Page 8 of Risking the Pucking Defense

I don’t think I ever saw her more excited than the day I got drafted.

Her dreams had been smashed to smithereens, and that meant my dreams became hers, and I had made them come true. I’ve never been prouder and seeing her smile meant everything to me.

Leaving, though…fucking hell, that sucked.

When we were kids, we’d always planned that she’d follow me wherever I was signed. But as the years went by, it became obvious that that was going to be impossible.

She’d have loved LA. We grew up in a small town and always dreamed of city life. I hate that I got to experience it without her, but she insisted that she was happy living vicariously through me.

I suspected otherwise, but I wasn’t ever going to call her out on it.

Five minutes ago, my cell buzzed to let me know that dinner was going to be served in fifteen minutes.

When I first heard it, I thought it would be Bea again, hoping for an update, but to my surprise, it was Hailee.

The clock continues ticking, and I know that if I don’t move soon, everyone will have taken their seats, and all eyes will be on me when I walk in.

I can’t have that. The only two people who should have everyone’s attention today are Linc and Parker.

“Come on, Monroe. You can fucking do this,” I tell myself as I pace back and forth across my hotel room. “Just go down there, take your seat, and laugh along with the guys like everything is right in the world.”

I pause in front of the mirror. It takes me a couple of seconds to look up, and the moment I do, I regret it.

I don’t look like myself. I look like…well, I look like the other half of me died.

Pain cuts through me, grief pressing down so heavily on my shoulders, it’s a surprise I don’t crumble to the floor.

But I fight it. I fight it so fucking hard.

I hold my head high and ignore my pale skin, the contrasting dark circles beneath my eyes and the scruff I can’t be bothered to shave from my chin.

“You can do this,” I repeat, turning around and leaving my hotel room before I can convince myself otherwise.

I’m a mess by the time I’m walking toward the ballroom. Thankfully, there are still people milling about, which means I’m not too late.

A few people notice me, jerk their chins in greeting, and a couple wave, completely unaware just how much it’s taking to show my face right now.

Rolling my shoulders back, I straighten my tie and force my legs to carry me into the vast room where the reception is taking place.

I quickly scan the room, but there’s no need; the noise from the table where I should be is enough to tell me where they are.

“Monroe, where the fuck have you been?” Killer bellows the second he spots me.

Instantly, the laughter that was ringing out halts, and one by one, every single set of eyes at the table turns to me.

Dread sits heavily in my gut, and panic has my breathing starting to increase.

Fuck. I can’t do this.

I can’t⁠—

“I’m so glad you made it,” a soft voice says a second before I’m wrapped in a set of arms, a familiar scent filling my nose.

I blink, clearing my vision, and find dark curls beneath my chin.

Bea.

“Hey, man. It’s good to see you,” a deep, rumbling voice says as a giant hand clamps down on my shoulder.