Page 92 of Puck Love

“Does this friend know you’re coming? Because I don’t do getawaydriving.”

“Yeah.”

He chuckles. “You know, you’re a better hockey player than you are aliar.”

I take off my ball cap and scratch my hair. “You knew who I was all along, didn’tyou?”

“Pretty much.” He grins and pulls up to Stella’s gate. “Good game tonight. I gotta give it to you, kid. You can sure-as-hellplay.”

“Thanks. Sorry about theloss.”

He guffaws. “No, you’renot.”

I shake my head. “It’s true. I’m reallynot.”

“Well, let’s just hope our queen of country is nicer to you than she was last time you showed up unannounced,” he says. I grimace. There’s nothing like the tabloids to capture every humiliating second of your life and broadcast that into the homes of the entire world. “You want me towait?”

“Nah.” It might be a little stupid to send him away, but I’m going with wishful thinking on this one and I just hoping to fuck she lets mein.

“Suityourself.”

I open the door and stare up at Stella’s house. My driver takes off as I walk over to the huge iron gate. I don’t try climbing it this time. Instead, I press the buzzer and hold it down like an asshole, until her voice comes over the intercom. It’s scratchy, as if she’s having an issue with her throat. “Who isit?”

“It’s me,” I say. There’s a long pause. The speaker crackles, and I wait. When it’s apparent she’s not going to say anything, I decide it’s now or never. “Country, let me in . . . please? I gotta seeyou.”

I wait with bated breath, and it feels exactly like those seconds between taking the slapshot and seeing it land in the net. The gate buzzes, and I don’t hesitate.He shoots, hescores.

I’m smiling ear to ear when she opens her front door. She’s in sweats and a baggy T-shirt, her hair pulled up on top of her head, and her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Nothing at all like the woman who delivered a perfect performance of both our national anthems just a few short hours ago. She stands in the doorway and doesn’t look like she’s going tobudge.

“Hey,” I say,softly.

“What are you doing here,Van?”

“I told you I had to seeyou.”

“You saw me at thestadium.”

“You know it’s not even remotely the same thing.” I sigh. “Are you gonna make me stand out here all night, country, or are you gonna show me some of that southern hospitality I hear so muchabout?”

She presses her lips together and stands back from the door to allow me to enter. Her house is so different from mine. It’s all white polished surfaces, clinical, and not at all her, but something an interior decorator picked out of a catalog. Even the artwork is modern and pretentious, and not my Stella. This is the Stella everyone wants her tobe.

“Nice place.” I raise my brows. “No cameramantoday?”

“My manager is renegotiating our contract. It wasn’t workingout.”

I walk down the hall. It leads to a huge kitchen that I have no doubt Stella has never used a day in her life. The house is surrounded by trees and it looks out on a landscape so different from the one beyond my living room windows. “No surprisethere.”

“You didn’t come here to talk about my reality TV show,Van.”

“No, I didn’t.” I drop my bag on the floor. Her eyes follow the motion, and she swallows hard as she stares at it a beat toolong.

“Then why are youhere?”

“Why didn’t you stay to watch thegame?”

“How do you know Ididn’t?”

“Because when my eyes weren’t glued to the puck they were glued to the box.” I take my phone out of my pocket and shake it. “Plus TMZ reported you leaving as the first puckdropped.”

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