Page 90 of What if It's Us

He shrugs. “Something about a last-minute media promo?”

I groan. “Now?”

I just want to shower and go home for a few hours before I have to be back here tonight. I feel like I haven’t gotten to see Marlee in ages even though it’s only been a day or two. She wasn’t feeling great last week so she didn’t travel with the team when we played Las Vegas, but she’s here today. I’m kind of hoping I can talk her into taking the afternoon off with me. I wouldn’t mind snuggling with her for a few hours.

Or…other various exercises if that’s what she might be up for.

“You better get out there.” Griffin nudges me with his elbow. “You know how pissy Coach gets when we don’t do his media promos.”

“Yeah.” Oliver whistles. “He about chewed my head off last week when I was late getting back to the ice. Remember that?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t remember that at all.”

Griffin nods emphatically at Magallan. “Oh, yeah, I remember that. You’re right, he was pissed. Makes my asshole pucker all over again just thinking about it.”

I roll my eyes at Griffin and Oliver, perturbed that I even have to do this.

“Neelan, can Roche go in my place?”

“What?” Roche squeaks, turning around. He grabs his knee and shakes his head. “Sorry man. I think I twisted my knee a bit in that practice. I have to ice bath and have doc look at it.”

“For fuck’s sake, Pickle Pants, you were just fine five minutes ago.”

“Coach says it’s you this time, Dayne,” Neelan confirms. “Sorry man.”

Son of a bitch.

“Fine. Be right there, Neelan. Thanks.”

Wanting to get this over with as fast as possible, I march myself down the hall in my skates and walk back through the tunnel. I skate out onto the ice in my base layer, no helmet, wondering if the extra promo work I do should be rewarded with a nice bonus, but when I catch sight of the center of the rink, I freeze.

Waiting there in the middle of the ice is what looks like a puck.

Just one lonely puck.

“What the hell?” I whisper, looking around to find nobody in the arena with me.

I skate out and come to a halt in front of the bright-pink spray-painted puck tied with a tiny bow. Balanced on top is a small note card.

Frowning, I pick it up and read,Adding new rookie to the roster.

I blink.

Another card tucked under the puck readsI’ll handle diapers if you handle faceoffs.

The corners of my mouth turn up and I look up just in time to spot Marlee stepping out from the players’ tunnel in my team hoodie, hands nervously fidgeting at her sides. Her eyes glistening, her smile is tentative—like she’s not sure I’ve connected the dots just yet.

She’s so fucking cute in my hoodie.

“Hey,” I say when she stops only a few feet onto the ice.

I stare at her, wondering why she’s not saying anything, and then I glance down at the puck in my hand. And when I look back at Marlee, I also spot the rest of my teammates lurking in the shadows of the tunnel.

And then it hits me all at once and I remember what I’m doing here with this pink puck, and these note cards. Clearly I hadn’t put it together right away but now…

“Wait. Are you—? You’re—?!” I point from the puck to Marlee.

She nods, eyes welling.

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