Page 71 of Double Puck

Why don't I know about any of this?

And suddenly, I remember Darcy standing at the edge of the pool the other morning in that sexy-as-hell green swimsuit asking, way too casually, do you talk to your agent much these days?

I thought she was making conversation.

But looking back now, I can't help but put the pieces together.

Darcy Madden doesn't just make conversation. The woman has a color-coded calendar and checks her work three times before sending it. She doesn't ask idle questions.

She was checking whether I knew something.

Is there something that Darcy knows that I don't?

I roll that around for a second as Mason thumps back across the locker room from his shower.

Declan leans forward beside me, forearms resting on his pads. “Three teams already?”

Finn nods. “According to this.”

“Jesus,” Declan mutters. "This is getting serious."

"You alright?" Mason asks from the stall beside mine. He's got his phone out already, thumbs moving. "What's going on?"

"I'm great. Apparently I'm popular. Three whole teams want to pick me up and take me away from Beachside." I nod at his phone. "Who're you texting? Rose?"

Mason's entire body goes rigid as the color drains from his face.

"Shut the fuck up," he hisses. His head whips toward Coach Pearson so fast I'm genuinely worried about his spine. "How do you — how the hell do you even—"

I lean back, arms folded behind my head.

"Bro." I keep my voice low, but the smugness is fully operational. "You think I don't have eyes? You might see what's happening in the pool before sunrise..." I lean in closer. "But I see what's happening in the steam room after everyone's supposedly gone home for the night."

The look on my brother's face is absolutely priceless.

It's panic and fury and a very specific brand of oh shit that only happens when someone realizes their highly inappropriate relationship with the coach's daughter has been on show this whole time.

"You need to shut your mouth." Mason's neck goes all blotchy, and his eyes dart between me and Coach Pearson. "Right now. Her father, who by the way is the man who controls whether I play hockey or become unemployed, is literally thirty feet away from us, Beck."

"Fine," I say, dropping the smirk. "Then if it's not… her… that you're texting, then who is it?"

Mason huffs, looking at his phone again. "Dad."

I blink. "Dad, Dad?"

"Yeah. He asked if we're on TV tonight. I gave him my streaming login." Mason keeps typing, completely casual, like he's telling me the pasta's ready. "I had to talk to Mom first though. She usually watches, but she's found some friends to go out with tonight. She wants us to call Sunday, by the way. Let her know how we went."

"Hold on." I hold up a hand. "You talk to both of them? Mom and Dad?"

Mason shrugs. "Someone has to."

He says it without any weight, just a fact, and pockets the phone.

I stare at him. My brother, texting our cheating father his streaming login like it's nothing. Like there isn't a crater in the middle of our family with all our names in it.

"How?" I ask, and it comes out more honest than I planned. "How do you just... talk to him?"

"I dunno." Mason shrugs into his jersey. "It's just texts, Beck. I'm not absolving him. I'm just letting our father watch us play hockey."