the stands echoes through the arena, from the ceiling to the floor. Whether they roar for the team that wins or the losers, the tumult creates pandemonium.

The Bay City Brawlers are champions again, for the second year in a row. I shriek and scream in the nosebleed seats. I can afford the better seats, but I don’t want them. It’s more real here than below with the big wigs.

My eyes troll for the three players I yearn for. Hutch Adams, Abel Wayne and Jesse Barone. I’ve dug into them and their habits on social media. They are the talk of women who have been with them. They like to do foursomes. I’ve followed the team to the different cities they play, trying to hook up with them for three years now.

I consider myself a groupie not a whore. Or a slut. But there’s some attraction to those three that I can’t deny when I watch them play. I hang around behind the scenes where I won’t be noticed.

So far, I haven’t been able to bring myself forward. This time I will. They will be on a winning high. I’m scared though, a plus-size girl who men sometimes make fun of. And an occasional target for some women as well. They are the cruelest of all.

Ignoring the traditional hockey handshake at the end of the big game, a fight breaks out between the two teams, sticks heave against sticks and strike against players. Fists strike to pound against flesh. Men strike hard blows against other men. A brawl ensues, security, managers, coaches throwing themselves into the melee. Fans from both sides who love the fighting, cheer and roar their approval.

My heart beats a fast Merengue, and I lift onto my tiptoes to find out if my guys got hurt. My guys. I can’t call them that. I shouldn’t. They aren’t mine yet. But I know they will be. Soon.

I watch as both teams separate, Some beaten and bloody. One might be unconscious. I bite the inside of my lip. There they are… standing together.

Bruises on cheekbones, on chins, and blood trails down from a cut over Abel’s eye. Hutch has a busted lip and Jesse’s face is clean of blood. He got lucky. The three men have a gleam of excitement spread on their faces at the free-for-all.

The brilliant overhead lights heat the dome. Humidity seeps down the back of my head under my hair, inching its descent to drip and trickle down my spine. Perspiration oozes out of my forehead and my upper lip, making me swipe my face with the back of my hand. I’m a mess.Not like this. I can’t let them see me for the first time like this.

The aroma of burgers, hot dogs, tacos and French fries and popcorn waft to me, making my stomach growl like a bear.

I’ve spent most of my teenage and adult life attempting to not be noticed. My father is famous. Mega platinum hits as well as Oscars and Grammys for his songs being in movies. My Dad is Brent Perkins, famous country singer. Five stepmothers for me. Multi-millionaire.

He wants an appropriate husband for me. A hockey player, even famous ones like the three Brawlers won’t be good enough. So, I lurk in the background. Creep. Be a ghost. No one has recognized me yet.

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