Puck My Life (Knotty Puckers #1)

Chapter 1

Vae

PAST

The door slams open, waking me from the sleep that’s taken me forever to find.

A moment of confusion turns into full-blown anticipation as I remember who is expected.

I tremble and bounce up from bed, swinging my feet onto the cold wood floor.

My very demure nightgown falls to my ankles.

It’s too big, but it makes me feel older, like one of those princesses I see in the cartoons I get to watch after school.

I can hear the low tones of Maria, my foster mother, and someone else. I creep to the door, biting my lip to make sure I don’t make a single sound.

There are five beds in this room, but four of them are empty. I know because I learned to count last year. For weeks now, it’s just been me, alone with those empty beds.

Everyone always leaves, but not me. This is my forever home. I don’t go away; I am not forgotten.

But, tonight, that’s changing. I put my hand on the cold doorknob and turn it so slowly I think I might scream.

The doors open with a small squeak of protest, breaking apart enough to let me slide through.

I stand in the hallway watching the yellow pool of light and the legs of my foster mother until she shifts out of the way, revealing another pair of legs.

The world shrinks down to those limbs. Thin and small like mine. A child’s legs. I just manage to suppress a shriek.

I don’t care about the other lady or Maria.

All I can see is the little boy. He’s scowling at the floor, tension in every line of his body. He’s got messy black hair and a ratty red bag in his hands. I don’t care who he is; he’s perfect.

He looks up and meets my gaze. He’s scary, which is fun! And the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen. I let out a giggle.

Maria turns, but I run back into the bedroom, closing the door and getting under the covers.

I can’t stop smiling.

“I’m not alone anymore.”

PRESENT

Closing out the world by shutting and locking my front door does nothing to stop the exhaustion that dogs my steps.

I lean against the cool wood, close my eyes, and pretend for just one moment that my fantasy has come true and this nightmare has finally ended.

In my wildest dreams, my lover comes out from the kitchen and hugs me, asking me how my day went, kisses me with desire and tells me the dishes are washed, dinner’s ready, and the bath is waiting.

Risqué, I know.

Opening my eyes just reveals the opposite.

There are clothes on the floor, a hockey stick leaning against a wall, a puck hanging from the lampshade in a pair of lace underwear that aren’t mine, and the potted plant is precariously balanced on the tattered cupboard I found at our neighbour’s garage sale.

The holes that I patched make the house look like a patchwork quilt or a dump, and the scuffed and scratched hardwood floors make me want to weep for them.

In short, my house looks as it always does when I come home, like a disaster.

It smells like alphas, sweat, and home.

Three distinct and undeniable scents that are my three stars that I revolve around helplessly. Coffee, vanilla, and salted caramel.

Why is it that the three of them smell like my favourite drink? Or is it my favourite drink because it smells like them?

I try not to let the scents soothe my frayed edges, but it does sink into my lungs and reach a part of me that is freaking me the fuck out.

A door opens halfway down the hallway, and a wall of tanned muscles walks out with a cloud of steam, towel drying his hair. I get a glimpse of his taut ass cheeks before I avert my gaze.

“Deacon!” I growl in pure frustration. “You know the switch right there under the lights is the one for the fan!”

Deacon turns my way and grins, the same wild and untamed grin that never ceases to send butterflies skittering around my insides whenever he flashes it at me.

For a moment, I forget all my troubles, my exhaustion, my pained and aching feet.

I want to give up and give in and just do whatever mischief he’s inviting me to do.

But someone has to be the adult in this dysfunctional family of ours.

Still, I’d have to be blind to miss the mass of muscles that comes from hours and hours of hockey training.

His transformation during his teens from leggy nerd to hockey god ruling over the ice gave him the confidence to back up his new looks, taking the accessible boy I’d fallen in love with way out of my orbit.

But, to me, he’s always going to be my found family, Deacon.

Our foster home forged an unbreakable bond that even adulthood can’t destroy.

I still remember the day that they were brought here to this house, when we were all kids, searching for a love that wasn’t coming; cold indifference was the best we could hope for, and then we found each other.

I stomp towards him, wincing as my aching feet twinge painfully. The long day of waiting tables has been excruciating. Especially as today was one of our busiest days. My intention is lost when I catch a glimpse of the kitchen to my left.

Oh, my sweet hockey gods.

I choke on my dismay before spinning to face the bedroom at the end of the long hallway, ignoring Deacon in favour of my new target. “RAYNOR! Get your ass out here and clean this up!”

The music that was pulsing at the back of the house turns up to an ear-thumping volume.

I close my eyes and pray for a moment of calm, but it’s shattered when I hear running feet.

I let out a squeak of protest, but it’s too late. I’m picked up and spun around, my shoes bouncing off the walls, leaving marks I’ll have to clean off later.

“Vae, I missed you.”

This alpha melts my heart and crushes it all the damn time. All of them do. They torture me.

I wrap my arms around Malcolm’s neck, burying my nose in the salted caramel scent of him and snuggle close.

He’s the youngest of the guys, though still almost two years older than me in our weird little family.

Mal is super cuddly, emotional, and also the rookie on Deacon’s hockey team, the Scented Scorpions.

I think we all sighed in relief when he was drafted there.

We couldn’t have split up the family. Separating was unthinkable.

It still is.

Deacon, who I’ve almost forgotten about, waits until I open my eyes, flicks me a wicked grin, and drops his towel on the floor, leaving me gaping at the blinding memory of his half hard cock and ass as he saunters away.

I really hope he’s going to put some clothes on.

That image is going to be distracting me all night long.

Damn him.

“I missed you, too, Mal. How about you put me down now, and we can go discuss dinner?” I say, even though I want to stay in his arms forever.

“No can do, sweet cheeks. Indy wants to go out tonight.”

Mal drops me to the floor, but I feel like I’m still falling. I crash onto the ground, and the familiar pit of despair opens up and swallows me whole. Mal reaches out and ruffles my hair like I’m a kid. Like I’m just his sister. I bat his hand away, gritting my teeth.

I yelp when he picks me up again, squeezing me up against him the way I’ve seen kids hold cats. I wonder if I am a pet or a toy to these alphas.

“You’re so cute, Vae.”

Pet, definitely pet.

I manage to hide my facial expressions just before he sees my dismay.

Concealing my feelings has become a champion sport, and I’m a trophy-winning veteran these days.

I don’t need these guys to know just how much I hate their girlfriend.

I tried so hard to like her, I really did, but she’s not just dumb, she’s vindictively dumb.

Her hair is bleached perfectly blond, and her cornflower blue eyes are wide with lies and venom.

They go perfectly with her pouty, filler-filled lips.

She’s everything I’m not. Rich, flawless, with a job as an influencer, and, of all the things I might be jealous of, the only thing she has that I want…are my boys.

I’ve got tanned skin and exotic hazel eyes from a heritage that disappeared when I was dumped into foster homes when I was too young to wonder.

To my dismay and the bane of too many diets to count, I’ve got curves and a big ass that looks amazing in a pair of jeans but leaves me feeling a bit self-conscious, especially with my smaller breasts and the fact that I’m quiet, studious, and intense.

I might have even gone to college, except Deacon, Mal, and Raynor had dreams, and I was waiting for a miracle that didn’t come.

Mal drops me again so suddenly I stumble back, catching the wall, but he’s already turning, shining that painfully gorgeous smile at the puck bunny who is walking towards us. Her hips tilt seductively; her eyes ooze sex appeal. She’s like a perfume ad.

I hate her.

But more than that, I hate that Mal forgets I exist. I study them and try to maintain emotional distance.

As usual, her pale colouring beside his golden is striking.

His hair is always messy, and he’s always smiling, with two dimples that melt people’s hearts.

He’s not as built as the dark-haired Deacon, but his bubbly personality and smile win people over in a way that Deacon’s command can’t.

I slip into the kitchen so I don’t have to speak to her. It’s a mess. Worse than a mess. There are dirty pots and pans, plates, mugs, and food all over the table. This was clean when I went to work twelve hours ago. How do they make so much mess in so little time?

I pull out a chair and sit at the small table. There is only enough room for four chairs. Which had been good, up until Indy came along. Now I eat alone in the garden, and they eat with her.

“Vae? What’s up with you?”

I shake my head, not even lifting my face to look at him. It doesn’t matter; I know him well enough that I know the exact expression he’s pulling.

“Hard day?”