Page 71 of Puck Love

Her shoulders sag at that news. “Oh boy. Howlong?”

“I was seventeen yearsold.”

“Jesus.”

“Nope. Think his name wasBrent.”

Lana pauses a beat, and I can tell she’s already doing damage control in her head. “Who elseknows?”

“JustVan.”

“Look at you, on first-name basis with the NHL’s biggest playboy,” she says, and the smile she gives me doesn’t look all that different from a shark’s grin. “Our little girl’s all grownup.”

“He’s not likethat.”

“Oh, honey, do me a favor and steer clear of Googling that boy, will you? The results would give you song-writing fodder for years tocome.”

I frown, because that’s exactly what Van accused me of searching for—“fodder for mysongs.”

I flop down on the bed and hug the pillow to my chest. “Should we organize a conference downstairs? They’ve been really nice tome.”

“Hell no. We have a two-thirty flight for Nashville out of here. We’ll do this on home turf. That way, we can invite the reporters we callfriends.”

“Oh,okay.”

“Now, go put on some lipstick and clean up, cinder soot. You look like shit.” Lana pulls a Louis Vuitton makeup bag from her purse and holds it out tome.

“Thanks.” I take the proffered case, fighting back the sting of tears as I make my way the bathroom and quietly shut the door. It doesn’t work. I lean against the wood and cover my mouth as a sob tears free and wracks my body. I desperately want to run again, but all that brought me the first time around was heartache. From now on, I need to be smart and avoid hockey heroes like theplague.

Something tells me that’s easier said thandone.

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