Page 62 of Love, Pucks, and Other Stories

Red carpet had been rolled out.

TV crews were around, and cameramen were on the ice.

A lot of fuss for a minor league team.

Billie had made that happen. The grand return of hockey to a town that had been under siege by an insane fire caused climate change, that had suffered devastating loss from one end to the other. A town that was crawling its way back and one of the biggest steps of that resurrection was professional sports returning.

Income.

Status.

But also, a piece of River’s Bend coming home.

And that was what she spoke of when the crowd quieted and she lifted the microphone to her lips. Confident body posture, easy and conversational tone. Funny, comforting.Billie Rose.

Also, short.

To the point.

Not losing their attention.

Just focusing them all on what was important and doing it looking absolutely beautiful.

Also,Billie Rose.

Then she passed the microphone to one of the media crew, stepped to the edge of the carpet and held up the puck like a pro, looked straight at the cameraman documenting the drop and ordered, “Smile, boys!”

I stopped trying to catch her eye—knew that she wasn’t going to give it to me anyway—and turned, plastered a smile on my face.

Clicking ensued.

“Got it,” the camera guy called.

“Ready?” Billie asked.

Not me. But my fucking opponent.

“Ready, Curls,” Kurt said on a smirk.

She dropped the puck.

Kurt did the traditional thing, staying still and not trying to win the ceremonial drop, so I used my stick to scoop it up into my hand, glad to finally have the chance to get her to look at me, to touch her, to force her toseeme.

But as I’d bent to grab the round disc of vulcanized rubber, Billie Rose had initiated evasive maneuvers.

A shield.

A shield I couldn’t knock out of the way.

Because it was made up of tiny humans.

Three little kids—two girls, one boy—all in Rush jerseys.

All grinning at me expectantly.

I looked over their hands, was shocked as shit to see Billie’s eyes, to feel that jolt, the one I always got when our gazes connected.

Cobalt irises. Pissed. Not pleasure.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com