Page 2 of Risking the Pucking Defense

My heart is in my throat as I slip from my hiding place and rush around the perimeter of the room in the opposite direction to everyone else.

I figure I can slip out of this room, right into the stairwell opposite, and skulk back to my room to hide.

Pulling the door open, I poke my head out and look toward the bar. Just like I suspected, everyone is engaged in various conversations; no one is aimlessly gazing down the hallway.

Closing my eyes, I count to three and then dart across the room.

As the door falls closed behind me, the voices float off to nothing, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I begin to climb the stairs.

With each step, my muscles relax.

But then, my world comes crashing down around my feet when a familiar voice floats up the stairwell.

“Hayden?”

My teeth clench and my fists curl.

If I were going to get caught by anyone today, why couldn’t it have been Bea or Rett? Why did it have to be her?

I hang my head, my steps slowing to a stop.

I’m pretty confident I could outrun her, especially in those heels I saw her wearing. But that’ll only make this worse.

“Hayden, wait,” she calls again when I don’t say anything.

Her heels tap against the stairs as she runs up, and I stay frozen, waiting for the inevitable.

As she emerges, I’m struck by just how beautiful she is—just like I was on the very first day I met her.

She’s tiny and, well…perfect.

She looks delicate and gentle, and I remember being lured in by that false sense of security. But there is nothing gentle about the way she bosses hockey players around on a daily basis. This woman is fierce and strong—and utterly incredible.

Did I mention she’s also hot? Like, the hottest woman I’ve ever seen in my life, and I can’t help but feel like a teenager with a crush whenever we’re in the same room.

“Everyone was waiting for you and—” Her words cut off as her eyes connect with mine.

I have no idea what she can see, but from the way her smile drops and her brows furrow, I’m assuming it isn’t good.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

It’s such an innocent question. One I should be able to cope with.

Maybe if anyone else had asked me, I’d be able to shrug it off with yet another lie and move on.

But not her.

Never her.

Instead, the most embarrassing thing happens.

A loud sob rips from my throat, and my vision blurs as tears fill my eyes again.

“Oh shit. Hayden, what⁠—”

“My sister,” I blurt, the words spilling free without permission. “She…she died.”

Suddenly, I’m engulfed by a small set of arms and held so tightly by the only woman I’ve wanted since moving to LA.