“How? We all but begged you?” she asks.
“Italians have a thing against the Pols.”
“They literally have never had beef,” Deacon grumbles.
“You guys were on the wrong side during the last world war. I’m not stirring that shit up again, not at my age. If I were younger, I’d have gone skate-to-skate with him, but, apparently, I’m taking the kid with the hair that’s not quite as good as mine’s room at the Puck Pad.” He waves his hand and rolls his eyes.“Let’s get in there before someone recognizes me, and I gotta be nice.”
“He’s staying at the Puck Pad?” Nalani asks Deacon.
“Should be a good time.” He chuckles.
Nalani looks at Claudia. “That means you’re with me.”
The entire day’s emotional overload comes out in a single tear.
“What’s wrong?” Nalani asks.
I answer honestly, “I’m so glad he’s choosing to live again.”
From behind me, I hear a whispered, “Let me know when you’re ready to become acquainted with what it feels like to be cared for and treated like a woman.”
And just like that, the noise around me blurs. His voice is low, almost rough, the kind that hums against the back of my neck long after the words are gone. It’s not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but my whole body reacts like it’s been struck.That energy, that chemistry. The scent of him drifts forward—clean linen, cedar, and something darker that clings to the warmth of his skin. When he speaks, it vibrates through me, quiet thunder under my ribs. My knees nearly give out, my pulse syncing to his breath behind me. The air between us feels charged, reckless, alive. For one dizzy second, I swear I could turn around and forget the entire world exists.
He takes Savannah’s carrier from my hand. “Let me take that.”
FIFTEEN
A Bears girl
Deacon
The roar hitslike a wave the second the puck drops. Usually, I’d feel that rush in my chest, that instinct I fight until my line takes the ice to lace up and get out there, but tonight, all it does is make my head pound. The lights bounce off the ice hard enough to let me know it’s there, but not as bad as sitting arena side.
Not that I want to miss it, I have a mission of my own, but tonight I dragged Paul here at Koa’s request.
The girls are doing their thing, cheering on the Bears, even little Savannah is decked out, and yes, Claudia has the tiny little ear muffs that I gave her, which made her pull a face, but only momentarily.
“It's not about fashion tonight, my sweet little one,” she had joked.
Do I want to be closer? That need drives harder every time I'm in the same area as her; it’s alive inside of me, but this is their thing. And the fact that I want it to be her thing for a long time, I’m not about to fuck it up.
So, I focus on Paul and the game.
Paul leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. “Johnson’s glove side’s lagging again,” he mutters. “You see that?”
“Yeah,” I say, squinting. “He’s dropping early. Leaving rebounds like candy at Halloween.”
Paul snorts. “Kid’s allergic to the puck.”
“Or to pressure,” I say.
We both watch as the defense scrambles to clean up the mess, bodies flying in front of the net to block shots that should’ve been saves. It’s painful hockey, too much heart wasted on covering someone else’s screwups.
Then the bench door opens, and the whole box seems to hold its breath. Williams Junior skates out, not to the line, but to the crease.My position.
Paul blinks. “You gotta be kidding me.”
I lean forward, headache forgotten for a second. “They pulled him up from the farm team?”
