Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

Anton takes the kitten over to the climbing tree and watches as it explores. He has a slight smile on his face and almost looks peaceful.

“How do you know your way around here already?” I ask. “You were traded a few days ago.”

“I was on time. Plus, I grew up here. Used to volunteer here during school.”

“What? No way. How did I not know you were from Boston?”

“Is it because I don’t say things like ‘I’m wicked smaht’?”

“Hey, I’ve never said wicked in my life, but I still have that Boston edge in my accent.”

He cocks his head. “Maybe you didn’t know because you’re only interested in yourself.”

“Oh, right. That. But also, how did we not cross paths before going pro?”

Anton snorts. “Because you had your head so far up your ass you never noticed me before?”

“Wait … we were in the same league?”

“We only had one season where we played against each other because I’m younger than you, but yeah. It’s hard not to remember the guy who thought he was above it all, even back then. The Ezra Palaszczuk who didn’t have to work at anything. Natural-born talent, all the newest equipment money could buy—”

“You’re forgetting all the pressure Dad put on me to make it all the way.”

Anton shrugs. “I saw a cocky kid who had it all. I … I was quiet back then, still figuring myself out, and I had to fight tooth and nail to become the best at hockey. I didn’t really hit my stride until freshman year of college. By then, you were already drafted and in the AHL.”

I try to think back to when I was a teenager, and fuck, I barely remember my teammates let alone anyone I played against. “So, what I’m hearing is, you’ve had a crush on me since high school.”

Anton lets a laugh slip out. “Can you get back to cleaning, please?”

“Sure. But just know, when we lose every single game from here on out, it’s because you made me hold a black cat.”

“I’ll take all the blame.”

“Good.”

By the time we’ve cleaned out all the cages and moved on to the dogs who have much bigger and better living quarters, I’m exhausted.

But then an adorable old golden retriever mix tackles me when I open his cage, and it gives me a burst of energy. “At least someone likes that I’m here.”

“Mm, an affection-starved, homeless dog. I don’t think his standards are high.”

“From memory, he’s not the only one in this space who has slobbered all over me.”

“Yeah, well, my standards that night took a massive dive too.” While his words are still as cutthroat as ever, I can’t help noticing the conviction is missing. His tone is lighter, and when I look up from where I’m playing with the dog, not only is he smiling, but he’s smiling at me. I get the impression he’s trying to remind himself how much he hates me.

We get the rest of the cages clean with the help of other volunteers who arrive not long after we start on the dog area. Then for the actual PR part of the day.

Adopt an animal, meet a hockey player.

This is the kind of PR I like. Not because it makes me look good, but meeting fans, especially young kids who look up to me, is not only an ego stroke, but it feels like I’m actually doing something good. I like giving people hope in a world that has so much wrong with it.

And when a teen boy comes up to me, his eyes cast down, head held low, I can predict what he’s about to say before he says it. He’s not the first confused-looking kid to come out to me.

His brown hair falls in his eyes. He has to be around fifteen, but he’s muscular for a teen. If it weren’t for the acne and braces, I’d assume he was older from his physique.

He glances around and steps closer, speaking low. “Umm, I wanted to say thank you for, umm, you know … umm—”

“What’s your name?”

“Tai.”

I hold my hand out to shake his. “You can call me Ez.”

His face lights up. “Really?”

“Of course. It’s nice to meet you, Tai.”

“Uh, well, yeah, umm, thank you. Again.”

“I’m guessing you don’t mean for volunteering here.”

He wears a small smile. “No. I mean …” The next part comes out in a rush. “For-coming-out-and-playing-hockey.”

“I’m not doing anything heroic. I’m just being myself. Everyone should be allowed to be themselves.”

He finally meets my eyes. “That’s heroic to me.”

Beside me, I sense Anton listening in.

“I hope one day you’re as supported as I feel in the league.” Okay, so not everything is perfect in that sense, but I feel a hell of a lot safer than I ever could have imagined at Tai’s age.

“C-can I get a selfie?” Tai asks.