Page 63 of Puck Fest

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To the way I feel right now…terrified and exhilarated. Equally.

My phone buzzes a little while later with a text from Danny.

Made it home without being photographed by your neighbors. You’re welcome.

I smile despite myself.

Thank you for your discretion.

Is that what we’re calling it?

That’s what I’m calling it.

What are you doing today?

Laundry. Emails. Trying not to think about you.

How’s that working out?

Terribly.

Three dots appear, disappear, then appear again.

Good. I’d hate to be the only one struggling here.

I put the phone down, lean back against the couch, and cover my face with my hands.

But Danny’s right about one thing.

Last night wasn’t a mistake.

The mistake would be pretending it didn’t mean something.

The next morning, I show up at the arena at seven-thirty. It’s early enough that most people aren’t here yet and since I didn’t get much sleep, it wasn’t hard to beat the crowds. I need to be settled and composed before I have to see Danny.

Before I have to pretend nothing’s changed.

I’m in my office reviewing the week’s media schedule when there’s a knock on my door.

“Come in.”

Dad walks in, still in his team jacket, looking tired.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning. Everything okay?” I lean forward in my chair, my pulse thrumming.

“Should be asking you that.” He sits down across from my desk. “You left right after the Edmonton game Friday. Didn’t stick around for the post-game briefing.”

With a shrug, I open a file folder on my desk and absently sift through papers. “I had some personal things to handle.”

“Personal things.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You’ve been different lately. Distracted.”

My stomach drops. “I’m fine. Just busy.”

“Is this about the Masterson situation? Because he’s doing better. The community service is going well, he’s stayed out of trouble since Vancouver?—“

“It’s not about Masterson.”

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