Page 9 of Risking the Pucking Defense

I glance over to find a man I’ve looked up to since I was thirteen.

Everett Donnelly.

Fuck.

I never in my entire life thought I’d get to play with him. The day he got traded to the Vipers, I thought all my Christmases had come at once. And now, to call him not just a teammate but a friend…fuck. It blows my mind. I just wish I could stop being such an idiot around him.

“I-I⁠—”

“We’ve got you,” Bea says, taking my hand in hers and squeezing in support. “We’ve missed you so much,” she says as she leads me toward the rest of the guys.

I take my seat, my eyes immediately drifting to the place setting in front of the empty seat beside me.

Hailee.

My heart rate picks up, embarrassment heating my cheeks as I think back to what she witnessed earlier.

The guys continue chatting as if nothing has happened. I guess to them, it hasn’t. I don’t know what Bea and Rett have said, but not a single one of them makes a big deal about my lateness. Instead, they just continue as if my arrival isn’t a big deal, and I couldn’t be more relieved.

I listen as they tell tales of what they’ve been up to over the past few weeks and discuss their plans for our final few days of freedom before training camp starts.

As much as I’m craving the distraction of getting back to normal life, where hockey takes up every single waking second, I’m also dreading it. What if I can’t pull my head out of this darkness and focus? What if I can’t be what my team needs? What if they can’t rely on me to do my job like they did last year?

What if they don’t want to?

My stomach knots as the panic returns.

Dragging in a deep breath through my nose, I release it through my mouth, willing myself to calm down.

Once again, my eyes drift to the name beside me before I glance around.

Where is she?

I haven’t been surrounded by this many people since…since Rylee’s funeral. Everyone there expected me to fall apart. Here, though, they want me to be Marilyn. The happy-go-lucky rookie they all love to tease.

“Have you managed to get any training done at home, Marilyn?” Killer asks, suddenly dragging me into the conversation.

“Uh…yeah, a bit.”

“That sounds ominous. We’re not gonna take it easy on you this year; you’re not the new boy anymore.”

I frown, trying to remember how the old me would respond.

“Pfft, as if you took it easy on me,” I deadpan.

“Oh, just you wait,” Killer warns.

“They’re joking,” Bea assures me. “Right?” She looks at Rett, who’s standing behind her, waiting for the signal to take his seat at the head table, hoping for him to reassure me.

“We can’t tell you all our secrets,” Rett teases, although the wink he sends me settles me a little.

No matter what, I have a feeling he’s going to keep an eye on me.

“I’m ready,” I lie. “We’re gonna do it this year.”

Despite the fake positivity I force into my voice, the others latch onto it and start cheering.

I look around the table, seeing smiles on the faces of everyone who made my first year in LA so much more than I ever could have expected. And I don’t just mean because we got to the Stanley Cup Finals, but because they welcomed me with open arms, invited me into their little family, and supported me as I embarked on my first year in the NHL. I thought I was ready, but nothing can prepare you for just how full-on it all is. But these guys—and their girls—took me under their wings and ensured I was coping every single day. I don’t know what I did to deserve them, but I’m incredibly grateful.