Possessive Puckboy (Puckboys #8)

1. PARKER

ONE

PARKER

It’s been six months since my life fell apart. I’m not talking a little blip or an overdramatic flare of bad luck. No. Every little piece of my life has unraveled. First, I sold my company, then my dad died, then I gave Mom a bunch of money, and she disappeared on a years-long trip around the world, leaving me stranded and alone. Okay, not alone alone. I’d had a boyfriend. A nice boyfriend. A boyfriend I thought might be a husband-type person at some point down the line, but then he left me as well.

Workaholic . Right. Well, sorry, but you don’t get to be as successful as I am without putting in the work, and maybe that meant he was neglected sometimes, by accident, but what am I supposed to do? I wish that was a rhetorical question, but I actually don’t know the answer. People and dating don’t come easily to me.

But six months later and not much has changed.

You’d think being a twenty-six-year-old billionaire would mean the rest of my life is set. I appreciate that my mom and I will never have financial worries in our lifetimes, and hopefully, neither will my kids. My kids who don’t actually exist yet. Because to have kids, I’d like a partner to raise them with, and while money will get me a partner, it’s not the type of partner I want.

And that’s all led me to here: in a luxury suite in Ball Arena, overlooking the same ice I used to watch from the nosebleeds.

The crowd around me goes wild as Colorado scores the first point in this game. It’s still preseason, but Colorado fans are passionate, and considering I’ve been coming to this arena since I was a kid, I suppose I can count myself in with them.

Dad was a hockey player for Colorado, but he only made it two seasons before an injury ended his career before it could take off. He wound up working in an office up until he died, but he still took shifts driving the Zamboni, and when he wasn’t needed, we’d watch the games together. I’ve been a season ticket holder since I was five.

Now, I have an entire suite, and it’s only me.

Dad would have loved for me to follow in his footsteps, but no matter how much I tried, staying upright while skating isn’t something I managed to master, and it’s sort of a basic requirement for making it to the NHL. Or even a high school team.

It also didn’t help that I preferred to have my head in my laptop, coding a new game or working on building a life-size robot so I had at least one friend.

Ah, the trauma that was my adolescence.

The door to my suite opens, and I glance over at Brendan Murray, the team owner.

“Parker,” he says, his deep voice a warm memory from my childhood. He owned the team when Dad played for them and was an owner who was actively involved in the sport and his players. The older he’s gotten, the more he’s pulled away, until here we are.

Like a switch has been flipped, I put a halt to my whirlwind of thoughts and channel the super-professional grown-up exterior I always have to work to maintain through these meetings.

“How did it go?” I ask .

When Brendan had mentioned at my father’s funeral that he was looking to sell, it was the one light in a very fucking dull few months. The process wasn’t as simple as throwing money at him either. I’ve had to go through background checks and interviews. Had to make sure there was no pushback from the other owners. I needed to draft a business plan and prove I have enough assets not only for the sale but to keep the team going if their season takes a dive. I’ve engaged a broker who specializes in the buying of sports teams, and I’m ready for them to open the team up for sale because I’ll outbid anyone who tries to take this from me.

As long as I have approval to even try. Which is hopefully the news Brendan is bringing me now.

“You’ve got the green light,” Brendan says. “Given that you’re local, who your dad was, and my glowing recommendation, it’s unlikely things won’t go your way.”

Relief sweeps over me. As much as I’d like to give them a figure and be done with it, for a high-profile team like Colorado, I’m not the only one with interest. Unluckily for anyone else, I’ll bankrupt myself to buy this team if I have to. Brendan isn’t making it widely known that the team is for sale because he doesn’t want to disrupt the way things are run here, but he’s open to offers. Thankfully, it’s valued at a much lower number than what’s in my bank account, so it shouldn’t come to that, but it was Dad’s team. The one I’ve always rooted for, and while I didn’t expect my software company to explode the way it did, it feels serendipitous that I made the sale right before Brendan decided he was done. Right at the time where I had all this money to burn and a memory of my father to cling to.

My gaze returns to the ice where the lines have changed, and I narrow in on one player.

It’s also serendipitous that my home team happens to be the same team that he plays on. The man who started my stupid nickname in high school that I was never able to shake .

The man I might have had the most stupid high school crush on that maybe hasn’t completely stayed in high school.

Connor Kikishkin.

Mr. Hockey Captain. Mr. King of the School.

I still vividly remember the day I’d been talking to his little brother and he’d shoved me into a locker and warned me to stay away. It was that same day he’d altered my last name—Duchene—to douche. And that had stuck.

For all four years of high school before it followed me to college.

It wasn’t very inventive, and some dumb jock probably would have gotten there eventually, but if Connor hadn’t singled me out that day, would anyone have known who I was? If I was another nameless, faceless nerd, they wouldn’t have had any reason to know my name.

But they did.

Because of Connor.

So while I’m buying this team first and foremost for Dad, to honor his memory and try to keep some kind of connection to him, I can’t deny that having Connor Kikishkin’s career in my hands holds a certain appeal.

All I’ve dreamed about since high school is stepping into my reunion and showing all those dumb jocks who bullied me mercilessly for four years how far I’ve come. That I succeeded where they couldn’t.

But if I’m honest, it doesn’t feel like I’ve come all that far. I’ve spent the last five years with my head in a computer, working my butt off, building an empire, and now that I’ve taken a step back and remembered that the real world exists, there doesn’t seem to be much waiting for me.

So if I can have one thing in this life that makes me happy, I’m going to give it to myself.

I’m going to own Connor Kikishkin.

And I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing one of the reasons I’m here is because of him. In fact, I’m going to pretend I don’t remember him at all.

“I know of two other parties that are planning to front up large sums,” Brendan warns.

“You would say that though. The more I offer, the more you’ll have to line your pockets.”

“Not like you can’t spare it. A billionaire at your age. Your dad wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

Pain slices through my chest. The whole reason I’d put my company up for sale in the first place was so I could throw money at the hospital to save him. He didn’t hang on long enough for that to happen. Six weeks. He was here, and then … he wasn’t.

“Trust me when I say you won’t need to rely on food stamps for your retirement.”

“For whatever it means, I hope your offer is successful. You were always a good kid, your dad was a good man, and this is your team—owned or not. I know you’ll look after everything I’ve built here.”

Everything, except for one man.

I shoot a smile his way. “Get that office ready for me. I don’t plan on taking no for an answer.”