Page 38 of Oh, Puck!
She shrugs, as Kai calls out our order from behind the espresso machine and we get ready to collect them.
"Like I said, yes, he's intense. And yes, he's got more walls than a fortress." She shrugs her shoulders. "But he's also the guy who stayed late after practice to help a kid find his lost puck. And the guy who carries both his brothers out of the club when they've had one too many drinks."
I blink. "He does that?"
"Don't tell him I told you. He'd kill me." Brooke winks. "But yeah. He's got a good heart. He's just… bad at showing it."
"Thanks, Brooke," I say, my voice quiet as we thank Kai for our drinks and head back down the boardwalk. "I think I needed to hear that."
"Anytime." She sips her latte and shoots a wink at me. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a very large shipment of foam fingers. The people need their merchandise."
She heads off, and The Yard is buzzing when I return.
The crowd has swelled, spilling out onto the boardwalk as families and fans gather to watch the chaos unfold. The temporary rink is the main attraction, with a handful of Bears players running drills with a group of wide-eyed kids.
I spot Beck immediately, because of course, he's attracting the biggest crowd.
He's at the taco truck, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, a plastic bib tied around his neck. A massive platter of jalapeño-laden tacos sits in front of him, and he's working through them with the enthusiasm of a man who has no regard for his own digestive system.
"FOURTEEN!" the crowd roars as he finishes another taco, pumping his fist in the air.
"FIFTEEN!"
I shake my head, laughing to myself.That idiot's going to regret this in about three hours.
But my eyes are already scanning the rink, searching for a familiar broad-shouldered silhouette.
There.
Declan is on the ice, and he's... laughing.
Laughing!
The sound is so unexpected, sounlikethe grumpy captain I've come to know, that I almost stumble over my own feet.
He's surrounded by a group of kids, all of them clutching mini hockey sticks. One of them, the girl with pigtails and a gap-toothed grin, is trying to deke around him. Declan is playing defense, but he's barely trying, letting her get closer and closer before making a half-hearted poke at the puck.
She squeals in delight, dodging past him and shooting.
The ball, because they're using street hockey balls, not pucks, slides past Corbin, who's in net, and the girl throws her arms up in victory.
"GOAL!" she screams, and Declan's laugh rumbles across the ice, deep and genuine andfuck me.
It's devastating.
He scoops her up, spinning her around, and she shrieks with laughter. The other kids mob him, piling on until he's buried under a mountain of mini-jerseys and mittens.
I'm rooted to the spot, my heart doing something complicated in my chest.
That's not the man I met in the conference room.
That's not the man who called me 'woman' like I was beneath him.
That's someone else entirely.
His laugh rumbles across the rink again, a deep, unfiltered sound of pure joy, and a memory slams into me with the force of a tidal wave.
I remember when I was six years old, standing on a frozen pond behind our house, my dad’s hand steady on my shoulder. My skates were laced tight, my breath a cloud in the air.
