Page 9 of Puck of My Life

Now I had to write an article a million times better than any I’d done before because he knew I was trying to get out of it. If he thought I was half-assing the assignment, it would only make my life worse. I’d been at this office barely a month and was already proving myself to be someone who pawned their job off. Fuck.

I nearly called him to tell him what was happening. I wasn’t under the impression that he’d care or it would make a difference, but I had to get it out because processing all of this alone wasn’t making things better. Maybe if I had tapped Archie’s shoulder and talked to him, this would’ve been over and done with. He’d have said hi and moved on. Too late for that.

It was official. There was no getting out of this assignment. My boss put his foot down. I had to suck it up and get it done.

I was gonna move back into the main event, stay as far away from the hockey players as I could, while close enough to overhear people to get the sense for how they were feeling. I’d hide behind my tablet if need be, anything to get through the night. But one thing I was not doing was approaching Archie. I’d keep myself looking busy and leave the second it was appropriate. And if my stomach revolted, which was a very real possibility, I’d bolt to the bathroom.

It was ridiculous that I needed a plan to get through a job that was pretty easy to do. I was a grown-ass man trained in this field. I’d been to all different kinds of events. Sometimes I was the person lugging shit around and sometimes I was the guy taking notes, but I’d been there, and never once had I dropped the ball the way I nearly did tonight.

A whiff of cologne from the suit hit my nose again. It was annoying smelling another man while I was thinking of Archie. It annoyed me in a way that it shouldn’t. And it was because I knew this wasn’t Archie’s scent and gave me some guilt. Like I should only be smelling him. Because that was a normal response.

I couldn’t take the scent and made a stop at the bathroom on the way back to wash my hands and face, not wanting the cologne sticking to me. It wasn’t old lady or post highschool gym class heavy. The scent had nearly faded away, but it was too intense for me. It would still be on the jacket, but there was nothing I could do about that.

I checked to make sure I still had everything. My keys, my phone, my ticket, my tablet, etc. and went back inside.

I could handle this.

I could.

Probably.

I had no choice.

My plan went well for about ten minutes. I hid in the back, pretended to be busy, and tried not to stare at anyone from the team. For a second there, I thought I was going to be able to get out of here in one piece, but then the auction, the biggest moneymaker of the night potentially, was announced.

I thought wrong.

7

ARCHIE

Mate.

The word landed in me like a puck off the crossbar, and for a second, I couldn’t move. I stood against the wall with my club soda halfway to my mouth and my head ringing.

It wasn’t possible. Walter lived on the other side of the country. I’d spent years counting the miles between us and calculating how many seconds and minutes it was since I’d seen him. It hurt, but it was similar to how I kept pressing a bruise after a game.

Walter was a continent away, living the life I’d bought for him with my own.

But the scent didn’t care what I knew. It was here, in this ballroom, meandering through the light fixtures, furniture, chandeliers, suits, dresses, and jewelry. It was the cleanest scent I’d ever encountered, like freshly fallen snow, untouched by footprints, in the middle of the forest. There was no mistaking it. My wolf and I had never forgotten that scent because it was embedded in our memory. His sense of smell was better than mine, and he wasn’t wrong now.

Find our mate. We can’t lose him again.

For once I didn’t fight him. He may have expected me to say Wait or We can’t do it here. I put the glass down on the nearest table and moved through the crowd. I hadn’t made a plan and put one foot in front of the other. I turned my head as I walked, breathing and letting the scent pull me the way a current pulled you when you stopped swimming against it.

And then I saw him.

He was standing near the edge of the room, half-turned toward the stage, and I paused. I couldn’t move, and I clutched my throat because I’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

Eight years had changed him. He was taller and broader across the shoulders than the bored teenager who’d trailed into the hardware store with his uncle. His face had lost the last of its boyhood and gained experience and a few lines. He was an adult, and I wondered if he’d realized any of his hopes and dreams.

But it was him. He had the same dark hair, and he was standing a little apart from the room. Like me, he wasn’t joining in but watching. He had a tablet in one hand, and he was tapping on it as he furrowed his brow.

My mind went back to that snowy day and how I’d planned to visit him and his uncle at the hotel. Not that they had any clue that I was going to knock on their door. And I would have if I’d gone there when I closed the store.

But I’d decided that was creepy and to wait until the following day, which turned out to be a day too late.

He’s our mate. There was no grief in my beast’s tone, just certainty.