Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

38. Callie

38

CALLIE

I never understood the phrase “walking on clouds” before. Nothing about my life has ever felt easy or ideal. Nothing came to me without some level of effort. Chaos found me more often than not. Walking under clouds? Been there, done that. But floating on them? Never.

Until now.

The weeks after the proposal roll by with little to no effort. Things at work are still stressful, what with both Santos men strolling around, sucking the joy from the air like leeches, but I can’t bring myself to care. I still need to furnish the baby’s nursery and create a registry before Kennedy loses patience and makes me one herself, but I don’t think I’d mind if Kennedy made the registry and filled it with bougie depressingly beige baby toys and organic nipple creams.

No matter what life throws at me, I’m content and unbothered. Because I have him.

Thankfully, Owen seems to be living in the same cloud.

I know Spencer is probably making his life on the ice a living hell. Afterall, our engagement isn’t a secret. Yet, Owen seems to have found a new focus in the game. He is working with the team better than ever and comes home energized.

He wakes up energized, too.

I’m stretched across our bed, naked in a pool of warm morning sun. Owen kisses me on the cheek and the sweet touch is in stark contrast to where that mouth was only a few minutes ago. My body is still pulsing from the release.

“Coffee?” he asks.

I smile sleepily. “And pancakes.”

Owen kisses me again. “Yes, ma’am.”

I watch his toned ass stroll naked out of our bedroom, fighting the urge to call him back.

But I force myself out of bed. I get up and stretch, doing a quick sun salutation yoga routine as Owen gets breakfast started. I’m constantly reminding the players to stretch. Prevention is the cure. So I’m not sure why I waited until my joints were swollen and achy from pregnancy before I started up a yoga practice. Because you’re stubborn , Owen said when I mentioned it last week. He isn’t wrong, though I vehemently denied it.

Once I’m finished, I make my way to the kitchen just in time to receive a plate of two pancakes. “Powdered sugar and strawberries? Well, look at you.”

“I know how to satisfy my woman, both in the bedroom and the kitchen.” He winks and slides my steaming mug of coffee across the countertop. But right before I can take a bite, the front door flies open.

Summer barges in with Nicky on her hip and urgency on her face. “You’ll never believe what Miles did,” she blurts out. The pancake Owen was flipping flops to the floor. “Ooh, pancakes. Those smell good. Have any extras?”

“What did Miles do?” Owen asks.

He’s so focused on Summer that it takes Summer turning away, her eyes cast at the ceiling, for Owen to remember that he is butt ass naked except for an apron. Thank God for the “Proud Hockey Grandma” apron Dax bought Owen as a housewarming gift.

Owen walks backwards down the hall to find some pants, and Summer looks at me. All I’m wearing is an oversized Post Malone t-shirt. I tug the hem down to cover my thighs.

“I need to start knocking,” she mutters to herself under her breath before she carries on. “So my lawyer called me this morning. Apparently, Miles’s lawyer reached out, and they’ve decided to handle the case out of court.”

“Like, it’s over?” I ask.

“And why would he do that?” Owen reappears, still in the process of yanking sweat pants on.

“I guess he saw the evidence stacking up against him and realized it would be best to bite the bullet and hand the case to us.”

“Your testimonies were probably enough.” Owen stands behind me, a hand on my shoulder. I can’t stop myself from leaning into him.

“That’s the other thing.” Summer grins. “Apparently, the two of us coming forward triggered a flood of other women to come forward with their own allegations against Miles.”

“You’re kidding,” Owen gapes.

“Nope. Sounds like we opened his rancid can of worms. Hashtag MeToo, right?”

“I guess that’s one less thing to worry about.” Owen heads back to the stove. “Do you want breakfast, Summer?”

“Two, please.” She plucks a strawberry from the strainer next to the sink. “This is the one time when I’m happy a man wants to ghost me.”

I sweep Nicky out of her arms and press a kiss to his chubby cheek. “Dating not going well?”

“I wouldn’t know. I can’t get more than a few messages before the fish disappear back into the sea.”

“That’s just crazy. Any man would be more than lucky to have you.”

“Based on my recent track record, I think my ManPicker is broken.”

Owen snorts out a half laugh, and I shoot him a look. “It is not broken,” I insist. “You just need a little guidance in picking men, that’s all.”

“Is that an offer to help?” Summer lights up. “You could run my dating apps for me. You’re good at picking guys. Guide me, oh wise one! And for god’s sake, censor me. I am obviously very bad at this; meanwhile, you’re over here with a fiancé.”

The idea is tumbling out of her before I can pump the brakes. Though, as she talks, I realize it could be kind of fun.

Owen sets a plate down in front of her, his eyes narrow at me with disapproval. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you on dating apps.”

“It’s for your sister, not for me,” I say as I bounce Nicky on my knees.

“Okay, then she can be the one swiping through shirtless pictures of single men. You—” He curls a finger under my chin, lifting my face so he can kiss my lips. “—are mine.”

My belly swoops at his words. Hell yeah, I am.

“Owen Sharpe, is that jealousy?” Summer asks.

Owen snorts. “Absolutely not. I just have other ideas for ways Callie could keep her hands busy.”

Summer pretends to retch. “Maybe I don’t want to date. I’d hate to assault my friends and family with unwanted mental images like this.”

But the way Owen is looking at me, I don’t think he minds.

I have half a mind to kick Summer out and let our breakfast get very, very cold when, suddenly, the door flies open again.

Kennedy bursts inside. “I have bad news!”

“Why don’t we ever use the lock?” Owen asks. But I just smile. Secretly, I love all of this. He pours more batter in the pan, making enough for Kennedy, too. “Did they cancel the next season of Love is Blind?”

“Of course not, that would be crazy. Ooh, pancakes! I’ll take one!”

Owen rolls his eyes, flipping the pancake he already started for her. “I’m going to start charging.”

“If I have to pay, the least you could do is have mimosas. There is no orange juice in this fridge.” Kennedy slams the doors shut with a huff. “This morning needs alcohol.”

“What’s the problem?” I don’t know how there could be a problem. I think this morning is great. I have my friends, my sexy fiancé—God, that’s never going to get old—amazing food and the world’s cutest soon-to-be nephew. What could go wrong?

Kennedy settles for a shot of cold milk, slams the glass down on the counter, and faces me with a grim expression. “Rodger Santos is buying the Scythes.”