Page 199 of Revenge Puck

Aaron laughs. “Guess you’ll have to be there to find out.”

At the same time, the Zamboni engine rumbles back to life and begins making a slow, deliberate pass along the boards, staying at the far end, but causing a disruption just the same.

Then, before either of us can say another word, a sudden, triumphantHONKblasts through the arena, echoing off the empty seats, high, steel trusses and tin roof.

We both jump half out of our seats.

The Zamboni driver stands in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other slamming the horn.

HOOOONK.

He gives us an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and one last celebratory honk for good measure, before steering the machine in a slow victory lap around center ice.

“I think he thought you were proposing,” I say at last, once my heart rate has gone back to normal.

Aaron watches the Zamboni complete its celebratory lap, then looks back at me, one brow lifting slowly.

“Babe, when I propose, you’ll know.”

EPILOGUE

AARON

Why am I so fucking nervous?

I’ve played in front of thousands of screaming fans and was able to block them out, but right now I’m a goddamn mess.

I glance to where Juliette stands near the makeshift refreshment table, grinning at something the tour guide is saying, her pretty face beaming at me.

She’s wearing jeans. Her sensible flats. Ice Wolves sweatshirt with a prim collar peeking out of the crewneck, hair slicked back, small bun at the nape and gold hoop earrings hanging from her lobes.

Damn she’s pretty.

I shake my head—focus, dude.

It’s Team Day with the Ice Wolves, which means the stadium is crawling with elementary school-aged kids in matching T-shirts, eager but exhausted chaperons, and sticky fingers and faces pressing against all the glass. They’re toured the locker room, walked past the penalty box, and watched the Zamboni take a lap around the ice.

Now it’s my turn.

The kids are in the community room and I volunteered to entertain them because there’s been something weighing on mymind and heart, that I won’t be able to let go until I’ve gotten it off my chest. And considering it makes Juliette’s ovaries explode (her words, not mine) to see me interact with kids, this felt like the perfect way to say what I need to say.

Knowing they’ll love to see my hockey gear up close after my presentation, I leave my shoulder pads next to the chair at the front of the room and rest my stick against it. I set my face mask on the ground, too, before unceremoniously plopping down and surveying the little faces. My audience.

My co-conspirators.

So many giddy expressions, big, curious doe eyes, ponytails and juice-stained faces. All of them waiting for the big, bad Ice Wolf to begin.

The hand of a little boy sitting cross-legged on the floor shoots up. Without waiting for me to call on him, he asks, “When are we starting?”

I shift on the chair, and it creaks in protest from the weight of my giant body. “Yes, my little dude, we already have.”

“Nuh-uh.” He disagrees with a loud sigh. “This is the most boring part of the field trip. All you’ve done is stare at that lady.”

He points to Juliette.

Nor is he wrong; I was staring.

I can’t help it ’cause she’s so fucking adorable.