Page 79 of Lucky Puck

I reply with a heart emoji because Dad has my back, and that’s all I need.

For now.

Sliding my phone into my jacket pocket, I look up and try to find my new friends, but they’re lost somewhere in the crowd.

My phone vibrates again, and I groan out loud. I pull it out again and see it’s a text from Jett. I’m almost relieved. Swiping the text screen to life, I read it.

Jett: great game. Spin the fallout over the stunt he pulled at the end. Play up the hat trick. I’ll be there for the charity fashion show next week.

Before I can let myself dwell on the fashion show and the idea of being a model, I click on the photo he attached, taking a closer look. It’s him holding his new baby girl. She’s wearing a pink knit hat and he’s wearing a broad grin, and damn if I don’t see the mist in his eyes.

My chest squeezes and a smile forces my mouth wide in spite of everything. The happy photo is a welcome lift. Maybe Jett isn’t as clueless as he seems about how daunting the task ahead of us is.

Keeping Brody out of trouble and keeping our secret a secret is a challenge I need to accept fully, to embrace. I can’t do that until I make peace with the decisions I’ve made, and maybe I haven’t done that yet.

Until now.

The crowd of media and others gets loud and the clamor of questions and mayhem rises to alarming levels as I turn.

I find Cherry and ask her, “What’s going on?”

“A reporter just asked Coach Logan what he was going to do about Brody not coming off the ice.”

My body tenses up like I just touched a live wire and dread dries up my mouth, but I ask, “What did he say?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

BRODY

AFTER THE GAME IN THE LOCKER ROOM

Dressing in my game day suit, it’s a struggle to mentally prepare myself for the media, or worse, the inevitable lecture—or worse—from coach. It’s not the locker room jubilation that distracts me, or because I’m anticipating going home with Brooks later to collect my reward, mostly. It’s the damn headache. It’s back with a vengeance.

Reaching into the back of my locker, I grab the bottle of Tylenol and spill several tablets into my hand. Before I have a chance to swallow them down, Sabien appears and hands me a bottle of water.

“Take them with water. Swallowing them dry is nasty. Not good for your digestion.”

I do as he suggests.

“Headache back?”

“Don’t tell Doc—or coach.”

Sabe’s expression is pinched with worry, but he nods. “Not today, but if it keeps up⁠—”

I grin. “I’m touched at your concern, Captain.” I pat his shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s getting better. I got through the game with no problems.” It’s true. “This is just an aftereffect of the exertion. I’ll take it easy at practice tomorrow.”

Sabe snorts a laugh and then his face sobers as he glances past me. I turn in the direction of his eyes and see the coaches coming in, tapping pads and congratulating the guys, each one personally. When Coach Logan looks at me, he nods. When he reaches me, he says in a low voice, “My office. As soon as you’re finished dressing.” He moves on, tapping Sabien’s shoulder with a fist as he goes.

“Fuck,” I mutter. All I have left to put on is my shoes.

“Whatever you do,” Sabien says in a hushed authoritative voice, “don’t disagree or make excuses. You need to take whatever the coach dishes. And you need to think about what you’re going to say to the team.” He gives me one of those searing meaningful looks like he’s a wise old man, and I swear he’s channeling his dad, Henry. Henry is the real deal. Wise like my dad but a hockey genius—unlike my dad.

The door to Coach Logan’s office is open, and he’s waiting for me, sitting on the edge of his desk like he’s waiting to pounce the second I step over the threshold.

“Close the door behind you,” he says. Not the words you want to hear from your coach.

Schooling my features to neutral, a less intense version of my game face, I step inside and close the door. I don’t feel a need to sit or come any further inside. We stare at each other, and I soak in the growing tension in the room while he plays his mind game.