Page 225 of Risking the Pucking Defense

The second I pull the door open, I practically mow down a teenage boy.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching out to steady him.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, staring up at me with wide eyes. “You’re…you’re…you’re Hayden M-Monroe.”

A smile pulls at my lips. I see this happen to the others a lot. They’ve been in the league longer than me, on more billboards and in social media campaigns. So on the few occasions I’m recognized when I’m out, it blows me away.

“Hey, yeah. Did you watch the game tonight?” I ask, assuming he did, considering he’s wearing a jersey.

Wait.

He’s not just wearing any jersey.

He’s wearing my jersey.

“Yeah, I did. Incredible win. You were amazing. As always,” he adds before his face turns beet red.

“Oh wow. Thanks, man. I really appreciate that.”

“Any news on Killer?” he asks, concern evident in his eyes.

“Nah, not yet,” I say, anxiously rubbing the back of my neck. “But he’ll be fine. He’s strong.”

“Yeah, he is. You’re going to be on the first line next game.”

“W-what?” I stutter.

“You and Rett Donnelly. You’d make one hell of a team.”

“Uh…Rett is a fantastic player. It’s always an honor to get on the ice with him.”

“Next game, you’ll be standing beside him.”

I nod, not believing a word of it. There are so many other defensemen worthy of that position. I appreciate the optimism though.

“Could you…could you sign my shirt?”

“Of course. Do you have a pen?”

“Uh…”

“Tell you what, swing by my table once you’re finished here. I’m having dinner with my parents. My mom will have a pen. I’ll do it then.”

“Yeah, okay. That’s…amazing. Oh my god. Thank you.”

He takes off with the biggest smile on his face, and I walk back toward our table feeling a hell of a lot lighter. And it only gets better when I look up and see someone sitting in the seat next to mine.

My breath catches, and emotion clogs my throat at the sight of my girl laughing with my parents as if they’ve known each other all their lives.

I freeze and stand right there in the middle of the restaurant, unable to force my legs to move.

As if she senses me looking, Hailee drags her eyes away from my mom and looks over.

I’m pretty sure my heart restarts the moment our gazes lock.

Her smile is everything, and without instruction, my legs carry me to her.

“You’re here,” I breathe, ignoring the burning stares coming from my parents.