Stick Legend (Boston Bucks #12)

Chapter 1

Tuck

“Did you get married?”

As I stand near the boards watching all the kids from our Boston Bucks family skate swirl around me, I glance down to see Stella glide toward me.

I stiffen, because sweet little Stella—Tanner and Maeve’s five-year-old daughter—is utterly ruthless, has zero filters, and calls anyone out on their shit.

I find her staring at my hand. Specifically, the college ring I’m twirling around my finger.

I chuckle and hold it out for inspection. “Nope. Not a wedding ring.”

She scrunches up her nose, eyes narrowing as she flawlessly skates around kids twice her size. I immediately know I’m in trouble. The serious kind. She doesn’t even slow down. Just carves a tight circle around me, edges clean, posture perfect.

“Are you not married because you have a beard?”

Interesting theory.

I rub a hand over the scruff on my jaw. “No, I don’t think that’s it. Lots of the married guys grow beards during the season.”

She switches direction without breaking eye contact, because apparently intimidation is easier at full speed. “That’s true. Uncle Conner looks like a grizzly bear.”

Fair.

She stops on a dime in front of me, a sharp spray of ice dusting my shins.

The other kids are wobbling into the boards behind her.

Stella stands there like she owns the rink.

Her gaze drops to my hand again, now resting on the boards.

She leans forward, inspecting it like a jeweler evaluating a flawed diamond.

“Is it because of that ugly wart?”

I nearly swallow my tongue. “Excuse me?”

She points. Not aggressively. Just…clinically. “That. The wart. It’s kind of ugly. Is that why you’re not married?”

Wow. Good thing I don’t hinge my self-worth on the opinions of small, future PWHL hall of famers.

I rub my thumb over the thick callus. “It’s not a wart. It’s a callus.”

She slowly straightens, one hand sliding to her hip, blades rocking gently beneath her with effortless balance. “That’s what a wart would say.”

I snort. “Oh really? And how many warts have you interviewed?”

She gives me a look that suggests I’m the dumbest man alive. Then she pushes off, skates a tight, perfect loop around me, and stops again, this time even closer.

“I had one on my toe,” she explains.

Of course she did.

“You interviewed it?” She purses her lips at my question, like she’s exhausted by my existence. “Come to discover it was pretending to be a callus, did you?”

“You ask a lot of questions, Uncle Tuck. It’s tiring. Maybe that’s why you’re not married.”

I ask a lot of questions?

“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath. Am I really being cross-examined by a five-year-old and losing spectacularly?

I search for a reasonable rebuttal and begin to shoot back a response. “That’s not…”

What are you doing, dude?

She tilts her head, helmet slightly askew, curls bouncing. “So it’s true then. It’s the wart.”

I sigh. “Maybe. I don’t know. The verdict is still out.”

She nods thoughtfully, then glides away from me—backward—smooth as anything.

“You should get some of that stuff Mommy put on mine,” she tells me. “Then maybe you’ll get married.”

And then she executes a perfect little spin in the middle of the ice. Meanwhile, I’m left standing near the boards, with an alleged wart and no defense.

Or self-respect.

“Wait!” she calls, carving a clean arc back toward me. She stops so sharply, ice sprays my skates again. Her blue eyes go wide and I brace myself. “Are you not married because you’re not in love?”

Well.

I nod solemnly, shoulders finally relaxing. “Yes. That’s it, Stella. I’m not in love.”

And that should be the end of it. Except my gaze drifts across the rink to Lucas and Josh as they fire pucks at the net. Maria’s boys.

And yeah…Maria. Who manages our favorite café, The Nook. Who smiles like she doesn’t realize it wrecks me. Who I may or may not be in love with.

So.

There’s that.

Ice sprays again when Tanner comes to a stop beside us. It’s easy to see where Stella gets her mad skills.

“Do I even want to know?” he asks, eyeing me like he’s walking into the aftermath of a bar fight. He rests a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Things looked intense over here.”

I tap Stella’s helmet lightly. “She was just asking why I’m not married,” I explain, holding up my college ring like it’s evidence in my favor.

“Daddy,” Stella says, eyes narrowing like she’s about to deliver her final judgement. “He’s not in love. That’s why he’s not married. It’s not because of that ugly wart.”

“Stella,” Tanner groans. “That is not a nice thing to say. And it’s not a wart.” He throws me an apologetic look. “It’s a callus.”

She huffs dramatically. “That’s what a wart would say, Daddy.”

Mortification crawls across Tanner’s face. “I don’t…why…she…”

I just grin. “Mouths of babes.”

Hell, I might be battle-scarred from the game, cuts and bruises here and there, but that’s not why I’m not married—and not why I avoid the puck bunnies. Still, it’s good to be humbled by someone who needs bedtime stories.

Ignoring us entirely, Stella clasps her tiny hands to her chest and gazes dreamily across the ice at Noah and Brighton’s son. “I’m in love with Tate. We’re going to get married.”

“I’m never surviving her teenage years,” Tanner mutters.

“Five going on fifteen?” I offer.

“More like five going on terrifying,” he says, spinning her gently toward center ice. “Come on, Stella. Let’s leave Tuck alone so he can go find someone to fall in love with.”

“Uncle Tuck?” she calls over her shoulder.

I glance down and she beams at me like she’s about to gift me with life-changing wisdom.

“When you do find someone, make sure you don’t have broccoli in your teeth when you smile at her.”

I nod gravely. “Yeah, that’s probably the best advice I’ve ever received. I’ll always do a broccoli check.”

Seemingly satisfied, she glides away with her father—then promptly starts skating tight, flawless circles around every other kid on the ice.

Yeah. Tanner’s in trouble. But one day she’s going to be a phenomenal hockey player, and probably a killer captain.

I push off the boards and do a quick lap, offering tips as the kids scrimmage.

“You guys good?” I ask Lucas and Josh.

“We’re good, Captain,” Lucas says with a grin.

I might be the captain of the Bucks, but out here with the kids, I’m just Tuck. Or Uncle Tuck, and sometimes that hits me right in the chest, because yeah, I don’t have kids of my own, and that’s not something that’s going to ever happen.

Josh takes a hard shot, clearly trying to impress me. I study his stance.

“Nice, Josh. But leave the wrist-breaking clappers for the NHL, yeah?”

He grins, then rubs his hand. “It was good though, right?”

“Yeah, it was good, but your mother would kill me if you go home in a cast. Here, try this.” I bend beside him. “Eyes on your target, not the goalie. Bend your knees, like you’re sneaking one of your mom’s cinnamon rolls off the bottom rack.”

His eyes go wide.

I laugh. “Relax. Your secret’s safe. Now keep the puck on your stick. Quick snap of the wrists. Pop.” I demonstrate. The puck slaps clean into the net. “Fast. Controlled. Aim small, miss small. Got it?”

Before he can answer, Stella appears at my elbow like a very fast, very judgmental litigator. I brace for an attack.

“Uncle Tuck, why are you here if you don’t have kids?”

Dear God. Has she not brutalized me enough today?

“Because I’m part of the team,” I tell her.

“He’s the captain, Stella,” Josh says proudly.

She studies me for a long moment. Then nods once. “Okay. You can stay.”

And just like that, the tiny tyrant—clearly on a mission to figure out my purpose in life—has granted me permission to stay. “So kind of you.”

She turns her attention to Lucas and Josh. “He’s not in…love,” she nonchalantly chants, putting a weird spin on the word love. “That’s why he’s not married.” The boys turn questioning eyes my way.

“Don’t ask.” I put my hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Okay, Josh, you got that.”

I’m about to ask Stella if she’d like a shot on net, but she looks like she’s headed toward Nicklas, who also isn’t married.

But no worries, she’ll let him know why.

She stops first and whispers something to Everly, one of Conner and Dani’s twins.

They both glance my way. Crap. Then Everly skates off to say something to Zoe, who then skates to her mother Gina, and I can only imagine what’s churning in the rumor mill.

I glance back at Josh, and he gives a curt nod. “Got it, Cap.” Then his eyes stray…to Camryn. Noah and Brighton’s daughter. Do I see love blossoming there?

“Stella,” Tanner calls out and she skates away. After helping them with a few more shots, I make my way to the gate and plop down into a seat next to Jaxon, who’d just been chatting with Gina.

With his eyes still on the kids playing he says, “Heard you were ugly.”

I laugh. “Wow, word gets around fast, huh?” Words also get twisted, clearly.

He laughs with me. “Man, they sure have their hands full with that little girl.”

I begin to untie my skates. “She’s going to be a heartbreaker.”

“Poor Tate,” he shoots back and shakes his head. “He has no idea what’s in store for him.”

“No idea at all.” I can relate. Sometimes life hits you in the face harder than a hockey puck, but fortunately most times those scars are hidden.

Jaxon leans in and bumps his shoulder against mine, the way he’s done since we were rookies and he needed something.

“Come for dinner tonight?” he asks casually. Too casually. “I could use a hand putting the crib together.”

I eye him, not sure I believe that. He’s a handyman, and a skilled woodworker who can put a crib together with his eyes closed. What is he really up to?

He must sense my skepticism, because he continues with, “Rowyn would love to see you. You haven’t been around much.”

There’s something in his eyes—something that resembles concern—and I hate that he recognizes the storm inside me.