Page 47 of The Pucking Date
She nods at the branded bag tucked beneath the table. “You made out like a bandit.”
Sophie grins. “To be fair, we all did. Liam and Dmitri should consider themselves very,verygrateful.”
“I didn’t see anyone holding back,” I say, casually. “And honestly? A good lace set is cheaper than therapy.”
Jenna lifts her spoon. “And better for morale.”
“And what’s your excuse Jenna?” Erin says, flicking her eyes over. “Still moping from the breakup or just adding lace to the rebound rotation?”
Jenna groans. “Not moping. I’m…prepping for med school.”
“You mean prepping to meet some hot West Coast guy with a trust fund and an emotional support surfboard,” Sophie chirps.
“God, please,” Jenna mutters. “Let him be over six feet, emotionally available, look and fuck like a Greek god, and atleast two rounds into building a wildly successful tech startup.”
Erin clicks her spoon with Jenna’s. “Dream big, babe.”
“Delusion is free,” I add, smirking.
Jenna rolls her eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at her mouth now. The first one I’ve seen in days.
We all laugh that soft, sparkly kind of laughter that floats above a marble table and four bowls of frozen yogurt, ignoring what’s coming next.
We’re all leaving, in some way.
Erin’s heading off on her insane European tour—thirty cities, a custom luggage set and a thirty-thousand-dollar cello that is her lifeline. She’s excited, obviously, but I catch the little flicker in her expression when someone mentions Dmitri or his daughter Ris. She’s going to miss them. Badly.
Jenna’s off to Stanford’s med school this weekend. New city. New apartment. New start. She’s pretending to be chill about it, but she’s been hugging Sophie like she’s never going to see her again, and she’s avoided talking about Marc ever since he dumped her “to focus on the next chapter.”
Sophie’s starting Columbia med school orientation next week. Which means even though she and Liam are still in the honeymoon phase, things are about to get real for both of them.
And me?
I’m headed to Park City in a few days.
Back into the circus. The optics. The endless spin cycle of media and ego and corporate money dressed up as brand values.
I lean back, letting a spoonful of yogurt melt slowly on my tongue. Letting the buzz of their voices swirl around me. This is what calm feels like. This is what friendship lookslike. And I already know it’s going to feel very far away in a few days.
Jenna lifts a spoonful of fudge and lets it drip dramatically back into the bowl. “So…Park City. Are you ready?”
“I guess. Wesley’s coming,” I say, keeping it breezy. “And Finn. Rothschild thinks it’s a smart move—let him land a sweet sponsor deal and charm some wallets in the process.”
They all make sounds of agreement, noncommittal and amused.
I nod along, trying not to wince as another wave of nausea curls in low and sharp. I push my yogurt around the bowl.
This isn’t nerves. It’s not stress. It’s something else. Something that’s been building quietly for days.
I’ll deal with it later. Right now, there’s a summit to plan and a player image to polish.
The conversation lingers on Park City. I don’t say it aloud, but Sophie and I know the game.
Finn’s not going to the summit for fun—he’s going to smile for cameras, charm some execs, and remind every sponsor in the room why he’s worth the investment. And I’ll be there, managing his image while trying not to think about the way he makes me forget every rule I’ve ever lived by.
If he brings in money off the ice, the team has an excuse to pay him more when he’s on it. The Defenders need him for the wins.
That’s how it works. Flash sells. Hype pays. And I’m the one who has to package it all into a clean, safe, and sponsor-friendly narrative.
