Page 51 of Puck, Marry, Thrill

Because if they didn’t? If they fell flat tonight in front of the eyes of the NHL?

Kenneth could already hear the jeering voices that would follow. Like vultures circling the dead, the media was already sharpening their talons.

"The Wolverines recruited the best – and brought out the worst…"

"Quebec has fumbled… and fouled."

"Experienced players = experienced failures…"

"What happens when you put the best of the best together… why nothing, of course!"

The criticism wasn’t just speculation. It was waiting in the wings, salivating. Kenneth could feel the weight of it settle in his chest like a cinder block as he leaned forward on his stick, his gloves flexing around the shaft with silent tension. He’d been in this league long enough to know that one game didn’t make a team—but it could absolutely break one.

He blew out a long, shaky breath through his nose, and just as he was about to look down and regroup, his eyes found her.

Jamie.

There she was, perched in the stands with a camera in her hands and a little boy bouncing beside her, all arms and giggles and complete disregard for the gravity of the game. Zachary. His boy. Their boy.

Kenneth’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he felt his jaw unclench as he watched his son dance in place, face bright, carefree. The innocence of it—so pure it nearly hurt to look at. But Jamie? She wasn’t bouncing or distracted. She was focused, zoomed in with her lens, filming the hits, the speed, the fury of the game. Recording everything that mattered to him. Her eyes scanned the ice like she belonged down here, too, a part of this team in her own right. She wasn’t just watching—she was invested. She was with him.

Their eyes met across the distance, and time warped, slowed, and froze altogether in a heartbeat of clarity.

She smiled at him, lips curving in that soft, knowing way that made him feel like everything was going to be okay. And then she blew him a kiss—small and quick and just for him—and followed it with a wink. That slow, intimate, I-see-you wink.

It undid him.

Right there in the middle of a warzone dressed in skates and shoulder pads, Kenneth felt his foundation quake. He grinned, helpless to do anything else. That fluttery feeling in his chest—that quiet, powerful punch of love—rippled through him. Jamie was here. Jamie was always here.

Candi never came to his games. She didn’t understand this life, this passion. She never tried. But Jamie? She didn’t just show up—she cheered. She chronicled. She flirted like he was the only man in the world. And in her lens, hewas.

He loved her all the more for it.

The bubble of joy expanding inside him popped a second later when a loudsmackechoed against his helmet. The sharp sound startled him, and he jerked, blinking rapidly as he turned toward the offender.

Jett Acton.

The man was grinning like a fool, his eyes dancing with mischief as he lifted his gloved hands beneath his chin, fluttering his eyelashes with mock romance before puckering up and making a ridiculously exaggerated kissy face.

Kenneth rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh, but Jett wasn’t finished.

“Look, Mary Poppins,” Jett said, voice muffled slightly by his helmet but loud enough to cut through the tension around them, “pluck your schumckand pay attention – the other team just scored. We need to get back out there and show ‘em who’s boss, not sit here making googly eyes at your wife.”

The timing was brutal—but perfect.

Kenneth snorted, trying to suppress the laugh that rose like a wave in his chest. He tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. Of course, Jett was doing this.Of course,he was.

“You’re doing it,” Kenneth shot back, his voice rough with dry amusement, eyes narrowing slightly as he stared down the ice. “You’re doing it to Karen.”

Jett didn’t even flinch—if anything, the man thrived on the attention. With the cocky grace of someone who knew the spotlight belonged to him, he rose to his feet like he was about to mount a stage instead of step onto a rink. He flexed with the exaggerated swagger of a bodybuilder, his muscles tightening beneath the tight compression shirt. Then, with the casual bravado of a man with zero shame, Jett raised his hockey stick above his head, lifted his jersey, and rubbed his abdomen slowly—deliberately—as he gazed across the ice andlaughed.

Kenneth followed his line of sight—to Jett’s wife. Karen was watching. And judging by Jett’s smirk, she was giving him exactly the reaction he wanted.

Something twisted in Kenneth’s chest. The sharp, bitter edge of frustration. He wanted to be alone with Jamie, but that wouldn’t happen for several hours now. He didn’t have that freedom or thattimeanymore. He couldn’t even sneak a private moment with his wife these days without the world barging in. The team, the game, and fans were starting to recognize them in the streets – and all anonymity was quickly fading fast.

The Wolverines were a thing – and the people knew it.

He reached up, a flash of irritation coursing through him, andyankedJett’s jersey hard. The man toppled backward like a felled tree, crashing into the players’ box with a thud that echoed, his head knocking the boards, a skate skimming dangerously close to someone else’s leg. Players scattered and swore, startled by the sudden man-shaped projectile flopping like a stunned fish.

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