Pucked Up (Pucked 2)

“Speaking of bed, I’d like to go there now.”

“You tired, sweets? You wanna go to sleep?”

“No. I want you to love me.”

“You’re not tired of being loved yet?”

She touches her lips to mine. “Never.”EPILOGUE

WALKING ON SUNSHINEThree Weeks Later

I scan the packed arena, satisfaction and pride making me feel invincible. We’re up two-one against Waters’ team. He’s pissed. It’s awesome. The game’s supposed to be for fun, but you can’t pit a bunch of professional hockey players against each other and expect them to ignore their competitive edge. With only three minutes left it’s unlikely Waters team will make a comeback. Unlikely, but not impossible.

Waters and Randy face off against each other. He’s going to give Waters a run for his money this season. He’s fast and aggressive on the ice. The only thing Waters has over him are experience and all those years of figure skating.

Michael’s on the bench beside me, bouncing with excitement. There’s a check for fifty thousand dollars ready to be handed over at the end of the game. Things are looking up for him. Chemo and radiation, while shitty, are proving effective. If things keep going the way they are, he’ll have surgery before the holidays. The prognosis is positive, which is good, ’cause I’ve gotten attached to that kid, and so has Sunny.

She stands behind me with her hands on my shoulders. The contact is as welcome as it is distracting. She’s been fantastic these past few weeks, helping make this whole event come together and spending time with Michael when I can’t. She’s way more organized than I can ever hope to be. We make a good team. A great one, even. I love her more every damn day. It’s terrifyingly awesome.

My dad stands beside her, his arms crossed over his chest, a small, smug grin tugging the corner of his mouth. The puck drops, and Balls snatches it from Waters, shoulder-checking him out of the way as he flies down the ice. I can’t wait for training to start next week. I’m ready for this season. I’m ready for a lot of things.

Shift change is coming. Before I get back on the ice to finish off this game I lift my cage and turn to Sunny. She’s wearing a hockey jersey, her cheeks and nose are red from the cold, and her eyes are bright with the same excitement that makes the crowd buzz. I tap my lips with my glove. “I need some luck, Sunny Sunshine.”

Her smile is soft as she plants a chaste one on my lips. “Kick my brother’s ass. But not literally.”

I drop my cage, locking it in place, give Michael props, adjust my gloves, and skate out onto the ice, replacing Lance. We knock gloves as we pass, and I zip down the rink toward our goalie.

I deflect a goal, and Randy scoops up the puck again, shooting off down the ice toward the opposing net. The seconds are counting down. With less than a minute to go, Waters’ team gets control of the puck.

Waters is on it, barreling down the ice with the grace and speed that helped us win the Cup this year. I position myself so getting to the goalie will be next to impossible. We both know the turn Waters makes is too tight as he aims the puck beyond me. My options are limited—get out of the way and let him score, or try to make the save. I go with option two, even though I know I’m in for a serious hit.

One second I’m defending my goalie, the next I’m slammed into the boards by two hundred and twenty pounds of Waters. We both scramble, grabbing each others’ jerseys to keep from going down. There’s a whole lot of noise from the crowd. I drop and take Waters with me. My head hits the ice; thankfully the helmet does what it’s supposed to, but the impact still stuns me. I try pushing him off, but he’s heavy, and I don’t have much leverage, ice being slippery and all. Finally he rolls off and gets to his knees.

“Miller?” Waters drops his glove. For a second I think he’s going to hit me. Then he snaps his fingers in my face. “You all right, man?”

I give my head a shake. “I’m fine. Just don’t go punching me in the face again.”

I grab his jersey instead of his hand, and he loses his balance again. A whistle blows, and the buzzer sounds.

“Stop trying to make out with me and give me your hand, Butterson.”

I drop a glove and manage to take his outstretched hand this time. “Stop trying to hump me on the ice.”

He grunts as he pulls me to my feet. Then he laughs and keeps a solid hold on my jersey until I have my balance. “You were supposed to get out of the way so I could score.”