Chapter Twelve
A llison's evening routine didn't usually include a panic attack, but finding her grandfather's Olympic puck missing from its display case seemed like a reasonable excuse to start one.
"No, no, no..." She ran her fingers along the empty velvet lining, as if the puck might magically materialize under her touch. The glass case sat innocently on her bookshelf, exactly where it had been this morning. Except now it was empty, and her carefully ordered world was tilting on its axis.
She knew she had put it back in the case before bed last night. Her phone was in her hand before she'd consciously decided to call Kane. It rang twice before he answered, "Hey gorgeous. What’s up?" She could hear sounds of the gym in the background.
"The puck is gone."
A pause, then the noise of clanging machines was muted. "What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean gone, Kane. As in not here. As in missing from its case. As in—" She sucked in a breath that was definitely not the start of another panic attack. "Someone broke into my apartment while I was at work today."
"I'll be right there." More rustling, a muffled curse. "Don't touch anything. And don't—"
"Tell anyone, I know." She paced her apartment, checking to see if anything else had been taken. "There wasn’t any sign of break in. The door was locked like it normally is.”
"We'll figure it out." Kane's voice was steady, grounding. "Just breathe, okay? I'm coming over."
He arrived moments later, still in his workout clothes—grey sweats and a worn Chill practice shirt. His hair was sticking up on one side, and Allison had to physically stop herself from reaching up to smooth it.
"Show me," he said.
She led him to the display case, watching as he examined it with surprising forensic care. "I remember you putting it there before we went to bed last night. Are you sure we didn’t knock it on the floor?"
"I don’t think so.” But she got down on her hands and knees and looked under the bed anyway just in case.
“Anything?” Kane asked.
“Nope, just a dire need to vacuum under here.”
"We should call the police.”
"No," Allison grabbed his phone. "Not yet. I don’t want people to find out the lucky puck is missing."
“I’m more concerned that someone broke into your place than that puck.”
She loved him for saying that. Then she sagged back on the bed. Holy shit. She loved him.
“Hey,” he said, bending down to lift her to her feet. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
Yeah, it was definitely love. She hugged him hard. “Kane,” she choked.
“You’re going to stay with me until we figure this out.”
She wasn’t opposed to that idea. “I still don’t want to involve the cops yet. It could be a misunderstanding. The team's playing so well. I can't be responsible for ruining their confidence right before playoffs."
"Okay." Kane ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I appreciate that. But once the season is over, we need to put a stop to this nonsense.”
“Agreed.”
“Okay. Let's think this through then. Who has access to your apartment?"
"Just you." She started pacing again. "And building maintenance for emergencies, I guess. And..." She stopped abruptly. "Don't they keep spare keys in the management office? For like, when people lock themselves out?"
"Yeah, they do." Kane's brow furrowed. "Actually, I saw Mrs. Peterson in there last week. She was dropping off some kind of form and had a ring of keys with her."
"Mrs. Peterson has building keys?"
"She's on some kind of emergency contact list. Helps out when people go on vacation, that sort of thing."
A thump in the hallway made them both jump. Allison's heart leaped—maybe the thief returning the puck?—but when Kane yanked open the door, it was just Oliver struggling with his gym bag.
"Hey," he said, raising an eyebrow at their tense expressions. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," they answered in unison.
Oliver looked skeptical but shrugged. "All right then. See you at practice tomorrow, Cap."
They waited until his footsteps faded before speaking again.
"Mrs. Peterson's apartment is on two," Kane said. "We should—"
"Way ahead of you." Allison was already heading for the stairs.
The second floor was quiet except for the muffled sound of someone's TV. They knocked on 2B, but no answer.
"Maybe she's not home?" Kane suggested.
"Looking for Mrs. P?" Jenny's voice made them both spin around. She was coming up the stairs with her laundry basket. "She left for bingo about an hour ago. She was acting kind of weird though."
Allison's stomach tightened. "Weird how?"
"Muttering to herself about 'protecting the team's destiny' and something about how 'sometimes drastic measures are necessary.'" Jenny shifted her basket to her hip. "I figured it was just her usual superstition stuff. You know how she gets before big games."
Kane and Allison exchanged looks.
"When does bingo usually end?" Kane asked casually.
"Around nine, I think? She never misses her Tuesday night game at St. Michael's." Jenny's eyes narrowed. "Why? What's going on?"
"Nothing," they said together.
Back in Allison's apartment, Kane pulled out his phone. "Maybe there's something in the building chat..."
"Good idea." Allison grabbed her own phone, scrolling through the day's messages. Lots of playoff excitement, debate about lucky food for Saturday's game, Mrs. Peterson's usual updates about her knitting progress, and then...
"Found something," Kane said. "'Sometimes a grandmother must do what a grandmother must do.' Posted right after Jenny saw her leaving."
"Look at her earlier messages." Allison turned her screen so Kane could see. "'Team needs all the luck they can get for playoffs.' 'Can't leave anything to chance.' 'Some treasures are too important to risk.'"
"It has to be her." Kane checked his watch. "It's only seven. We have two hours until bingo ends."
"So we wait." Allison sank onto her couch.
He was quiet for a moment, absently playing with her fingers. "The pressure of being captain... it's not just about winning games. It's about keeping everyone focused, confident. The guys really believe in the puck's magic. If they found out we lost it right before playoffs..."
"Their confidence would shatter."
"Yeah." He squeezed her hand. "And I know it's just superstition. I know we're winning because we're playing better, working harder. But..."
"But a little magic doesn't hurt?"
His smile was sheepish. "Something like that."
They decided to wait in the lobby, where they could see everyone coming and going. Kane pulled Allison into his lap in one of the oversized armchairs, and she tucked her head under his chin.
"You know," she said after a while, "my grandfather would probably find this whole thing hilarious. His lucky puck causing so much chaos."
"Tell me about him." Kane's chest rumbled pleasantly against her back. "The real him, not the hockey legend everyone talks about."
So she did. Told him about Sunday dinners and backyard hockey lessons. About how he'd teach neighborhood kids for free, saying talent shouldn't depend on money. About his terrible jokes and worse cooking and the way he'd always said luck was just preparation meeting opportunity.
"He’ll like you," she finished softly.
Kane pressed a kiss to her hair. "Yeah? Am I going to meet him?"
"Yeah. After the season is over, maybe we can take a weekend trip to visit.”
“We, huh?”
“Yeah, we.”
They exchanged goofy grins.
“He always said you could tell everything you needed to know about a person by how they treated their teammates. And you—"
The lobby door opened, and Mrs. Peterson bustled in, knitting needles clicking in her bag. She stopped short when she saw them.
"Oh! I didn't expect... that is... lovely evening for sitting in the lobby?"
"Mrs. Peterson." Allison stood, Kane right behind her. "We need to talk about what you took from my apartment today."
"I'm sure I don't..." But her hands clutched her bag tighter.
"The puck," Kane said gently. "We know you have it."
Mrs. Peterson's shoulders slumped. "Oh dear. I suppose there's no point denying it." She drew herself up to her full height, which was still a good foot shorter than Kane. "But I did it for the team."
"By stealing?" Allison tried to keep her voice level.
"Borrowing! And only because you were going to stop bringing it to games.”
“What?” Kane asked, brow furrowing.
“I changed my mind about that,” she told him as Mrs. Peterson talked over them.
“We're so close to making history—first division title ever. The boys need all the luck they can get."
"Mrs. Peterson—"
"No, you listen to me, young lady." The knitting needles emerged, pointed at Allison like tiny swords. "This team has changed this building from a group of strangers into a community. Did you know Jenny and Oliver are dating?”
She and Kane exchanged a look. No, that was news.
“Mr. Chen finally talks to his neighbors. The Martinez family brings food to every celebration. We're not just neighbors anymore—we're family. And it all started coming together with that puck."
Allison blinked back unexpected tears. "I didn't realize how important the puck was. But I had already decided..."
"Of course you didn't, dear,” Mrs. Peterson cut her off again. “You were too busy worrying about being the puck girl instead of seeing how much joy you've brought to this building." Mrs. Peterson deflated slightly. "But I shouldn't have taken it. I just panicked. The puck is perfectly safe, I promise. It's in my lucky box with my special knitting needles and Harold's wedding ring because he never wears it because he says it hurts when his fingers swell from the arthritis..."
"Mrs. Peterson," Kane interrupted gently. "We'd really like the puck back now."
"Oh! Yes, of course." She dug in her massive purse and pulled out a small wooden box. Inside, nestled in what appeared to be a hand-knitted cozy, was the puck.
Allison cradled it, torn between relief and lingering frustration. "Please don't ever do anything like this again."
"I am sorry, dear." Mrs. Peterson's eyes welled up. "I just love this team so much. And seeing everyone so happy."
“I’m going to bring the puck for all the games for the rest of the season,” Allison said.
“You are?” Mrs. Peterson’s jaw dropped.
“Yes. I had decided that at the party last night.”
“So I didn’t have to commit a crime?” Mrs. Peterson clutched at her pearls in dismay.
“No.”
“Oh my. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Yes, just please don’t ever do it again,” Allison repeated.
“I won’t.” Mrs. Peterson wobbled away, looking both frightened and relieved.
After she was gone, Kane pulled Allison close. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She traced the puck's worn edges. "I get it, you know? Not the stealing part, but this team means everything to so many people. The building really has become a family."
"Speaking of family..." Kane's voice was careful. "What you said about your grandfather..."
"He’s going to love all of this when I tell him about it. The superstitions, the community, the way everyone believes in a little magic."
"Even you?"
She stretched up to kiss him softly. "I believe in us.”
His answering smile was better than any victory. "Me too."
Later, after they'd returned the puck to its display case and Kane thoroughly distracted her from any lingering anxiety.