Page 73 of My Orc Package Deal

Too excited to be subtle, I pointed at him and said loudly to the bleachers, “Milo Briley! Everyone, his name is Milo Briley, and he’s Jay’s brother!”

“Oh my god, Mom,” he groaned, sinking lower in his seat…but his lips twitched.

I was too busy laughing and celebrating Jay’s goal.

The game ended in a tie—close enough to a win that we were going to celebrate—and by the time we made it down to the glass to wait for Jay, my face hurt from smiling so hard.

Jay skated over, his hair damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed. He grinned up at us, his tusks glinting. “Did you see that last goal?”

“Did I see that last goal? Uh, excuse me? I screamed that last goal,” I corrected.

Korrad was taking Jay’s bag and nodded seriously. “The whole rink heard her scream that goal. Your brother is mortified.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re the best.”

“I really am.” Grinning, I slung my arm around Milo’s shoulders.

Korrad ruffled his hair. “Good game, kid. That hit you took in the second—” He winced.

Jay groaned. “Dad. Don’t baby me in front of everyone.”

“What?” Korrad spread his hands. “I’m just saying, orcs have hard heads. It’s a fact.”

The guy next to us—a dad from the other team, judging by his jersey—snorted. “No kidding. My kid tried to check yours in the first. Nearly broke his stick.”

Jay grinned. “Yeah, well. He should’ve aimed lower.”

I swatted his arm. “Don’t encourage violence.”

“It’s hockey, Mom.”

Korrad burst out laughing, and even Milo cracked a smile.

We herded Jay toward the locker rooms to grab his stuff, and I couldn’t stop stealing glances at Korrad. He was still chuckling, his eyes crinkled, his hand warm in mine.

Six months of this.

Six months of him. Of us.

Of waking up in his arms, of his stupid jokes over breakfast, of the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world worth seeing.

Six months of not having to keep score.

Because I had stopped. Somewhere between the lighthouse and the hospital and the way he’d held me that night in the hotel, something had shifted. That horrible debt from Northstar was now officially paid off—turned out that with two incomes chipping away at it, it went faster—and we’d celebrated with a fancy dinner and a very fancy dessert back at home.

A weight had lifted.

Now, when I looked at Korrad, I didn’t see what I owed him.

I saw what we had built together.

Jay emerged from the locker room, his bag slung over one shoulder, his hair still damp. He had a bruise blooming on his cheekbone from that last hit, but he was grinning like it was Christmas morning.

Which, actually, was less than a week away.

The rink was decked out for the holidays—garlands draped over the railing, a massive tree in the lobby twinkling with ornaments the kids made, and the scent of cinnamon in the air.

I couldn’t smell it without teasing Korrad, who always wrinkled his nose.