Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

22. Owen

22

OWEN

“This isn’t making any sense. Walk me through what happened from the top,” Dax demands, passing the puck to Heath, who slaps it casually to Lance.

We’re in a loose circle working on passes, but only barely. Coach is in a meeting and no one is feeling especially motivated today. While I was curled on the couch with Callie after our game last night, the guys went out. Half of them are hungover. The lucky half are exhausted from late nights with whoever they convinced to go home with them.

Spencer isn’t even here yet, but of course Coach isn’t around to catch him slipping up.

Instead of doing anything useful, we’re all watching Dax coax details of last night out of Heath. No one on the team is especially discreet, but Heath is as close as we’ve got. It’s not often we get to hear his horror stories.

Heath sighs. “You were there, Dax. You saw what happened.”

“I was drunk. And I had more important things to worry about than you and your complete lack of game with women.” Dax manages to catch the bullet Heath fires at him and, laughing, sends it to me. “So, you sent her a drink and she came over to thank you for it?—”

“No, she came over to let me know she hates cosmos,” Heath corrects.

“Did she throw it in your face?” Kason asks.

“No.”

“Did she give it back?” Lance asks.

“Nope.”

We all stop knocking the puck around and wait.

“She downed it,” he says finally. “Then she set the glass down, grabbed my hand, and dragged me to the dance floor.”

“So she shotguns a drink she doesn’t like and then wants to dance with you?” I look from him to Dax. “Sounds like Heath has game to me.”

“Just wait.” Dax sniggers, letting me know he knows something I don’t.”

Heath rolls his eyes. “As she was hauling my ass to the dance floor—I don’t dance, by the way—she says, I guess you’ll have to do. ”

Dax cackles while the rest of us let out a hiss of low whistles.

Lance shakes his head and passes the puck to Heath. “Yeah, that’s rough man.”

“Okay, so after a cruel line like that, you obviously didn’t get laid,” Dax says. “Did you at least get some action on the dance floor since the gal had just inhaled a cocktail? Jason was bartending last night, and he always pours heavy.”

“Oh, I got laid.” Heath says, smacking the puck between Dax and Lance. Neither of them goes for it, though, and it hits the goal dead center. We’re all too shocked.

“How?” Kason asks.

Heath raises both hands and smiles like a kid that just got a gold star on a spelling test. “While we were dancing, she said I have nice hands.”

“Nice hands?” Dax skids to a stop in front of him, inspecting his palms. “That’s all it took? Nice hands?”

“Who has nice hands?” We all turn to see Santos skating out on the ice.

“Your mom.” Dax retrieves the puck and smacks it in Spencer’s direction. He stops it dead.

“You’re late,” I say flatly.

Spencer pulls his eyes from Dax, looks at me with a lightning fast glance, and then fires the puck at me.

If he was trying to catch me off guard, he’ll have to work harder than that. I flick it to Heath.

“I was a little late because I was getting the details for a party we are all going to.”

“A party is not an excuse to be late to practice, Santos,” I bark out.

But he ignores me and pulls out his phone. A couple seconds later, all of our phones buzz in a group text. He looks at me with a lazy smile. “It is when it has to do with team PR.”

“The Jaguar?” Kason asks, reading the text with an arched eyebrow.

“New club in town. My Dad got bored and thought, why the hell not? And you boys are lucky because he wants our team to be the face of it.”

“Rodger Santos is opening a nightclub and wants us to be the theme?” Lachlan asks, but he’s smiling.

In fact, everyone seems hyped on the idea.

Except me.

“Unless he’s writing me a check for promoting his lame-ass club, count me out.” I think about it for a second. “Actually, even if he is writing me a check. No thanks.”

“It’s mandatory.” Spencer grins. “For press purposes. Coach signed off on it.”

Spencer’s daddy can fuck with my wake-up calls and buy his way into the Scythes’ marketing department, it seems. The little rat is scrappy.

Spencer skates into the center of the circle. “Now that I’m here, why don’t we start real practice?”

I pull my helmet off. “I’m out. I have an appointment with Callie.”

“Cool. Dip on everyone again. I’ll lead, then,” Spencer calls out, and I stop skating, slowly turning around.

“Practice started an hour ago,” I remind him. “And just like you, I’m busy. Coach signed off on it. It’s mandatory, if you will.”

As I turn back around, I can feel his eyes drilling holes in the back of my head.

“Is that code for going out on a date with the coach’s niece?”

“It’s code for ‘I have an appointment, and what goes on in my family is none of your fucking business.’”

It’s an OB appointment, and anyone who has been paying attention to the news could probably guess that, but Callie is still trying to keep the pregnancy on the downlow.

“You’re not her family,” Spencer mumbles. “You’re her flavor of the week.”

I have the urge to turn him into a human popsicle with my hockey stick, but I get off the ice and head straight for the locker room.

See? I can walk away from a fight. It might take a cold shower with balled fists to accomplish it, but I can do it.

“Park as close to the doors as possible,” I tell the driver as we pull up to the doctor’s office. “Don’t park next to anyone else. If there are any cameramen, do a lap. I don’t care if we’re fifteen minutes late.”

The press has backed off a ton, but I’m not ready to relax just yet. It helps that Spencer Santos and his dad crashing into the Houston sports scene has taken some of the heat off, though I’ll never ever admit that.

“You want him to get out and check the bushes too?” Callie asks.

“Good ide—” I start to say, then I look at her. She’s biting back a coy smile.

She pats my thigh. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to keep us safe.”

I get out, walk around to her side, and open her door. “Sorry for caring so much about you and our son.”

“Oh, so it’s a boy now?”

I half shrug. “I don’t know. Just a thought. I’d be happy with either.”

She kisses my cheek as she slides out. “Me too.”

Things have been tense between us the last week, but it’s mostly because I’ve been tense. I spent the last few months taking care of Summer and Callie, managing the nonstop barrage of chaos in my personal life, and I let hockey slip through the cracks. Now, I’m paying the consequences. Coach needs me to prove I’m right for the team, and I will. Because I am. It’s just taken me a second to adjust to the new pressures, but I know Callie and I will figure it out.

We head inside. I continue to survey the area, but the coast seems clear. Still, I don’t take any chances. While Callie signs in, I text the driver and tell him to leave the parking lot, but stay close in case we need him to hurry back. Then I scan the waiting room.

“I really think it’s okay to relax,” Callie says, typing away on the tablet they gave her for check in.

“I’ve been doing this for years. You can’t let your guard down, ever. Especially when the stakes are this high.”

She smiles at me. God, she’s beautiful. For being pregnant and going through everything she’s been through, she is insanely calm. It’s like the natural instincts that come with motherhood are already setting in.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, her eyes softening into a question I think she already knows the answer to.

But I tell her, anyway.

“Because you’re beautiful. Carrying my baby looks good on you. And because you’re the most resilient person I know.”

She smiles up at me. Our faces seem to gravitate together.

Without a word, we fall into a kiss that is only interrupted by a heavy sigh of admiration. We break apart and an older woman is smiling at us.

“Sorry,” Callie apologizes, wiping her lip as her cheeks redden.

The woman waves her away. “Oh, don’t be sorry, dear. I think it’s lovely. First baby?”

“How could you tell?” Callie asks.

“First time mothers have a specific glow about them. That and the father looks nervous as a turkey at the end of October.”

Callie spits out a laugh.

“But don’t worry,” the woman tells me. “You’ll settle into it. All you have to do is love them and the rest sorts itself out.”

Well, I can do that.

I already love our baby—whatever or whoever it may be. The moment I saw the ultrasound, I knew I wanted this. If that’s all it takes, I’m set.

“I am just here with my daughter. It’s her third, and she’s in the bathroom right now, sick as a dog. I better go check on her.”

The woman wanders off, but my gears are spinning. I turn to Callie, brows furrowed. “Wait. You were crazy sick the first time the team flew, and you said you hated flying. Was that motion sickness or morning sickness?”

Callie is all wide-eyed innocence, but the curl at the corners of her mouth tells the truth.

I shake my head. “Jesus.”

“If I got motion sick, I’d be miserable every time you drive.”

I shoot her a look, formulating plans to make her pay for that sassy comment. But she’s beaming up at me, proud of herself for giving me shit. And the same certainty I felt a second ago when the woman was talking about love sorting everything out settles over me again.

“Callie?”

She’s still chuckling to herself. “Hmm?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say softly. I grab her hand and trace my thumb over her knuckles. “I’m going to be here for the baby and you. For us. I’m not going anywhere.”

She searches my face for the words I’m not saying, but her eyes full of warmth and… something else. I think she might say it— what we’re both thinking. But then she just cups my cheek in her palm.

“Thank you, Owen.” She leans in.

I press my forehead to hers, and we sink into another kiss. This time, I don’t care who’s watching.