Page 19 of Puck of My Life

My hockey knowledge was pathetically little. I knew Archie was left wing. It said that on the website when I first looked him up. So technically, I was more prepared than I could’ve been?

I expected it to be really cold in the arena, and while it wasn’t, it was crowded. The game started with the typical announcements and singing. And then the players came out.

Archie looked good, all suited up. I wasn’t the only one who thought so. When they announced his name, the crowd went wild. I didn’t like that very much and then felt guilty about it. He was a hockey player on a professional team. The goal was for fans to like him. Still, part of me wanted him all to myself.

Once the game started, I expected to follow the puck and get excited when it went into the opposing team’s goal for a point. It really wasn’t that easy. One second I saw it, then it was gone. Sticks were clashing. Everybody was going one way and then the other. One time, it took me ten seconds to find where the puck had ended up. I swore the thing had teleportation abilities.

But the more I watched, the more I began to follow what was going on. And then I realized I didn’t want to. I didn’t care about that puck or what the other players were doing. I cared about what Archie was doing. And that made all the difference in how I experienced the game.

I still didn’t know what each job and each position was, but I didn’t care. What fascinated me was that Archie was everywhere. Left wing had me picturing him on one area of the ice. It wasn’t like that at all.

He was behind the goal, near the boards, in the middle, chasing somebody to the corner. Man, my alpha could fly on the ice. Not really mine, but also, yeah, he was. I deemed it so.

I’d seen him in his suit at the event. I’d seen him naked. I’d seen him talking with fans. All these different versions of him were great. But this version—it was different. He had a presence on the ice. It was enthralling. Archie wasn’t a pushover, either. He played hard.

But then something happened. He went behind the benches, and he was gone. My stomach dropped. Did that mean he was hurt? Did he get in trouble? Then other guys hopped over the boards, too. None of it was making sense. I was going to need to talk to him about this, to have him explain it in a way that I could understand.

Relief filled me when he finally came back out. That was when I finally pieced together that players swapped in and out without the game pausing.

The other team was fierce. They were in it to win it. At one point they stole the puck from Archie. I expected Archie to turn the other way like the others were. Instead, he went straight for the other player like he was hunting him down. He drove the player straight into the boards, and you could hear the impact. I flinched as everyone else cheered. Apparently, that was a good thing. I didn’t see how, and I definitely didn’t feel it was a good thing later when someone hit Archie. I wanted to go out there and pummel the guy, but Archie was none the worse for wear from all I could tell.

Archie wasn’t giving up. He was getting that puck back. There was shoving, sticks jammed, digging into the ice. The puck was—I didn’t even know where at that point, but then Archie came out with it, and once again, the crowd roared.

My favorite part of the game wasn’t the game at all. It was when the action on the ice stopped and Archie looked up at me. Every time his eyes went straight to me. The place was packed, but he was looking for me the way I kept looking at him. And each time, I was like a little kid who saw their parent, picking my hand up and waving.

The game continued the way it began, with Archie ruling the ice. And he wasn’t taking over, thinking this game was about him. On two separate occasions, he intentionally gave the puck to someone else who scored the goal. And I knew from basketball in gym class that doing that instead of trying to take the lead was a sign of being a team player and solid playing.

The game ended, and I waited in my seat for Archie. At one point someone who worked there asked why I was there, and when I told them my name and who I was waiting for, they had me move to a bench outside the locker room.

When he came out, he was showered and changed, his smile wide. All that violence and aggression and speed from his time on the ice was gone. It was just Archie. And when he came straight to me, he kissed me. There was no hesitation, no pause, no awkwardness, just happiness to see me.

“Are you ready to go?”

“I am.” I really wanted to talk to him about that bite and ask about the scratch on my back. I wasn’t angry. I liked the stupid thing, but that didn’t mean I wanted us constantly hurting each other. It was best to have that conversation out of the way.

“That was my first game.” I grabbed his hand. “Thanks for winning it for me.”

“I wouldn’t say I was the one winning it, but I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I did, but maybe we could have some lessons, so next time I know what I’m seeing?”

He picked our joined hands up and kissed mine. “Absolutely, but I think I’ve had enough hockey for the day. I have other things on my mind.”

“Me?”

“Only you.”

13

ARCHIE

We couldn’t move forward until Walter knew who I was, because if I’d been human, I could have been with him all these years.

But telling him shifters existed, that I was one and I had a wolf inside me, wasn’t something you told the love of your life over coffee.

We were on my couch. The game had ended a couple of hours ago, and Walter had watched me play in person for the first time. Afterward, we’d come back to my place, and he was tucked into a corner of the sofa with cushions behind and in front of him. His feet were in my lap, and there was a mug of tea on the coffee table.

He looked as though he belonged in my house, which he did. I hadn’t let myself want something in ages, and now I wanted it so badly, I was scared it was going to be snatched away.