Puck Me, I’m Yours (Hawthorne University Hockey #1)

5. Breck

5

Breck

Is there even such a thing as too many cookies? Personally, I don’t think so—but then again, my family runs a popular bakery, so I might be a little biased.

The scent of cinnamon and brown sugar fills the air as I pull another tray of snickerdoodles from the oven. My hands, encased in Hunters-branded oven mitts, tremble slightly as I set the hot pan on the counter. Shit. I’m running out of room.

The kitchen's a disaster zone—flour dusting every surface, measuring cups scattered like landmines, and a mountain of dirty bowls in the sink. And, let’s not forget the trays on trays on trays filled with cookies. But hey, at least the chaos in here matches the one in my head.

Mama always bakes to clear her head, and over the years, I’ve picked up the habit. Now, even without her around, it’s my way of zoning out, sorting through my thoughts, or—more often than not—just hiding from my problems. I’m pretty good at that part too.

"Yo, Breck! Those smell amazing!" Cross Daniels, one of our sophomores, pokes his head into the kitchen, eyes widening at the sight of the freshly baked cookies.

I swat his hand away as he reaches for one. "Not yet, you animal. They need to cool."

He pouts, looking like a kicked puppy. "But—"

"An hour," I say firmly, pointing to the door. "Now scram before I put you on dish duty."

As Cross sulks away, I turn back to the mess I've created. Christ, what am I doing? It's not like she's even going to eat these. I mean, she probably doesn't even know I exist beyond being that weirdo who made a dumbass joke about drugging her. What the actual fuck is wrong with me?

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes me jump. I whirl around to find Micah perched on the counter, already munching on a cookie. When the hell did he sneak in?

"You know," he says through a mouthful of snickerdoodle, "she probably can't eat any of this. The skaters aren't gonna have the same diet we have. It’ll probably be a lot more strict."

I give him a look that I hope conveys 'why in the world would you think I'm baking for her?' But the knowing smirk on his face tells me he's not buying it.

"Don't give me that look," Micah chuckles. "I know you, Monroe. This has ‘grand gesture’ written all over it."

I feel my cheeks heat up, and it's not from the oven. "I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter, busying myself with cleaning up. "Can't a guy just bake without it being a whole thing?"

"Sure," Micah says, reaching for another cookie. "But normal guys don't bake enough to feed an army when they're totally not thinking about a certain figure skater. It was an excellent first impression, I don’t know why you’re trying to overcompensate."

I groan, tossing a dish towel at his head. "Shut up and help me clean, you asshole."

As we start tackling the mess, I can't help but wonder if Micah's right. Maybe I am in deeper than I thought. I sigh, running a hand through my hair. Fuck. He’s right. Food is how I show my love.

Not that I love her. I don’t even know her…but I want to. Fuck, do I want to. But Micah is right, she probably can’t eat any of this. And I wasn’t sure she’d want to take food from me after that ridiculous comment I made about her water bottle.

Groaning, I press my forehead against the cool counter. "I'm such an idiot. I mean I’m fucking stress baking."

"What are you really stressed about?" Micah asks, his voice gentle.

I lift my head, meeting his concerned gaze. "That was a terrible first impression and you know it. Fuck, she must think I'm some kind of psycho. But I'm not giving up. I can't. I just have to figure out how to turn back time and start over. Are any of our teammates science majors?"

Micah's eyebrows shoot up. "You really like this girl, huh?"

"As much as you can like someone you've spoken to once," I admit, feeling vulnerable. "There's just... something about her. I felt it the moment I laid eyes on her."

"I mean, the girl is hot as fuck," Micah offers with a grin.

I shake my head, frustrated. "It's more than that. I don't know. But I felt it."

Micah claps a hand on my shoulder. "Well, buddy, sounds like you're in for one hell of a ride."

As Micah leaves the kitchen, I'm left alone with my thoughts, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla lingering in the air. I grab one of my lemon candies and pop it into my mouth. My mind drifts back to that moment at the Glissade Center, when I saw her up close for the first time. God, she was even more stunning than I'd initially thought.

I close my eyes, remembering how she met my gaze. Those eyes... I've never seen anything like them. They were the most vibrant green I've ever encountered, like rings of jade with flecks of darker green and gold. It was like looking into a forest dappled with sunlight.

Her eyes were so captivating I almost didn't notice the rest of her beauty—the adorable little button nose, the Cupid's bow lips, and the smattering of freckles painting a path across her cheekbones. Every feature felt perfectly placed, as if the universe had taken its time to make her exactly how she was meant to be.

"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. I can't shake the feeling that there's something special about this girl, something that goes way beyond her looks.

I pace the kitchen, my fingers twitching with nervous energy. "Get it together, Monroe," I chastise myself. But the more I think about it, the more certain I become. This isn't just some fleeting attraction. There's a connection here, even if it's one-sided right now.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone and pull up Birdie's contact. My thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment before I start typing.

Hey Birdie, need your help with something. It's about a girl...

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. As soon as the message goes through, I toss my phone onto the counter like it's on fire. "What am I doing?" I groan, leaning against the fridge. But deep down, I know. I'm taking a chance on something that feels important, even if I can't explain why.

The smell of my abandoned baking project hits me, and I let out a rueful chuckle. "Cookies are ready!"

??????

The door swings open, and Birdie breezes in, her blonde ponytail swinging. "Alright, Breck, let's make some magic happen!" she chirps, dropping her bags on the counter.

I can't help but grin at her enthusiasm. "Thanks for coming over, Bird. I owe you one."

"Please," she waves me off, "I live for this stuff. Now, tell me what we’re doing."

"I just want to make something she can actually enjoy, you know? Something that says 'I'm not a total meathead' without being too... much."

Birdie laughs, dusting flour off her hands. "Aw, Breck. You've got it bad, don't you?"

I feel heat creep up my neck. "I don't even know her," I mutter, focusing intently on whisking a bowl of egg whites.

"But you want to," Birdie says softly, nudging my arm. "It's sweet. I checked with their team nutritionist this morning, so I have an idea about her restrictions. You’re the baker here, so you’ll have to make the final decisions, but I’ve got some ideas on what we can do. I brought some special ingredients over to help."

“Almond flour banana bread with walnuts and a dark chocolate drizzle? Okay, I think I can make this work. Let’s make the chia pudding too just in case this comes out like shit. And maybe one or two other things?”

“Breck!” Birdie’s giggle stops me from spinning out. “Don’t overthink it okay? She’ll appreciate the effort, I promise.”

We work in companionable silence for a while, the kitchen filled with the sounds of mixing and measuring. As I slide the first two loaf pans into the oven, Birdie's phone chimes.

Her face falls as she checks it, and I feel a protective surge. "Everything okay?"

Birdie sighs, setting the phone down. "It's... it's nothing. Just my ex again."

I straighten up, frowning. "Again? Has he been bothering you?"

"He keeps texting, wanting to 'talk things out,'" she air-quotes, rolling her eyes. "I've told him I'm not interested, but he's persistent."

My jaw clenches. "You want me and the guys to have a word with him? Because we will." The thought of anyone harassing Birdie, sweet, bubbly Birdie, makes my blood boil.

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Thanks, Breck. I might take you up on that if he doesn't back off soon."

I wrap an arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. "Anytime, Bird. We've got your back, you know that."

As we turn our attention back to our baking project, I can't help but think about how fiercely I want to protect the people I care about. And how, somehow, Del's already becoming one of those people.

The next morning, I clutch the container of treats close to my chest as I walk into the clinic—early. Really early. I am absolutely shocked that Micah agreed to tag along. I want to believe it’s for moral support, but I know these assholes have a bet going between them over just how quickly I’m going to fall on my face. Again.

My heart is pounding like I'm about to take a game-winning shot. The familiar scent of the rubber mats hits me as I scan the room for a certain blonde figure skater. Instead, I spot Greer near the reception desk, her trademark scowl firmly in place. I swallow hard and approach, mustering up what I hope is a charming grin.

"Hey, Greer," I say, my voice cracking slightly. Smooth, Monroe. Real smooth. "I, uh, brought some snacks. Want to try one?"

She eyes the container suspiciously. "What's the catch, hockey boy?"

I pop the lid off, revealing the array of banana bread slices, protein-packed, low-sugar brownie cookies, and chocolate covered almonds. "No catch. Just sharing the wealth."

Greer hesitates, then plucks one from the container. “They’re uh—diet compliant and everything.”

As she takes a bite, her eyebrows shoot up. "These are... actually good."

"Thanks," I say, feeling a surge of pride. "Listen, I was wondering if you could maybe... share some with Delaney?"

Her eyes narrow. "And why would I do that?"

I feel my cheeks heat up. "I just want to get to know her," I admit, running a hand through my hair.

Greer's skepticism is palpable. "Right. And I'm supposed to believe—"

"He straight up internet stalked this girl," Axel's voice cuts in, and I whirl around to see him and Jett approaching. When did they get here? "But he also learned how to bake things she could eat with her restrictions."

Jett nods, adding, "And he's got a figure skating book he thinks we don't know about because he wants to understand the moves she's doing."

I want to sink into the floor. Is nothing sacred?

"Boys got it bad," Axel continues, grinning. "And he deserves a chance."

Micah meets Greer's gaze. "This isn't just a hit it and quit it for him."

I stand there, mortified but touched by my friends' support. Greer looks between us, her expression softening almost imperceptibly.

"Fine," she sighs, reaching for the container. "I'll give her the treats. But don't expect miracles, lover boy."

As she walks away with my carefully crafted treats, I can't help but feel a mix of hope and terror. What if Del hates them? What if she thinks I'm a creep? What if—

Micah claps me on the back, jolting me from my spiral. "You've got this, man," he says, and for a moment, I almost believe him.

Greer pauses, turning back to face me with a hint of amusement in her eyes. "But let's get one thing straight, Monroe. I'm not going to be your messenger bird. You want to get to know her? Grow some balls and talk to her yourself next time."

My heart races at the thought of actually approaching Del. "Absolutely," I nod eagerly, probably looking like an overzealous puppy. "I will. I promise. Thank you, Greer. Seriously, thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me."

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't make me regret this."

As Greer disappears around the corner with my offering, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My mind is already racing, imagining Del's reaction to the treats. Will she like them? Will she even try them?

"Earth to Breck," Jett's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You look like you're about to pass out, man."

I run a hand through my hair, feeling the stubble on my chin. "I'm fine. Just... nervous, I guess. What if she thinks I'm weird for doing this? What if she thinks I’m actually trying to drug her and she reports me or something?"

Axel snorts. "Dude, you are weird. But in a good way. That's why we love you."

His words bring a chuckle out of me, easing some of the tension in my shoulders. "Thanks, I think?"

“And Greer knows you. And her. She wouldn’t be sharing treats she thought might be drugged. You’re fine.” Axel rolls his eyes. “I mean, you’re not like fine fine. You did imply you drugged her water bottle. There might not be any coming back from that.”

“I don’t know,” Micah shrugs. “She seemed almost charmed by the big idiot. Maybe he does have a chance.”

As we start to head out, I can't help but glance back towards where Greer went. I know I need to talk to Del myself next time, but the thought of those forest-green eyes fixed on me makes my stomach do somersaults.

"Come on, lover boy," Jett says, pulling me along. "Let's go hit the ice. You need to work off some of this nervous energy."

I nod, following my friends out of the Glissade. Hockey. That I can handle. It's just talking to a beautiful, talented figure skater that turns me into a complete mess. No big deal, right?