Page 86 of The Worst Pucking Deal

Her eyes widen. “So it’s all true. You really are in love.” She says it more to herself than me.

“I love him,” I confirm, deliberately not commenting on how he feels about me.

When we reach the area for family, she turns to me. “Okay, then.”

“Okay,” I echo.

“Let me know if anything changes,” she says with a wry smile. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be a part of my team.”

Before I can overthink it, I hug her. For a second, she doesn’t react, and I almost pull back. But then I feel her arms close around me. “Thank you, Jo.”

“Take care of yourself, Lucia.”

As Jo leaves, I’m left standing alone for a moment, the echo of her words lingering in my mind. But before I can dwell on them further, I hear someone calling my name. Turning, I see Amy, Peter’s girlfriend, waving me over.

“Lucia, there you are!” Amy exclaims, a bright smile on her face. “We’ve been waiting to hear all about your wedding to Sawyer!”

I offer her a small smile and join the group of women. Everyone is eager to ask me questions, not even pretending they aren’t shocked about our marriage. “Tell us everything!” Sam, another one of the girlfriends, chimes in eagerly. “Was it romantic? Did Sawyer cry?”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “No tears. But it was... unexpected, to say the least,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light despite the weight on my heart.

“I still can’t believe it,” Mandy says. “I don’t think any of us thought we’d ever see Sawyer settle down.”

“Why not?” I ask, feeling a touch of defensiveness. “I mean, it’s not like he’s a monster or anything.”

Amy links her arm with mine. “That’s not what we mean,” she assures me. “We’re just surprised he found someone that was around long enough to see past his… facade.” She says the word like she isn’t sure it’s the right one to describe my husband, and she’s right.

“I get it,” I say, softening my tone. “I just hate that everyone seems to have such a negative opinion about him. Underneath it all he’s really… not sweet, but…” Trailing off, I search for the right word.

“Hot? An alphahole?” Amy laughs as she unhelpfully makes suggestions.

“You’re not wrong,” I say, unable to hold my own laughter at bay. “I can’t explain it because he isn’t nice, and he isn’t the heart and flowery kind of guy. But he’s everything that matters, you know?”

Winking conspiratorially, she nods. “I get it. Peter’s the same.”

We’re interrupted when the buzzing anticipation around us reaches new heights as the players file onto the ice, their skates carving sharp lines on the pristine surface. The crowd erupts into cheers as the starting lineup is announced, each player skating out with purpose and determination.

Sawyer takes his place among his teammates, his movements fluid and confident. His eyes gleam with intensity as he scans the opposing team, his focus unwavering. When some of the wives and girlfriends jump up, all calling their man’s name, I join them.

The referee blows the whistle, signaling the start of the game, and the puck drops with a resounding thud. The players spring into action, their bodies colliding in a flurry of motion.

In the midst of the chaos, Sawyer stands out for his aggression. He’s relentless in his pursuit of the puck, barreling through the opposing players with brute force. At one point, he delivers a bone-jarring hit that sends an opponent sprawling to the ice, earning him a penalty and igniting a scuffle between the teams.

Despite the tension on the ice, Sawyer shows no signs of backing down. He’s determined to assert his dominance, engaging in several more heated exchanges with the opposing players. Each confrontation only seems to fuel his intensity, driving him to push himself even harder. The crowd loves it. They cheer him on, making it known they love that he’s showing the Canadians up.

When he scores his third goal, the crowd goes wild. Everyone throws their hat onto the ice in celebration of the hat trick. Since I’m not wearing one, I just jump up and down with the others while screaming myself hoarse.

The spectacle from our area gets Sawyer’s attention, and he looks up. Shock registers on his handsome face, but then an opposing player strikes him with his shoulder, breaking the moment. I want to curse at myself. I shouldn’t have looked at him like that. Or, at least, I should have looked away. He needs his head in the game and not on me.

As the game reaches its climax, Sawyer’s aggression becomes more pronounced. He’s in the thick of every scrum, throwing punches and trading blows with anyone who dares to challenge him. It’s clear that tonight he’s not playing to win—he’s playing for the fight.

“Did you criticize his stick or something?” Sam giggles, elbowing me gently.

“He seems more aggressive than usual,” someone remarks, voicing what we’re all thinking.

“Yeah, I wonder what’s gotten into him,” Sam adds, apparently not willing to let it go.

Unable to answer, I pretend I don’t hear them as I stare straight ahead at the ice.

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