Page 105 of Double Puck

Finn's leaning against the luggage hold in sunglasses, arms folded.

"There he is! Becky Boy. Not struggling to keep up again, are we?"

"I was in therapy, you—"

"Sure. Sure." He takes my bag off my shoulder and swings it into the hold like it weighs nothing. "Chocolate in your pocket?"

"Two pieces."

"Good man."

Then a black convertible swings into the lot, top down, parking with more speed than the situation requires. Darcy steps out in a navy blazer, sunglasses, wheeling a hard-shell suitcase behind her.

Fuck yes.

She's really coming with us.

And just like that, the whole world gets about ten pounds lighter.

Chapter 16

Beck

The Beachside Bears have one of the smallest budgets in the league, but apparently, that's no reason to fly commercial.

I hold the rail of the private jet, ducking my head as I step through the door. It's chaos already, with dozens of enormous hockey players trying to duck, fold, and manoeuvre themselves into normal human size.

The Bears team logo is stitched into the headrests as I walk the aisle, and a flight attendant hands me a warm towel like I've just been through something traumatic instead of a forty-minute drive from the Beachside arena.

I find my seat and look around. The cabin is ridiculous.

Wide leather seats in ocean blue, arranged in clusters of three with polished tables between them. There's a delicious spread near the front galley that looks like Margot raided a five-star brunch service and crammed it onto the plane, with trays of smoked salmon with cream cheese rosettes, a tower of still-warm croissants glistening with butter, and fresh fruit fanned out in perfect color rainbows.

Corbin stands in front of the food with his mouth hanging open, clutching a mini quiche, studying it with way too much focus.

"Is this real brie?" He holds up a wedge. "This is real brie. On a plane."

Sawyer peers down at the quiche from beside him. He plucks the brie directly from Corbin's hand, and takes a bite.

"Yep. It was real brie," Sawyer says, chewing. "Past tense."

"Dude!"

"You hesitated." Sawyer shrugs and drops into a window seat three rows back, stretching his legs across the aisle. He pulls out a pair of headphones and disappears from the conversation entirely.

Corbin looks at me, devastated.

"Gotta be quicker than that, rookie," I tell him, grabbing a croissant. "As the youngest sibling of three actual pigs, I recommend you learn to guard your snacks with your life. Especially the chocolate."

I settle into my seat and pull my tablet out of my bag. I'm on the window, left side, with my two brothers flanking me like prison guards.

Declan immediately checks that I've buckled my seatbelt.

Jesus Christ.

Poppy was right. I need boundaries.

I sink deeper into the leather seat, taking one last look at Beachside through the window as I try to focus. Poppy's voice keeps circling through my head like a song I can't shake. Whatever happens next, you still get to decide what you do with it.