Tricky Puck: a Fake Fiancee Hockey Rom-Com (Portsmouth Whalers Hockey Romance)

Chapter 9

Waking up with morning wood is nothing unusual, but finding a hot body next to me when I do is something that never happens. As I turn to my side, throw an arm over Delaney’s hip, and pull her in to spoon with me, I’m thinking I may need to reconsider my habit of not spending the night with women. I’d always pictured the prospect of the morning after as messy and unpleasant, but this?—

“Mmm.” She looks over her shoulder and glances at me from under a curtain of sleep-mussed hair, her eyes half-lidded, not quite hiding the blue sparkle. I don’t remember seeing anything so sexy in my life—and that includes last night. The sexy slide show of Delaney in various states of arousal flickers through my mind, and my morning wood turns petrified.

She gives me a slow smile. “You’re wide awake.” She wiggles her hips, and I clench them in my hands to stop her.

I lean over her shoulder and give in to the compulsion to kiss her mouth. The spark of our instant connection forces a groan from inside me. “God, I wish I didn’t have to catch a plane this morning.” Reaching over her, I check the clock on the nightstand. “Fuck.”

“Don’t tell me it’s late,” she says. “It feels like the middle of the night, and I have hours more of sleep to go.”

“It is late, and I’ll be lucky to catch my flight if I get up right now.” I start to rise, swearing in my head that I’ll make it up to my blue balls another time as I move away from her warmth.

As she rolls to her back, she puts a hand to her head, and her brow furrows slightly.

“You have a headache, don’t you?” I stand, not bothering to hide my full staff salute and enjoying her admiration despite her headache.

“Whiskey’ll do that to a person,” she says, then she pushes up onto her elbows. “How do you feel?”

“Besides lucky—and horny as hell?” I grin and then disappear into the bathroom, fill a glass of water for her, and grab some Advil from my bag. It’s always packed since I often need it after games for one ache or another. I don’t bother putting on my pants before I return to her and hand her the glass and the pills. “Advil. Works every time.”

She sits all the way up in bed. A look of surprise turns into the sweetest smile, and her face goes from sexy to girl-next-door so fast that, if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was one of those nice girls instead of the naughty woman she is—or was last night.

“Thank you.” She watches me dress as she tosses the Advil in her mouth and drinks down the glass of water—all of it in one go.

Watching her all bed-mussed and breathing in the scent of sex that permeates the room makes my dick twitch. Fuck. I check my watch. I’m cutting it close. Then I notice the message alert from the airline, and as I thumb it on, a surge of desire has me by the balls because I’m hoping it’s a delayed flight notice.

Then I read it. Oh shit. The alert was sent last night sometime between us stripping naked and her devouring me whole. There was no delay. The flight time was moved up by twenty minutes. Another quick check of the time has me swearing under my breath.

“You missed your flight,” she says as she sinks back onto her pillow. “How awful.” She licks her lips, and her dark-fringed blue eyes drag me toward her.

“It’s not a good thing,” I say, knowing I’m right and not feeling it at all. “But I may as well make the best of it.” I pull my shirt off as I stalk back to the bed. I’ll catch the next flight.

In the taxion my way—not to the airport—back to Grandma’s, I try to get back in touch with the cool guy who says fuck it to whatever the problem is and deals. But that guy got tangled up in the sheets and pried out of me sometime last night because I’m not feeling myself right now.

By the time Delaney was finished with me—because that’s how it felt and that loss of the upper hand is disconcerting enough—I’d missed any flight that would have gotten me to the arena on time for our meeting this morning. Now, I’m going to be fucking hours late.

It wouldn’t be so bad, except this is the first day of the official season and a must-show. Coach Spence made that clear, and Coach Nash put an exclamation point on it with his mean scowl, threatening the locker room after our last pre-season game before they let us have three days off.

I toss some bills—I don’t know how much, and I don’t care—at the cab driver, who says some happy shit I don’t understand, and I head for the front door of my family’s triple-decker home.

They might give me crap for being out all night, the taunting kind, but that’s nothing. I see right through it all, and none of the crap matters because I know they have my back. Grandma will be especially happy, and that makes me smile by the time I get inside.

The problem weighing on my mind isn’t that I missed an important flight, it’s why I missed my flight. Delaney. Fucking Delaney, to be exact.

I need to take back control of my life.

Grandma appears from the kitchen as I shed my jacket. She wears a big smile on her crinkly face lined with wisdom and kindness, making her a vision of beauty every time I see her.

“You had a good time,” she says.

I nod, cracking a smile because hers is contagious. “I did.” It’s the god’s honest truth, and said truth stabs me with a sharp pain of guilt. Guilt? Since when do I feel guilty for doing nothing wrong?

The deal to pretend we’re dating is why. I’m planning to lie to Grandma from now until Christmas. The stabbing pain doubles up, but I’m a big boy, and I can take it for the team—for Grandma.

“There’s hope for you, yet,” she says. “I expected more of a fight from you.”

She’s right. I need to skate a thin line on this pretense and not go overboard.

“Last night was a good start, but it was just one night.” The need to keep as honest as possible wars with keeping the happy smile on Grandma’s face. “I’m catching the next flight back to Portsmouth.” I don’t mention that I missed my plane, or that I’m already late. That mistake has me reeling with disgust at myself. That fuck-up isn’t something I want to admit to the person I love most in the world. The one who’s as invested in my career as I am.

Not that she would think any less of me. Hell, she might be happy about it.

She follows me into the kitchen, where I find the old percolator on the stove and the room smelling like coffee and cinnamon toast, like Grandma.

She rushes past me and beats me to the coffee, pouring me a cup, black and strong, the way I like it.

“Thank you, Grandma. You’re the standard for all women, you know. No one will live up to you.”

She cackles and shakes a finger at me like I’m a bad boy. “Maybe Delaney will. I have a good feeling.”

“I have no idea when I’ll see her again. It’ll take a while to get to know her with me up north.” I take a gulp of my coffee.

“You’ll have no trouble getting to know each other once she moves in with you.”

Coffee sprays from my mouth, mostly back into the cup. Luckily, none hit Grandma.

“Don’t rush things, Grandma,” I choke out, my need to resist the pretense gaining traction.

She pats my back and looks up at me with a patient, kind smile as if I’m a little kid having trouble with a difficult lesson.

My phone pings, and I pull it from my back pocket.

It’s another notice from the airline, this one about my flight being delayed due to storms. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath while Grandma fixes me a plate of food. I check for other flights into Manchester where I left my car, but there’s nothing that’ll get me there sooner. With this delay, it’ll make me a hell of a lot later to the arena than fifteen minutes. I check to see if I can get anything sooner into Boston. But nothing gets me to Portsmouth any earlier.

“Sit down and eat, Link.” Grandma looks at me while I scowl with the phone to my ear. “Is there a problem?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” I clear the scowl, and tension coils in my gut as I sit. She smiles. “I need to make a few calls.” She nods and leaves me, patting my cheek as she goes by me.

Taking a long breath, I dial Coach Spence’s office number—because that’s the only one I have, and I need to call someone to let them know I’ll be late. I wait while his line rings and then goes to voicemail. Shit. I call Assistant Coach Nash, both his office and cell number, but he’s not answering either. Fuck. What’s with that?

I can’t just show up three hours late, so I leave a message on Coach Spence’s answering machine and call my teammate, Jason Hall. If I had to pick one guy on the team who was my best bud, it would be him.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Stuck in New York. I missed my early flight, and now there are weather delays flying up north. I won’t be able to get there until noon or later.”

“Fuck. You’ll miss half the day.” He blows out a whistle. “Sucks to be you, man. What happened?”

“I’m in trouble—in more ways than one.” I give him the short version of Grandma fixing me up and spending the night, without giving him the details.

“You stayed overnight with a woman? Who is this chick?”

“She’s an Irish pistol from Brooklyn with as much attitude as I have and even less desire to settle down. Her name is Delaney.”

“You’re in trouble, bro.”

“I’m fine with Delaney. We’re cool. It’s Grandma I’m worried about.”

“You sure it’s not Coach Spence you’re worried about?”

“Whatever trouble I have with him will blow over after I score the first game.”

“Sure. What about this girl? How serious are you?”

“I told you—we’re not serious at all.” I heave another sigh and check to make sure Grandma is nowhere nearby. “I’m worried about Grandma because she says it’s her one wish for me to settle down before she…by Christmas. I need to be engaged by Christmas. I promised her I’d give her anything she wants for her birthday, and that’s what she wants.”

He whistles into my ear again. “Sorry about your Grandma. Are you telling me you’re going to marry this chick because she?—”

“No. I’m not. Grandma’s going to be fine. But I have to at least try and placate her. I don’t want her worrying about me.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“It means we’re going along with the matchmaking until Christmas.”

“And then?”

I ignore the tightening in my chest—and his question. “It’s the perfect plan. Grandma will be happy, and I’ll enjoy Delaney’s company on occasion when I see her.”

“Sure. Lying to your family sounds like a great plan.”

“Okay, that part isn’t cool, but it’s only a partial lie. Technically, we’ll be dating.”

“Sure.”

“I’m in a tough spot.”

“I won’t argue that point, especially since your spot is going to get a lot tougher when you get here so late you miss half the first day, and Coach Nash drills you a new?—”

“I can take Coach Nash.” As Assistant Coach, he’s in charge of leaning on us if we get out of line. “It’s my first—and last—transgression. I’ll be fine with the team. I can’t wait for this season to play some real games.” I keep to myself that I feel like I’ve been in some alternate universe since I met Delaney and that I need to get back to hockey for sheer normalcy. “Dinner tonight after practice?”

“I’m there. Unless Coach wants us to have a team dinner. He’s all about team bonding this season. Something about making the glue stronger than ever.”

“Then out for a beer afterward?”

I end the call and find Grandma standing in my open doorway, and I go to her for a hug.

“I’m going to miss you, old lady.”

“Don’t try and sweet-talk me. What about Delaney? Aren’t you bringing her with you?”

“Now?” I chuckle because she knows that’s crazy.

She folds her arms across her chest and stares at me.

“Grandma, this is all…sudden.” I would have said fucked up if I were being honest. I’ve always been honest with her, so this is killing me. She stares, knowing I’m holding back. “We need time to plan, to make arrangements.” I heave a breath. “It’s too fast.”

“You like her enough that you spent the night, and I know what that means, young man.”

I pause, looking for where she’s going with this, but it doesn’t matter, does it? Because I have to answer her honestly. “Yes, I like her.” I refrain from adding the big loud but that shouts inside my head.

“She likes you, too. I spoke with the matchmaker, Sylvia Greenberg.”

“What the?—”

She puts up her hands. “Part of the deal is checking in and following up until the match is finalized.”

“Finalized?”

“Until you’re married.”

Shit.

“Grandma—” I don’t know what to say, but she interrupts me anyway.

“I think she should move in with you. It’s a good idea?—”

“Move in—what the hell are you talking about? Sorry for the language.”

“The matchmaker says she’s left her job and taking a few months to write songs, and we both agreed that it would be perfect if she goes to live with you in Portsmouth so you can get to know each other better.”

“You all agreed? Delaney agreed?” No way. I didn’t get any hint from her that she might agree to a plan like this. “I don’t know, Grandma. We didn’t discuss?—”

“Me, the matchmaker, and her grandmother, who arranged the match on her end, discussed it. That’s all you need to know. The matchmaker will discuss it with Delaney. I told her I would talk to you about it.” She pauses and winks.

I’m having a hard time breathing. I don’t often lose control, but the feelings are all coming back to me now. Shit.

Grandma adds, “It’s a great plan. Now, you can give me that hug and a kiss of gratitude.”

Fuck. All I can do is lean in and hug the woman I owe everything to. We go to the living room where I left my duffel and jacket. There’s no way I should feel anything but gratitude—not for the mess she put me in with Delaney—for her unwavering, unconditional love and support all my life, right down to the bag of homemade cookies she shoves into my hands right now.

“A snack for the ride. I know how hungry you get.”

My stomach clenches in agreement right on cue. I remember the meal we never ate last night, leaving it in the hotel room without a second thought. That was a first. Another first.

“Make whatever arrangements you need to make. I gave Delaney’s grandmother your address.”

“You gave…” The blood rushes from my head, my chest seizes up like I’m being squeezed in a vice, and my heart is pumping like a maniac to keep me upright.

“Fuck,” I say under my breath as I grab my bag. “I have to catch my plane. I can’t miss this one. I’ll call you later, Grandma.” I bend and give her one last hug and a kiss on her cheek. She squeezes back, but her hugs aren’t what they used to be. She’s lost so much of her vitality, so much of her strength. Shit.

“I love you, Lincoln. I’m glad you had an enjoyable night with Delaney, and my wish for you is that you have more of that, that you have a lifetime of that kind of joy.”

I cough, not sure if she knows exactly what kind of joy I had last night. Swinging an arm around her bony shoulders, I walk with her to the front door. This time, there’s no big family send-off since they’re all at work, so I wave goodbye and get into the waiting taxi.

Falling back into the seat alone with my duffel, I feel like I escaped from crazy land, and I’m heading back to the real world and my real life. I pull out my phone to call Jason, but he doesn’t answer, and I try to think what today’s schedule was supposed to be. Fuck. He’s probably in the team meeting. By the time I get to the arena, I’ll have missed half the fucking day—the first day.

I should call Delaney. I need to talk to her about the matchmaker’s crazy ass idea of her moving in with me because that’s just not happening. But I can’t make myself stab the icon for her number. I have no fucking idea what to say. No way can we fucking live together sounds harsh, but that’s what my head screams at me. My nerves are still too on edge. I’ll call her later tonight—or maybe tomorrow after a good night’s sleep—and we’ll come up with a way to side-step the crazy cohabitation idea.

A flash of her lying in bed naked, her hair in a sexy mess, and her skin glowing with that thoroughly undone look of a woman whose world was just rocked fills my mind. The last thing I need is her in my bed every morning, tempting me to be late for hockey.

The flight back turns out to be the perfect opportunity to catch a short nap, and when I arrive at the arena complex, I’m fresh enough to be functional. Now, I need to catch up with the team and think of some explanation to give Coach Nash that doesn’t include getting tangled in the sheets with a woman. That would not fly with Coach. Fuck no. It doesn’t fucking fly with me.

At some point before lunch, I think we were supposed to watch films, so that’s where I head. No one’s in the meeting room or locker room, so I hunt down Dugan, the equipment manager, in the storage room.

“Hey, Dugan,” He turns and gives me a surprised look as I extend my hand.

He slaps it. “You’re not with the team? You okay?”

“I’m fine. Where are they?”

“On the ice. Ahead of schedule, I guess. I came back here for a bucket of pucks.”

“See you out there.” I turn around and hustle back to the locker room, realizing I’m in more trouble than I thought. I’m going to stay late today whether Coach demands it or not.

Shit. There goes drinks after dinner and catching up on my sleep.

Stepping through the gate,I hit the ice and take off fast to join the drill in progress, gritting my teeth to keep down my self-loathing.

How could I be so fucking stupid to let a woman interfere with hockey?That’s what happened here, and there’s no sense in kidding myself about it. I stayed with her this morning and missed my early flight, not knowing if I could catch another one to get me here on time.

What a fuck-up. Self-derision rises as Sabien Dumas, our team captain, looks my way, and then Coach Spence turns his attention to me. He nods at Assistant Coach Nash to take over the drill, then skates toward the bench, pointing at me.

Fuck. Coach Spence wants to have it out with me, not leaving this to Coach Nash like he usually does. Now? What the fuck is that about?

Nothing good. I change direction and, slowing down, skate to the bench. Only my heartbeat picks up speed. When I reach the boards, I hop over as Coach opens the gate and joins me. He remains standing, so I do, too.

Guess I’m going to take the shit I deserve standing up. I’m slightly taller than Coach Spence, but I don’t feel like it. Remaining silent as he stares at me with a fucking scary neutral face—his legendary game face, the one we all aspire to—is easy because no matter how cool and cavalier I am by nature, this feels different, next level.

“Why are you late, Milano?” His question is calm and without judgment, as if he’s giving me a chance for a legitimate explanation. Too bad I don’t have one.

“I missed my flight.” No way in hell am I going to tell him why I missed my flight.

“Why did you miss your flight?” His voice hardens.

I stand in silence. I’m not going to tell him it was because I chose to stay in bed with a woman, but I’m not going to lie, either. He stares at me, waiting for an answer for too many heartbeats as mine races. What the fuck is wrong with me?

It’s not the first time I’ve been called out by a coach for messing up—not that I made a habit of it in my career, but hell, no one’s perfect. I try slowing my breathing to slow down my heart rate, but as coach stares back at me with that implacable face, waiting for an answer, it’s impossible, and I feel sweat pop on my forehead and start to trickle down my temples.

“No excuse,” he says, confirming the meaning of my silence. Then his mouth turns down in a derisive scowl, and his whole face frowns. “I know what that means even if you don’t admit it, Milano.” He doesn’t raise his voice and shakes his head ever so slightly.

Fuck, he knows it’s about a woman. But is it really that difficult to guess? I’m not exactly a choir boy when it comes to enjoying a variety of women on a regular basis. Since Sabien shacked up with Cherry, I’m the team’s hottest bachelor at large and the biggest chick magnet.

He takes his time staring, and more sweat pops, this time at the back of my neck to trickle down my spine. I’m itching to get out on the ice, to have this over with because neither one of us can undo my poor choice this morning, but the fucker stands there, watching me like we have nothing else to do, knowing he’s torturing me by remaining calm and drawing this out.

As he stares at me, I continue staring back like we’re in the military, and I’m at attention—which is absurd because hockey is nothing like the military—except that the team members rely on each other.

“You made the wrong choice this morning, Milano, while all your teammates made the right choice. They showed up on time—not half a day late—because they have their priorities straight. This isn’t training camp or pre-season anymore. We’re in season now, and while we’re in season, hockey is the top fucking priority.” He pauses like he has to gather himself because he’s so angry. The line of his mouth thins, his eyes narrow, and I can feel his tension almost as much as my own.

It’s the most uncomfortable I can ever remember being with a coach, but I grit my teeth and wait him out until he finally speaks.

“If you can’t handle putting hockey first,” he spits barely under control, “say the word, and I can have you traded to another team.”

The bottom falls out of my gut, and my heart stutters at his words—fucking traded. He’s serious. But that’s outrageous, over-the-top overreacting for one transgression. Anger flares to life in me like he’s contagious.

“I can handle my priorities, Coach,” I bite out.

He nods. I clench my jaw to hold the anger against unfamiliar fear as my insides knot up. Fucking traded? Jesus. I didn’t see that coming. It’s like getting your hand chopped off for stealing a piece of gum. Fucking harsh consequences for showing up late to practice. First day of the season, be damned.

“See that you do. I’m not bluffing about trading you—or any player that can’t handle their priorities. A player doesn’t get a chance to make a run at the Stanley Cup like this every season—hell, sometimes never. We have the team to make a serious run, and I’m demanding your best. You in, Milano?”

I nod. I get it. Maybe a day too late, but I get it. If this hard-ass coach intends to bring us to the Stanley Cup finals, then I’m going to make damn sure I stay on board for the fucking ride.

“Good. You can prove it by staying an extra hour for shooting and skating drills. You and me.” He pauses while I nod again. My heart calms down to normal. I know what I need to do, and I’m ready, blocking out the images of Delaney and my grandma as soon as they pop to mind.

“Get out there, and let me see you sweat blood, Milano.”

I hop over the boards and skate away fast to join my teammates.

He’d fucking trade me? Shit. Maybe that shouldn’t feel like the worst thing that could happen, but it does. So, I’m not going to let it fucking happen.

In the locker room,after late drills, I’m alone in the showers, washing away the sweat that feels like fucking blood and regret. Jason and Sabien said they’d wait for me in the dining room. I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to go out for drinks tonight. As I turn off the water and grab my towel, I feel drained and somehow defeated.

The right choice would be to go home and get to bed early to catch up on my sleep. I had none last night, knowing full well what might happen—that I could miss my plane and catch shit from Coach—but I never guessed how bad the consequences might be.

Or how bad the idea of getting traded would terrify me. Fuck. This is my third team in four years. I thought I fit in here, that I’d found a home, a place I could stay and play.

But what the fuck does that matter? Home is in New York with my family, and hockey is temporary, right?

Wrong. Hockey is who I am and what I’ve worked for all my life. Being here on a Stanley Cup contending team is my dream, my ultimate goal.

Does that mean I can’t go out with my teammates for a couple of beers?

No. A few beers with friends isn’t going to interfere with hockey. Since when do I let Coach stop me from doing basic shit?

I make it to the dining room as it’s shutting down, but I grab a couple of steaks and some salad and head for the table where Sabien and Jason still sit, waiting for me. A few other guys are around finishing up.

Collapsing into a chair, I nod at my friends. “Where’s Chase?” I know the answer.

“He headed home to sleep, but I doubt he’s planning to sleep.” Jason grins, shaking his head.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Sabien says.

“Then why aren’t you home with Cherry?” I really want to know.

“Because I’m team captain.” He says this as if I ought to know better.

I snort and dig into my steak, cutting a juicy chunk and shoving it into my mouth, remembering how hungry I am. All I had today was toast, a bag of peanuts on the plane—and Grandma’s cookies.

“So, you going to sit here and watch me eat?” I say after I swallow.

“It was your idea to go for a beer after dinner, but we could leave without you.” Jason always talks back like he wants me to take a swing at him. We came to blows only once. No need to repeat that shit.

I raise my middle finger at him, and Sabien rolls his eyes. “Finish your fucking steak, and let’s get out of here. I’ll go see if some of the rookies want to join us.”

Heaving a sigh, I watch him get up and talk to the younger guys at a nearby table. And by younger—I mean three or four years age difference. Not much, except in hockey years.

“He’s a good team leader,” Jason says as if he’s having trouble believing it.

I snort and don’t stop eating until my plate is clean. Grandma would be proud. But then I never had a problem finishing all my food. Being the old-school Italian grandma that she is, she admired my accomplishment each night at dinner as if I’d won the Stanley Cup of scarfing food.

Shaking my head, I wonder if I’ll see her before the holidays with Coach’s expectations what they are.

“So tell me what I missed at this morning’s meeting.”

Jason turns back to me from watching Sabien. “Coach Spence is on a mission. If we thought he was a hard-ass before, fuck no. Picture a hard-ass on steroids and cracked out of his mind to push this team—carry us, if he has to—to win the Cup.” He gives me a wary squint. “He ream you good?”

“Worse.” I take a breath and say it out loud. “He threatened to trade me if I mess up again and don’t make hockey my top priority.”

“Fuck. That’s harsh. Even for him.” Then he adds, “But you did show up three hours late for our first?—”

“I know.” I don’t bother explaining that I thought I could catch an earlier flight and get in fifteen minutes late—not that that would have been ideal. If I’d made my original flight, I’d have been at the arena an hour early. “I’d planned to be in early. But…” Shit went sideways. I met Delaney. “Grandma threw me a curve ball.”

“Don’t blame this on your grandma. She’s not why you spent the night with some woman?—”

“She’s the one who set me up with Delaney—scratch that—she hired a matchmaker to set me up.”

Jason laughs. “Sounds like Delaney is a winner. Guess that matchmaker knew what the hell she was doing.”

“I’d laugh if I didn’t have a cramp in my ass right now from doing speed drills. As if I’m not already the fastest?—”

Sabien returns to the table with two rookies in tow, Beau Picard, a goalie, and Liam Olsson, a defenseman, in time to comment, “Chase is the fastest guy on the team.”

“We should have a race between you two,” Liam grins.

“Like no one ever thought of that before,” I say.

“Who won?” Liam holds his grin for a beat while I stare him down.

Sabien saves me from having to answer. Maybe he is a good team leader. He pulls me from my chair as if I need help, as if he notices my exhaustion. “Let’s get out of here. How about we walk over to The Hole in the Wall bar for a quick one and say hello to Walt, our favorite barkeep?”

“Only one beer?” Beau says.

“We have a game tomorrow night,” I tell him. No smile.

I’mthe second one in the locker room before the game. Sabien is here, dressed in sweats, sitting back against a heating pad and zoning out or waiting for the rest of us to catch up with his brand of commitment.

He opens his eyes and smirks at me. “I see Coach Spence made an impression on you.”

I grunt and head for my cubby. I haven’t shared the details of my conversation with Coach with anyone but Jason, and I don’t plan to. No way am I mentioning the T word to another soul. The threat of getting traded is the kind of talk that could set people on edge and kill a locker room’s morale. Guess Coach Spence wasn’t worried about me spreading that around.

“So tell me about Delaney.” Shit. Jason said something to him. Probably under duress. Not that Sabien doesn’t have a right to know as a friend and team captain.

“Not much to tell.” I turn to him. “Don’t worry, Sabe. I have my priorities straight.” They’re so straight that I’ve refused to think about her or the night we spent together. It’s easy to put some distance between her memory and me with hockey in front and center. Coach’s threat of a trade wasn’t necessary. Or that’s what I tell myself.

Pushing my worry about Grandma aside is a little tougher, but I’ll deal with her matchmaking plan when she calls me next. By then, maybe I’ll know what to say. The rest of the team filters into the locker room as I finish prepping and head for the dining room with Sabe, ahead of them.