Page 16 of Puck Your Feelings

---

Kane's mouth twitches. "Maybe you have a hard time accepting criticism."

"That wasn't criticism. That was you admitting my podcast is good."

"I said one episode had merit."

"A win’s a win."

From across the aisle, I hear Groover whisper to Mateo, "Are they flirting?"

"I think they think they're arguing," Mateo whispers back.

"That's what I said. Flirting."

I flip them off without looking away from Kane, who's now fighting a smile. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the tiny crease at the corner of his mouth.

"You want to be on the podcast," I announce.

Kane's smile disappears. "No."

"You're curious."

"I'm not—"

"One episode. You and me. We can talk about your transition to the team, address the press conference disaster, show everyone we're actually capable of having a conversation without bloodshed."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Because you're scared."

Kane's eyes flash. "I'm not scared of your podcast."

"Then prove it."

"I don't need to prove anything to you."

"Sounds like something a scared person would say."

We're close now—not physically, we're still in our respective seats, but the energy between us has shifted into something charged. Kane is looking at me like he's trying to decide if I'm serious or just being an asshole, and honestly, I'm not entirely sure myself.

"One episode," I repeat. "You get full editorial approval. I won't ambush you with questions about your personal life or your father or—"

"How do you know about my father?"

"Everyone knows about your father."

Kane's expression shutters. "I don't discuss my father."

"Then we won't discuss him. We'll talk about hockey. Defensive strategies. Your transition to Chicago. Whatever you want."

He sighs. "Why do you care?"

It's a good question. I should have an answer that isn't weird.

Instead, I come up empty.

---