Page 46 of Pucked In Vegas

Shewillbe there tonight. She'll be there, as the woman who claims she hates hockey, hosting the event that makes me the future of the entire league.

"You okay, kid?" Logan's voice cuts through my panic. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Fine," I croak. "Just... processing everything."

But I'm not fine. I'm the opposite of fine.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything when the suite door bursts open.

"Where's my future superstar?"

I look up and Michael "Big Mike" Hawthorne fills the doorway like he owns not just this room, but the entire Vegas Strip.

He's exactly what I expected. Commanding presence, expensive suit, the kind of confidence that comes from building hockey empires.

He makes a beeline for me, and suddenly I'm being pulled into a backslapping embrace that could probably crack ribs.

"Jackson fucking Holt!" he booms. "Look at you! The future face of professional hockey!"

Everyone in the room straightens up. Even Blake defers to this man, and Blake doesn't defer to anyone.

"Mr. Hawthorne," I manage. "It's an honor."

"Big Mike. Call me Big Mike." He grips my shoulders, studying me like I'm a prize racehorse. "You know, I've been following your career since junior league. That goal you scored against Calgary? Poetry in motion, son. Fuckingpoetry."

My chest swells despite everything.

This is Big Mike telling me he's been watching me. Me. The kid from a shitty upbringing who learned to cook at nine because Dad was too drunk to remember dinner existed.

"Thank you, sir. Mike. I can't tell you how much it means to—"

"None of that modest bullshit," he cuts me off with a grin. "You're about to become the cornerstone of this franchise. Multi-year deal, endorsement opportunities, the works. You're going to be making more money than you know what to do with, kid."

The other guys exchange glances.

They've all been through this song and dance, but there's something different about the way Mike talks about me. Like I'm not just another draft pick.

Like I'm the chosen one.

"I love Iron Ridge," I say, meaning it. "I've been reading all about the town, the people, the culture. I love what you've built here. This event alone is incredible, so I can't wait to see the rest."

Mike's chest puffs with pride. "Adda boy. That's all my daughter. Girl's got a gift for putting on a show. Takes after her old man when it comes to organization and attention to detail."

My blood turns to ice water.

Cassie.

"She coordinated this whole thing," Mike continues, oblivious to my growing horror. "Brilliant girl. You should meet her, actually. She's probably around here somewhere, making sure every detail is perfect, of course."

"That's... that's not necessary," I say quickly, but Mike's already moving toward the door.

"Nonsense! Come on, I'll introduce you to my beautiful baby girl."

He's not wrong. Sheisbeautiful.

But as I feel the paper in my pocket practically burning against my chest… I've got a bad feeling about this.

The other guys follow, probably curious to see their boss in proud-father mode. I trail behind like I'm walking to my own execution, my mind racing through every possible way this could go wrong.

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