Page 90 of Dirty Puck

“Claudia’s a badass,” Bree whispered proudly beside me.

My team won in overtime—again, because Antonov couldn’t stand to lose, even in a charity game.Andhe got to check Bishop—just not hard enough to hurt him. We still had the rest of the season to dominate.

Final score? Who the hell cares? The stands were full, the laughter was loud, and the total donations brokefour hundred thousand dollars.

Every cent matched.

Kids like Benny would get their therapies.

Their chances.

Their future.

That night, I got home with sore legs, a full heart, and my girl tucked under one arm. Benny had fallen asleep in Claudia’s lap on the ride home, his earmuffs askew and a Copperheads foam finger clutched tightly in his hand.

We carried him inside and tucked him into bed, then climbed into our own. Bree curled up beside me, still humming the noise of the arena, the soundtrack of the evening, like it was stitched into her bones.

A fucking amazing night.

“We pulled it off,” I murmured.

She didn’t answer right away.

Then, softly, “This was all you.”

I leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Nah. I just stood in front of a net and looked pretty.”

She smiled against my chest. “Thatisyour best skill.”

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

BREE

Char knew.

She didn’t say it outright, not at first. But I could see it in her smile. That slow, tired kind of smile that tried to spare you the truth.

The benefit had taken her one last burst of energy and burned it until the flame went out.

She spent most of her time now lying down, curled beneath that soft-blue blanket she liked, eyes closed more often than not. She couldn’t eat anymore. I puréed things at first, then just offered broth. Eventually, even water became too much.

She never complained. Not once.

Neither did Benny. Somehow, my sweet boy knew. He clung to her, curling up in the crook of her arm as if willing her to stay. He never cuddled with anyone that intensely—not me, not Miss Claudia. Just Char.

Maybe that was the real heartbreak. Watching your child bond deeply with someone you knew wouldn’t be here much longer.

Only three days after the excitement of riding in the sledon the ice, after Benny had gone to school, she asked me to help her with something.

“A Christmas present for Baker,” she said, her voice a rasp.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “Of course.”

It wasn’t just helping her. It was reliving. Every breath she took sounded like the ones my mom had struggled for toward the end. The same sunken eyes. The same small, shivering hands.

She wanted to record a message. Something Reece could play one day. Not for now. For later. When it hurt, and he needed to hear her voice again. I set up my phone and tried not to cry as she spoke to him, voice shaky but sure, telling him how proud she was. How much she loved him. How much she loved what we were building here—me, Benny, Claudia, and him.

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