Page 96 of Lucky Puck

It takes me less than ten seconds to be impressed. “Wow. Maybe she is good client material.”

“Maybe you can help,” he says. “Add your star power while it’s hot and recommend her, get seen around town with her, and post some pics. That kind of thing.”

“Since when did you get so savvy about social media promotions?”

“Since I’ve been helping to promote my wife’s dog portrait business—which is kicking ass, by the way.”

“Right. You know as soon as I get a dog or cat, she’s the first call I’ll make.”

“I know. I’ll be right there to kick your ass if you don’t.”

I laugh. I’m glad he switched with Ax to sit with me, but there’s no way I’m saying that out loud.

I smack him in the back instead.

Every time I walk in the back entrance of the Garden in Boston, I feel the shiver of excitement. Playing in the place where so many hockey greats played before gives me a rush, and today it’s extra because I have something to prove.

I’m right behind Sabien as we push into the visitor’s locker room for our pre-game skate. Restless to get on the ice for the morning skate, I get down to the business of hockey, clearing my head and changing into my gear.

“I’m so ready for this game,” I say to Ax as he sits next to me and starts undressing. I’m way ahead of him, looking forward to hitting the ice where I live, where nothing can distract me, where I get lost to hockey.

“I’m stoked to have you back on the ice for this one,” Ax says. “A win on Boston’s home ice would be sweet.”

“No would be’s, Ax baby. We’re going to kick the Brawlers’ asses.”

He laughs. “Hey, how about pizza on Monday at your place?” He grins and pulls his pants off.

I try not to let my smile slip, but the suggestion feels like a punch to my gut because I know he’s talking about the deal he made with me and Brooks when she moved in. Maybe the good news is he can move back in with me when she’s gone, but the idea only makes me feel sick.

“Well?” He tilts his head and examines me.

“Good idea. I’ll talk to Brooks.” I force my grin, and I’m not sure if he buys it, but I stand because I’m more than ready to hit the ice, to erase all thoughts of Brooks.

Sabien, Link, and a couple of the other guys are right behind me as we take the ice. My blades scrape against the fresh shiny layer, making that sound that evokes every positive memory I have since I was four years old. The cold air envelops me as I push into a swift glide, feeling like a comfortable old sweater, like I’m Mr. Freeze and I need the ice and the cold to live and breathe.

We race each other like we’re kids and call it warm-up drills before Coach Nash blows the whistle and puts us through our paces. I’m dripping in sweat and happy by the time I return to the locker room and take my time getting to the shower, letting the contentment soak in before I go back to the team’s hotel for a nap.

“Who wants to walk back to the hotel?” Ax says. “Come on, Brody.” He prods me.

“I’m too ready for a nap to ruin the mood with a walk. Coach won’t like it.”

He scoffs. “Since when do you worry about what Coach will think?”

Keeping my voice down, I say, “Since I got benched last game.”

“Right. You have a point.”

As I slip my sneakers on, my phone buzzes, vibrating on the cubby shelf, and I pick it up. I don’t recognize the number, but the call is from Las Vegas. An instant zap of alarm runs through me like I’ve touched a live wire, and the hairs on my arm go up in warning.

When I check my messages, I see that I have three of them from the same number in the last hour. Shit. Something isn’t right.

Whether I should or not, I swipe the call on and answer it as I gather my things and leave the locker room for the relative privacy of the hallway. “Who is this?”

“Bigelow.” He pauses, and I place him. “Remember me?”

I don’t like the way he sounds. It’s not the friendly concierge voice I remember. “Why are you calling me? And how did you get my number? Never mind. I can’t talk. I have a game⁠—”

“Fuck your game. I’m calling because you owe me.”