Page 53 of Pucked In Vegas

I can’t stop replaying it… her walking away from me. Over and over in my head like a highlight reel gone wrong. Her saying it was all a mistake, even though her body said the opposite. Even though her lips trembled when she told me we couldn’t do this. Even though she looked at me like she already knew she loved me and it scared the hell out of her.

I stand frozen behind the curtain as the realization crashes over me like a blindside hit.

I love her.

I'm in love with Cassie Hawthorne.

Not just attracted to her. Not just fascinated by her. Not just eager to see where this weird marriage could go.

Iloveher.

The truth of it settles in my chest, warm and terrifying and absolute. It's not a feeling I've ever had before. Such certainty, a goddamn bone-deep knowing that someone matters more than the game, more than the contract, more than everything I've spent my life chasing.

My hands start to shake.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears, drowning out the commissioner's voice booming through the speakers. The crowd's anticipation feels distant, completely irrelevant right now.

How did this happen so fast? We barely know each other. We met at a pool, got drunk, made the most impulsive decision possible, and spent one night together.

That's not enough time to fall in love.

Except it was.

Itis.

And I let her walk away. I let her sign those papers. I let her believe this was just some Vegas mistake.

"Thirty seconds, Mr. Holt."

I reach for the annulment papers in my pocket, my fingers closing around them as everything suddenly becomes clear.

“You good, kid?”

Blake’s voice cuts through the fog, and I realize I’ve been pacing in a ten-foot circle like a lunatic.

“Yeah,” I lie.

He studies me with that annoying captain intuition he has. Doesn’t push, though. Just gives my shoulder a firm squeeze. “Deep breath. This is your moment.”

My moment.

Right.

The emcee's voice booms from the stage. “And now, with the final announcement of the night…"

The backstage crew parts, nodding for me to move into position.

“You’re up,” Blake says.

The call comes.

"… The moment we've all been waiting for... Iron Ridge Icehawks are proud to select, as the first overall pick in this year's NHL Draft... JACKSON HOLT!"

The curtain slowly peels away, revealing the stage inch by inch. Harsh spotlights slam into my face, forcing me to squint as white-hot beams pierce my vision. From beyond the blinding glare, a wall of sound crashes over me. Hundreds of voices merging into one thunderous wave as the audience erupts, their applause and cheers vibrating through the floorboards beneath my feet.

I step onto the stage, but in that instant, the script I've rehearsed a hundred times evaporates from my mind.

Madison is going to kill me.

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