Page 97 of Double Puck

"Darce. You're allowed to have a complicated situation and still survive it." She waits until I look at her. "I say have another dose of the thing making you glow like a goddamn lantern right now. Stop trying to solve everything before breakfast."

Rose nods. "She's right. You're the smartest person I know, Darcy. You'll figure this out. But you're not going to figure it out by skipping the good parts."

I breathe out through my nose and nod, stealing one last fry before pushing back from the table, walking back to my vehicle.

I make it back to the Bear Cave by two, and lucky for me, the hallways are quiet. Most of the team would have finished up their morning skate by now, and the front office is operating at its usual skeleton-crew pace.

My heels echo as I walk toward my office, mentally organizing the Vegas prep list: travel itinerary, Beck's game-day observation template, updated performance data.

I reach my office, push open the door, and step inside.

“Flick the lock.”

The deep, husky voice comes from behind my desk, where my chair is turned around, facing the wrong direction.

The chair spins slowly.

Beck Morrison is sitting behind my desk like a Bond villain who traded the white cat for several hundred pounds of professional hockey player.

His gaze travels over me, pinning me to the doorframe. I swear to God, my knees almost give way.

My pulse trips.

He leans back in my chair, completely at home where he absolutely does not belong.

"Beck, what on earth are you—"

“I said…" He cuts me off, glaring across my own office. "Close the door, Darce. Then come and get on your knees for me."

I swallow hard.

Something Rose said at lunch floats through my head like a whisper.

You're not going to figure it out by skipping the good parts.

So I reach behind me.

Flick the lock and yank the blind down.

Chapter 15

Beck

The lock clicks and the blind snaps down.

Darcy Madden spins on the spot, straightens her shoulders and crosses her own fucking office like she's been doing this her whole life.

This is the first thing that's felt simple all fucking day.

This morning, I spent an hour watching my mistake from every camera angle known to man while everybody picked apart what I should've done differently.

Fair enough. I fucked up.

What I didn't enjoy was hearing someone call it a classic Beck play, like one shitty decision somehow explains everything there is to know about me.

But Darcy doesn't look at me like I'm the guy who cost us the game.

She just looks at me like I'm Beck. Like she wants me around. She enjoys having me here, no matter how many mistakes I make.