Page 9 of Of Pucking Course

I smile at her, heartened by her kindness. “I needed to hear that. Thank you.”

Darlene walks off. “God, I love her,” Bella says.

“You know she pulled me aside the other day and told me that I’d better treat you right or she’d have me neutered?” Blomdahl says casually before taking a sip from his glass of Scotch.

Bella bursts out laughing. “Really?”

He nods and smiles. “Yup. She also told me I did a nice job picking out your engagement ring.”

Bella beams and kisses her fiancé. Blomdahl is the goalie for the Bashers. He and Bella used to be neighbors who couldn’t stand each other before they started hooking up. It wasn’t long before they caught feelings and got serious.

I try to smile at the two of them before sipping from my water glass. A faint pulse of pain works its way through my chest at seeing them so lovey-dovey with each other while my love life is in shambles.

I down some water and notice my brother looking at me from across the table.

“I’m okay, Del.” I try not to sound too irritated. I lovemy big brother to bits, but he’s annoyingly protective of me. He’s always been that way. Probably because of how we grew up.

Our mom was a single parent for most of our lives. When she was with our dad, he mistreated her, constantly screaming at her and threatening her. Sometimes it even escalated to physical abuse.

My stomach churns when I think about the memories I have as a little kid, of my big brother Del shielding my body with his so I wouldn’t see the worst of it.

Even though our dad is out of our lives and we’re all safe now, he’s still so protective of me. He’s never liked any of my boyfriends. Whenever he meets them, he talks to them like a detective interrogating a criminal. He’s never done it in front of me, but I’m certain he’s given all of my boyfriends the “hurt my sister and I’ll murder you” talk.

It means the world that he cares so much about me. But at the same time, I wish he’d let up. I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman, not a baby. I don’t need to be coddled anymore.

Maybe if you weren’t such a failure at everything you’ve ever tried, he wouldn’t need to.

That familiar, ugly voice pipes up in my head. It’s true. I’ve failed at so many things in my life: relationships, hobbies, jobs. I shouldn’t be so surprised that my big brother, a mega successful professional athlete, is constantly worried about me.

“I just don’t want you to get too drunk,” Del says as he rolls up the sleeve of his dress shirt.

His fiancée, Ingrid, aims a knowing look at him. He nods at her, and they exchange a smile. Ingrid is the social media manager for the Denver Bashers. She’s a literal sunshine girl with her blonde hair, dazzling smile, and bubbly personality—pretty much the opposite of mygrumpy brother, but they fit perfectly together. No one can make Del smile as much as Ingrid.

“I know what a monster you are when you’re hungover,” Del says to me. The corner of his mouth quirks up. My big brother is trying to lighten the mood by teasing me, which I appreciate after such a crappy day.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right. I don’t wanna be hungover.”

Darlene drops off our drinks along with our bill, and we thank her. I move to grab my credit card from my purse, but the whole table stops me.

“No way you’re paying, Dakota,” my best friend Sophie says.

Her fiancé Xander nods along. “Yeah, we’ve got this.”

He drops his credit card on the table.

“Xander, come on,” I say. “You all took time out of your day to hang out with me and help me drown my sorrows. The least I could do is pay for your drinks.”

Xander shakes his head. “Not happening. We’ve got this.”

I offer a weak smile. “Thank you.”

My best friend’s fiancé flashes a thumbs-up at me. “It’s no problem. Really.”

Theo, who’s sitting next to him, pats Xander’s shoulder. “This guy is the star center of the team. And way, way overpaid. He should always pay.”

Xander laughs and rolls his eyes. “You’re such a dick.”

Theo’s head falls back as he laughs. With his wavy blond hair and pretty boy smile, he looks more like a surfer than a hockey player.

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