Page 67 of Puck, Marry, Kill

Harley hasn’t been paying us any attention, but of course he hears that. “Mom, what’s an enema?”

“Uh—”

“Enemy,” Penny rushes to say, fixing her fuckup as smoothly as she can. “Pickle juice enemy. You know, makes you pucker like this.” She purses her lips and squints her eyes like she’s tasting something sour and Harley nods with a quiet “oh” before turning his focus back to the game. To me, Penny wipes her brow and mouths,Whoo, close one. Sorry.

I can’t help but laugh. Penny has been welcoming and witty, and I feel like even if we’d met under different circumstances, we would’ve been friends. She hasn’t tried to make me feel like I don’t belong with her brother—because of my past, my son, or because I’m not one of the puck bunny types. In fact, she stuck her tongue out at one woman who was wearing a Mahoney jersey and not much else, informing me that she “licked it so it’s mine,” which I’d thought was hilarious.

“By the way,” she tells me, “he says you’re—and I quote, because I have literally never heard my brother wax poetic before—” She shakes her head like she’s still baffled by the concept. “Walking sunshine in a smoking hot body.” She drops glee-filled eyes over me, looking like she agrees, even though I’m just wearing jeans and a jersey tonight, nothing particularly hot. Though I did take the ten extra minutes to curl my hair in honor of meeting Penny.

That’s what Dominic said about me? How he described me to his own flesh and blood? I feel heat starting to rush to my face and I press my cool hands to my cheeks, feeling how puffed up they are from the size of my smile.

“Oh, and he said that when he makes you nervous, you start spouting out animal facts, which he thinks is adorable. Apparently, he’s your albatross?” She peers at me questioningly. “I told him that’s a bad thing.” She lays her head over and sticks her tongue out, miming a heavy albatross hanging around her neck like the old story. “But he said it’s a good thing?”

I press my lips together but can’t hide my grin. “A very good thing,” I tell her, and she shrugs.

“Hey, you two be weird birds together if you want to be. I’m just glad Dom isn’t trying to run my life from afar the way I expected him to. I’ve already got Griffin doing that, up close and personal.” She lowers her voice to a false baritone, in what I’m guessing is an approximation of Griffin Mahoney, “Don’t go on a hike by yourself. Don’t dance with the soldering gun in your hand. No mafia boss lunches.” She rolls her eyes in annoyance, though those sound like somewhat reasonable requests to me, especially thelast one. I have so many questions about that, but I decide to save them for Dominic.

“Does he usually try to run your life?”

That doesn’t sound like the Dominic I know. Sure, he’s told me some hard truths, but in the same breath, he’s let me decide what I want to do—with him, with Tyler, with my dad.

Penny scoffs. “Uh, yeah. You could say that. Basically, he’s spent my whole life trying to protect me. From what? Literally everything.” She rolls her eyes like he’s ridiculous, but then, seeing my face, she backpedals. “In his defense, I kinda needed it. I’m a bit ... accident-prone.” She gestures vaguely toward her knees like that’s a normal occurrence. “He handed responsibility for me over to Griffin, and I take special delight in making his life as difficult as I can.” She winks playfully.

“Mom?” Harley says, tapping me on the knee. When I glance at him, he points toward the Blizzard defensive zone. “Are Dom and Kipson okay?”

Brows furrowed, I look at them. They’re in position, eyes locked on the play, and all seems to be fine. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

Harley frowns. “They’re not being as aggressive with blocks. Not how they usually are. Anderson is fielding a bunch more shots than usual.”

“Maybe Dom’s taking it easy on his old teammates?” Penny suggests.

I meet her eyes, both of us saying simultaneously, “Naaah.”

We go quiet, all watching closely, and I begin to see exactly what Harley is talking about. It’s not that they’re missing the action. They’re where they need to be, doing what they should be, but the tension that typically threads through their every move is missing. There’s no fight in their play. If I didn’t know better, Iwouldactually think they’re taking it easy on the Hawks.

The next play has Jack Off beelining down the ice. He makes a quick pass to Krivosky and, working together, they send the puck forward. Dominic meets Jacofovich, and they scuffle, vying for control of the puck.

“Get it out of there,” I mutter under my breath as they get closer and closer to the crease. But Dom is barely fighting and he’s giving up inches of ice too easily. Suddenly, Jacofovich shoots. Anderson drops, legs butterfly split to protect as much net as possible, but the puck gets through. The red light comes on and the horn sounds as the crowd goes wild.

“Score, Jacofovich!Hawks 1, Blizzard 0!” the announcer calls.

“Uh-oh,” I whisper.

“See?” Harley says. “What are they doing?”

“You don’t think ...?” I trail off, not wanting to give breath to what I’m thinking. Dom is a pro, but maybe in some twisty-turny universe, he’s feeling conflicted about playing his old team? He didn’t say anything. In fact, he was downright excited to see everyone, claiming he was going to wipe the ice with them and show Coach Leverson what he lost, which sounds more like the Dom I know.

“Okay, wait,” Penny says, her palm held out. Leaning into me and lowering her voice, she says, “Considering Dom possesses exactly 0.0 percent sentimentality, let’s go the other way. If they’re not playing like that because of the Hawks, could it be because of the Blizzard?”

I blink, thinking that through. If Dominic and Kipson aren’t playing to give the Hawks an advantage, that would mean they’re playing to put the Blizzard at a disadvantage? Which also makes no sense, but then I scan the ice again.

Another puck goes sailing toward Anderson. And then, another one.

“He’s under siege,” Penny states.

Harley corrects her. “They’re putting him under siege.”

I see it. That’s exactly what Dominic and Kipson are doing, but why? Why in the world would they let the Hawks make that many shots on goal, when each one is a potential score?