Page 158 of The Pucking Arrangement

Liam stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “That’s what you’re going with? Ris will be happy?”

I don’t answer.

He leans in, voice dropping. “She’s here, Dima. For you.”

I clench my jaw. “Or maybe she’s here for her brother.”

He shrugs, considering my point. “Well, I’m sure that’s true too. But she’ll be looking only at you, my friend.”

I slam my stick down, my jaw tight, my teeth grinding.

Liam doesn’t back down. “You think I don’t see the way you look at her? The way she looks at you? My sister’s never looked at anyone like that in her entire life. From the first time you guys were in the same room.”

My pulse hammers against my ribs. I stare down at my hands, the ruined tape job, the pieces I’ll have to strip off and redo. The pieces of me I’ve been trying to keep from falling apart for weeks.

“Yeah?” My voice is a rumble.

Liam exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You let her leave, and she’s heartbroken.”

Fuck. All these heartbroken girls around me, and me scrambling to square the circle and fix it.

I didn’t know how else to protect Ris, but to stand there and watch her leave, pretending it was the right thing. Pretending it didn’t gut me.

I rub a hand over my face. “You think she’ll take us back?”

“I think you’re making it harder than it has to be.” Liam’s voice is calm now, not pushing, just…steady. “You love her. She loves you. Everything else is logistics.”

My throat tightens. “She might say no.”

Liam studies me, something softer in his expression now. “Then you’ll know. But at least you’ll know.”

I nod, pressing my lips together, not trusting myself to speak.

Before I can say anything else, Coach Novak strides in, game face already locked in place.

“Ten minutes, gentlemen!”

The room shifts instantly, tension snapping back to the present. The Stanley Cup Final. The biggest game of our lives.

But even as I straighten, roll my shoulders, prepare for war?—

I know the real battle starts when the game ends.

I quickly finish taping my stick, my movements steadier now. Focus narrowing to the task at hand.

As we step onto the ice, the Garden roars like a living beast. Twenty thousand voices melding into one deafening wall of sound. Blue and red paint the stands, “Let’s Go Defenders” thundering down from every direction. I’ve played hundreds of games in this building. Tonight feels different.

Maybe it’s the weight of the moment. Maybe it’s knowing my daughter and mother-in-law are watching from the family box.

Maybe it’s because Erin’s here too.

I roll my shoulders, letting the familiar weight of my pads settle as we line up for the national anthem. My eyes have their own mind, drifting up to the family box. I spot Ris first—impossible to miss in her Defenders jersey bouncing between Erin and Galina. Then Jenna and Sophie, eyes glued on the players.

Erin’s wearing a Defenders jersey, and my heart seizes, then hammers against my ribs. Number 55 is blazed across her back. Not her brother’s 11, but mine. A statement. A choice. Like she’s marking herself as part of my world, even when she isn’t.

“I told you she’s here for you, Sokolov,” Liam mutters beside me. “If I wasn’t rooting for you, I’d be offended.”

I grunt in response, forcing my focus back to the ice. The prize isn’t just the Cup anymore. Hasn’t been since she walked into my house and turned my carefully controlled life upside down.

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