Page 70 of Double Puck

"She's hedging her bets. Smart kid."

I nod toward the ceiling. "Plus the Madden Gala VIPs are here tonight. The hundred-and-twelve-grand people. Darcy's father has put on the full experience. Expensive suite, rink-side warmup access, the works."

"Does that mean you're gonna behave better than you did in the pool the other morning?" Declan says, side-eyeing me.

I look across at him, and fuck, he knows.

"Mase told you what he saw from the balcony, huh?"

Declan shrugs. "All he said is that he thinks you're a shit swimming instructor."

“Excuse me? She swam.”

Declan grins. “Just saying, I'm twenty-nine and I've never needed to put my hand around someone's throat to teach them backstroke.”

A laugh bursts out of me as I shake my head. “Then your teaching methods lack innovation.”

“Clearly.”

We both laugh, and for a moment, it feels nice.

Like the good old times.

Growing up, I used to think Declan was invincible. Not in the dumb kid way, but the way he just kind of just... stood there. Between me and whatever was coming. He did it without question.

I hate that it's been weird since the boardwalk. Since the truth about Dad came out and I realized the man I'd been looking up to my entire life had been lying to me because he thought I was too fragile to handle the truth.

That still stings.

Some mornings I wake up and the anger is still there, and I want to shake him and say you lied to me for seventeen years, you absolute walnut.

But then there's moment's like this.

Right now, I have my big brother sitting next to me before we play hockey together. Needling me back and giving me as much shit as I give him.

Yeah. Being lied to hurts.

I don't think that part is going to go away anytime soon.

But at least Declan's still… here. Trying.

Across the room, Finn is gathering an audience with his phone in hand, hair doing its Irish rebellion thing.

"Lads. Lads! Have ye seen this?" He turns the screen around. Some Instagram sports network has a graphic with my face on it, the word INCOMING TRADE rudely covering my best features. "They're saying three teams have made calls about our Becky boy!"

My ears perk up. They have?

"Three teams?" Sawyer speaks up from his corner. "I bet Winnipeg's one of them."

"Yep. Winnipeg," Finn nods, delighted. "You know what the average temperature in Winnipeg is in January, Beck? It's minus, lad. The whole number is minus."

"Becky boy will have to buy a coat," Travis calls out. "Like, a real one. Not that leather jacket you wear even though we live on the fucking beach!"

The room laughs, and I laugh with them, because that's the job. That's the role. Beck Morrison, unbothered, bulletproof, funny about his own execution.

But something snags in the back of my head.

Three teams have made calls?