Page 111 of Lucky Puck

“What’s that?” Coach says.

“Nothing.” I keep my eyes on her, suddenly wishing all these people, my friends teammates and family who I love—yes, I’m no longer afraid of feelings and expressing my emotions, at least not in my head—would disappear.

After making the rounds and making sure I give a hug and sometimes a kiss, to everyone here, I end up in the kitchen with Honey Pants, Sabien and Ax.

“A lot has happened in a short time,” Sabe says. “Hard to believe you landed upright on your skates and relatively unscathed.”

“Relatively unscathed?” Heidi says as she joins us, standing closer to Ax than is strictly casual in my opinion. “He’s come out of this like a bouquet of roses when he should be smelling like shit.”

Brooks laughs and I pinch her ass. She squeaks and my grin goes supersonic.

“She’s right. Brooks and I are lucky. The press got over our fake marriage pretty quick.”

“Yeah—because you’re shacked up now and all lovey-dovey,” Ax says.

Sabien snickers. “I’m impressed by what hams you are now, eating up all the attention and going out of your way to tease your fans.”

“Our fans?” Brooks says.

“Yeah, hockey fans and all romance lovers. They’re enjoying the hell out of speculating on what’s next⁠—”

“Don’t start that again,” Brooks says. But I know she thinks about it, possibly as much as I do.

“Fans love us because what they see is real and I tell the truth.”

I have no idea where it’s going, but I’m in love. Not married.

Turns out I do believe in love. Though I’m still not sold on marriage.

But Bianca thinks I’m too young to be concerned about marriage.

Not when she’s in the running for the role of wife and she has no time to add those duties—whatever that means. I know she’s deflecting.

Jett insisted she stay with the agency and build their music talent division after getting Kat a gig opening for Imagine Dragons at the Garden in Boston.

She’s also helping Kat leverage her YouTube followers and monetize the site with subscriptions. As of today, my honey pants is in talks with Spotify for a deal with Kat—no last name.

Me, I’m kicking ass on the ice and my headaches have finally disappeared, literally and figuratively.

My mom and Mrs. Brooks shoo us out of the kitchen to bring out the food.

“You didn’t cater?” I’m surprised.

“No. You deserve a good old fashioned celebration where the people who care about you make the food.” Her eyes sparkle.

Then I laugh because I remember her parents own a diner. “Right. We’re having diner food.”

By the time everyone leaves, I should be exhausted, but the only thing worn out is my voice. The rest of me is high on a cloud of euphoria and anticipating the best part of the night with unusual energy.

“About dessert?”

“I wouldn’t want you to exhaust you. You must be tired.”

“Sex energizes me.”

She gives me a skeptical look.

“Only one way to prove it, honey pants.”