Page 65 of Penn
“Jesus,” King says with a laugh. “Where do you get this stuff?”
“And if that doesn’t appeal, then I had another idea.” Lucky continues, excitement pouring off him. “A series called ‘Mic’d Up—Fantasy Style.’ I’ll record snippets of players during practice or warm-ups—just casual banter, chirping, trash talk, whatever—then compile the best into a weekly Monday post. But the kicker is, I’ll do funny narration over the video in like a fantasy style.”
“Fantasy style?” Mila asks, sitting forward with rapt attention.
“Yeah. Like, imagine Penn wrapping his stick with tape, and the voiceover would be something like, ‘The mighty warriorNavarro prepares his battle stick for the upcoming war with the Kingdom of Detroit.’”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” King doubles over with laughter. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“Oh, I never kid about content,” Lucky says with mock solemnity. “I’m building a brand. You think this face is gonna play hockey forever?”
“I’m begging you to make one of those,” Mila says, eyes bright with amusement.
“Only if Penn stars in it,” Lucky says, wagging his brows.
I flip him off, but I’m smiling. And it hits me—this is what I’ve been missing. This ease. This acceptance. The kind of camaraderie I thought I lost a decade ago. A burst of confidence hits me and I decide to go all in. “All right… I’ll do it.”
Lucky blinks at me and the rest of the guys stare slack-jawed.
“What?” I demand. “I’ve got layers. I can pivot.”
Mila leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder, and I wrap an arm around her waist. It’s instinctual now—natural in a way I didn’t think public affection would ever be.
King notices. “Look at you, Navarro. Being all… emotionally available.”
“Fuck off,” I say, but there’s no heat in it.
We sit like that for a while, swapping stories, dodging the heavier stuff. Jackson eventually wanders over and stands by the booth, arms folded.
“Jackson,” Mila says warmly. “Grab a chair.”
He glances around the table. “You boys mind if I crash?”
“Long as you’ve got a TikTok handle,” Lucky says.
“I don’t, but my wife’s a princess. That get me in?”
“Absolutely,” King deadpans.
Jackson pulls up a chair. “So, what are we talking about?”
“Lucky’s obsession with TikTok,” Atlas says, throwing his thumb at his teammate.
Jackson turns his head that way and Lucky appraises him. “Your wife is a real-life princess?”
“Yup.”
“I’ve got a great idea we can roll out on Tik Tok,” he says and again starts explaining his latest flash of genius. I listen attentively, and admittedly, Lucky is impossible not to like. The guy is magnetic in that chaotic golden retriever kind of way. One second, he’s making everyone laugh, and the next, he’s got his phone out filming another weird-ass video. Just after the game, he was trying to get Coach West to join him in doing the Macarena in the locker room.
When he takes a breather from his most recent idea involving royalty, I ask, “You ever think about turning that into a side hustle? TikTok stardom?”
Lucky grins. “Already have. Sponsorship offers are rolling in. I might be the first hockey player to go pro on the iceandas an influencer.”
“Not sure you’re off base,” Foster admits. “My kid watches your videos. I had to explain what a thirst trap is.”
“Oh, I don’t do thirst traps,” Lucky says innocently.
“Youliterallylicked a hockey stick while shirtless two days ago,” Rafferty reminds him. “You hashtagged yourself as a thirst trap.”
