Page 137 of Revenge Puck

Girl,I want to say.He stood you up for one dance. Time to forget about it and move on!

Down on the ice, the opposing team presses hard while Declan sits in the box, tapping his stick restlessly against the boards. He looks caged.

Agitated.

Aaron blocks a shot and clears the puck, skating hard, jaw set.

The crowd roars.

“I’m not saying he’s innocent,” I try again. “I don’t think everything is a personality flaw.”

She lets out a humorless laugh. “Juliette, no offense—but I spent my childhood daydreaming he would notice me and he never did. Then, on the most exciting night of my life, he stood me up. It was humiliating, especially since my grandparents were at the house to take pictures.”

I remember.

Blaire’s mom had invited her parents; the entire Winthrop family crowded into the living room while Blaire floated down the stairs in that pale blue dress she’d saved her barista money for.

She’d looked radiant.

And then my careless brother went to eat pasta with his hockey teammates instead, solidifying his reputation in her mind as a massive scum bag.

“I’m not defending what he did,” I insist. “I think people can grow and learn from their mistakes.”

Even I don’t sound convinced.

I’m not clueless; I see how my brother behaves. All the parties and late nights. The women.

Zero committed relationships is not a great track record…My family has always assumed he’s going to be a bachelor forever and the only grandkids they’ll ever have will be from me.

Blaire studies my face for a long moment, like she’s deciding whether to keep digging or let the matter go.

On the ice, a whistle blows and the puck resets at center.

“Okay,” she says finally, lifting her beer. “Enough about your emotionally stunted brother. I refuse to let him hijack my good time.”

Relief loosens something in my chest, but I frown. “I’m sorry.”

“Babe, I came for drama—but the fun kind.” She nods pointedly toward the ice. “Oh look, someone is out of jail and back at it.”

My brother busts out of the penalty box and back onto the ice, skating at full speed toward the opposing team’s goal, defense mode locked in.

I remember when Declan was younger and had started learning to skate—we’d taken lessons together, and for a hot second I’d wanted to play hockey, too. Saturdays with frozen toes and our mom watching from the stands with a hot latte.

But he was older.

And bigger.

And fearless.

When I got knocked down, I could never get back up without help. When Declan fell, he popped right back up, already chasing the puck again.

And lord knows I sucked at it.

My parents weren’t willing to sink the time or money into something that wasjusta phase to spare my sensitive feelings—or so I could copy my brother. They saw something in him early. The drive. The passion.

The determination to win and be one of the greats.

He didn’t care about parties.