The Pucking Proposal (Maple Creek)

March

“Moooose! Moooose!”

The cheer fills the entire interior of Chuck’s as the players walk in, once again winners in what was expected to be a tough game with an even tougher opponent. Both teams are playoff bound, but the Moose made the win look easy, mostly because Dalton played another game where he blocked literally everything shot on him. He’s having a career year, with more shutouts this season than he’s ever had before.

Shep says there’s talk of changing his nickname from One-Night to Wall, mostly because he lets nothing get past him, but also, apparently there’s been some locker room talk that focusing solely on hockey and not chasing pussy is doing Dalton some unexpected good. When Shepherd told me that, I had to bite my tongue to keep from replying that he was chasing mine pretty regularly.

Honestly, it’s good to hear that even his best friends and teammates see a difference in his behavior, both on and off the ice, because I see it too. He’s happier, lighter, and not as much of an asshole as a first-instinct reaction.

But mostly, I’m thrilled he’s having such a great season.

Even with how well things are going, I think he’s unexpectedly made peace with never getting a call from the majors, despite spending a lifetime chasing an NHL contract, and is satisfied with staying with the Moose until he retires. Without that looming goal, he’s refocused on what he can do to make this season his best—sticking to his Fritzi-prescribed training without complaint, helping mentor DeBoer, and basically playing every game as if it’s the opportunity of a lifetime.

He says it’s me. I say it was in him all along.

And ironically, after the Moose’s long run of winning games and Dalton’s stretch of complete shutouts, there is talk about him getting that call up to the big leagues.

“Who do you think is gonna try to get a piece of him first?” June asks no one in particular as she peers at her brother, who’s stepped onto a chair to make the toast the crowd has requested.

June flew in yesterday to watch Dalton’s game, and now she’s joining me, Rayleigh, and a host of other fans to celebrate tonight’s victory. Dalton wanted the three of us to do dinner last night to introduce me to June, who I’ve heard so much about, but I’d told him to enjoy the time with his sister and maybe keep us on mute for a little longer so we don’t screw anything up when it’s all going so well—us, the games, and even him and Shepherd.

But Dalton’s losing patience with me.

He hides it well, and he’s not putting any real pressure on me, but we’ve spent months sneaking around, hiding what we are, and lying to people. He thinks the longer we keep it from Shepherd, the worse the fallout will be, and it’s not that I think he’s wrong. In fact, I worry he’s absolutely correct. But I don’t want to mess up the best season Dalton’s ever had by stirring up stupid shit with my brother. If we can let it ride until the end of the season and deal with it then, I think it’ll be better for us all. In a way, I’m protecting Dalton and his dream. It just doesn’t always feel like it, to him especially.

To answer June’s question, I deadpan, “Probably the floor. He’s got a lotta faith in that chair he’s standing on.” She laughs at the dig at her oversize brother and the seen-better-days wood chair wobbling beneath him. “Realistically, the Otters will probably call dibs since the Moose farm players for them, but there’s always a chance it could be another team. All depends on who needs a goalie, and when.”

A hot blade stabs into my heart at the idea of Dalton finally getting that call, but it being for a team thousands of miles away. While I would never stop him from going, long distance would be hard. I’ve seen it time and time again with other players and know what ultimately ends up happening 99.9 percent of the time.

“Maybe if Dalton stays local, Shepherd will get called up too,” June suggests hopefully. “That way they could stay together.”

She glances across the room to where my brother, Mom, and Dad are chatting with Voughtman, Pierre, and DeBoer. If I had to guess, Dad’s probably hyping them all up for game two tomorrow and Shepherd’s saying not to worry because they’ve got it in the bag.

June and I met only an hour ago, but we’ve developed a fast bond from being the younger sisters of brothers whose first, last, and only loves were always hockey, telling stories about getting dragged to practices and games as kids, and sharing our amazement that they still live in the pressure cooker of that world. While I coped by also becoming hockey obsessed, June dealt with it quite differently. She lives her life in a sterile laboratory as a cosmetic chemist formulator and spends zero time with hockey other than cheering on her brother, mostly from afar and occasionally in person when she’s able to get away. Apparently, no one in her life cares that she has a professional athlete sibling. I wish I could relate to that, but here in Maple Creek, I’m often the gateway to the great Shepherd Barlowe.

“That’d be awesome,” I admit. My brother’s been having a good season, too, but nothing like Dalton, and I say that objectively as a journalist and stats analyzer. “But not likely. The Otters’ center is top tier, and they have alternates on the bench already.”

June frowns sympathetically, understanding exactly what that means for Shepherd’s chances with our local NHL team. Turning to Rayleigh, she asks, “Who’re you dating again?”

“Oh! I’m not. I’m here because of Joy,” Rayleigh says quickly. “She keeps trying to get me hooked into hockey, but mostly I’m hooked into the friend group. When they start talking offensive this and defensive that, I smile and nod.” She demonstrates, her eyes going vacant and her smile vapid as she lifts and lowers her chin robotically.

“Sorry,” June tells her, reaching for her hand on the table. “I thought all the girls here were paired up with one of the players, or wanted to be. Kinda always been like that.” June scans the crowd with an easy smile, seemingly not worried at all about who might be dating her brother even though there are fans and Moosettes surrounding them, and Shepherd currently has Dalton in a headlock, acting like he’s pushing his head down in a blowjob move that’d get most guys thrown up on by any reasonable gag reflex.

Meanwhile, Rayleigh is eyeing me with interest, with one eyebrow arched so high that it’s disappeared behind her newly cut bangs. She doesn’t know Dalton and I are dating, but I’m sure she strongly suspects it after our Pilates session ages ago and my complete lack of discussion on my dating life ever since. Thankfully, she hasn’t asked questions. Until now with that eyebrow.

“Excuse me, gonna hit the ladies’ room,” I tell Rayleigh and June, making my escape from her silent interrogation.

“Oh, I’ll go too,” June says, joining me.

We weave through the crowd, wait our turn for a stall, and finally, I lock the door behind me to take care of business.

A few moments later, I hear a voice say, “You’re Dalton’s sister, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Hi, I’m June.”

I peer through the crack in the stall door and see a woman talking to June while they wait their turn.

“It’s so great to finally meet you,” she gushes. “I’m Mollie.” She says her name like it should mean something, as if it has inherent weight or importance, and I rack my brain trying to find something, anything, about this woman in my mental file cabinet, but come up empty.

She’s pretty, though. Mollie has dark hair that brushes below her breasts in perfect curls, her eyes are rimmed in black liner and glamorously long lashes, and she’s wearing a Moose jersey that’s been cut off to a belly button–skimming length. I notice the number on the jersey is Dalton’s and have an instant, soul-deep hate for her, but I remind myself that I overreacted last time, so I can chill. For a second at least.

“Nice to meet you, Mollie. Do you know Dalton or are you a fan?” June smiles warmly and points at her jersey.

Mollie laughs, the sound tinkling and fake. “More like both. Did he really not mention me? He’s such a doll.”

The second of not overreacting is over because something in her tone sends a cold shiver of dread down my spine. I catch my breath, not daring to move even though I’m finished, have my jeans buttoned, and only need to flush. But I want to hear every bit of this. I squint to focus on the thin crack so I can see it all too.

As if she’s spilling classified, top-secret intel, Mollie looks around, seeing that it’s only her and June in the restroom now, though she doesn’t check for feet beneath the doors or else she’d see my brown boots. Quieter, she stage-whispers, “Well, we’re not telling anyone . . . yet, because it’s technically against the rules—” She pauses dramatically, her eyes bright with glee. “But you’re his sister, so I can trust you. Dalton and I have been seeing each other for a while. Mostly when we’re on the road since we travel together for the games. You understand how it is.” She gives June a knowing look, assuming she’ll recognize why hotel rooms would make secret rendezvous easier.

“Oh!” June exclaims, her eyes popping wide open in surprise. But then her brows furrow. “Why is it against the rules?”

June hasn’t figured it out yet, but I have. Mollie is a Moosette. That’s why she looks vaguely familiar. The cheer team has a signature look, and Mollie’s appearance tonight is fresh off the ice postperformance.

Mollie laughs again, pushing at June’s shoulder like they’re girlfriends teasing each other, not complete strangers in a bar bathroom. “Oh god, he really didn’t say a thing, did he? That boy.” She shakes her head like Dalton’s the most exasperatingly adorable thing she’s ever met in her life. “I’m a Moosette. Strictly off-limits for the players.” She stands extra tall as she says that, throwing her dark hair back over her shoulders, tilting her head, and smirking seductively like she’s completely aware that she’s utterly irresistible. “But if we meet in the offseason and things happen? Well then, who’s to say an established couple can’t be part of the teams?” Mollie winks like she’s found a sneaky way around the rules. No, like they’ve found a way.

Her and Dalton. Dalton and her. Them.

My heart drops into my ass. It’s a feeling I’ve felt before, when I was standing in the doorway of Buchanan’s dorm, looking past him in a pair of boxers I’d never seen at a half-dressed girl trying to cover up with the sheets we bought him at Target before he left for college. At the time, I wanted to yell at her not to touch the sheets I had selected, washed, folded, and put on his bed. What I’d really meant was “don’t touch my man,” but that ship had long since sailed given her lipstick was smeared across his mouth. And really, it wasn’t her fault.

It was his. Buchanan’s.

He was the one who’d made promises to me. He was the one who lied to me.

And now, Dalton’s done the same thing.

Athletes are the same every damn time. Get them on the road and they’ll stick their dick into any hole. Apparently, even jacking off with me isn’t enough if Dalton is dating this woman too.

I’ve read that there are four responses to trauma—fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. Right now, I’m frozen more solid than hockey ice. My body’s numb, my heart’s pounding, and my mind is shutting down so fast I can almost hear the Microsoft chimes. Still, I want to shake my head to drown out Mollie’s words, but I can’t. I’m stuck—physically, mentally, and emotionally frozen and left to hear the rest.

June got her answer, but she doesn’t seem to readily accept it. “So you’re one of the dancers . . . and you’re not allowed to date players like Dalton. But you are?” In a single blink, June quickly scans Mollie, head to toe, and then settles her gaze back on her face. Her expression never changes, but Mollie’s does.

Mollie’s smile melts, her painted red lips looking clown-like for a moment until she forces them to lift again. “The Moosettes are the team’s cheerleaders. And yes, Dalton and I—”

I don’t want to hear this! I can’t listen to her talk about what her and Dalton are to each other. Please, make it stop!

A quote I saw in the days after coming back from that college trip screams its way into my mind. Men don’t have to lie to women. If she loves you enough, she’ll lie to herself for you.

That had hit me so hard back then because I knew it’d been true. I’d suspected Buchanan was cheating. That was the subconscious reason I’d made that trip and had felt it necessary to make it a surprise. On some level, I wanted to catch him red-handed so I’d know for sure and he couldn’t charm his way out of it.

Ever since, I’ve kept guys at arm’s length. Until Dalton. He tricked me, playing patient until I let him sneak through my defenses. I thought I was taking a calculated risk with him. Turns out I suck at math and should’ve stuck with the statistics I’m good at. Chances of an athlete cheating? One hundred fucking percent. I knew that and yet, I lied to myself again. Convincing my heart, little bit by little bit, that Dalton was different.

I don’t know what happens, but my body finally moves as another response kicks in. Flight. I have to get out of here. Now. Hearing any more is only going to make the sharp agony in my chest worse, so I flush the toilet. The sound is loud, instantly stopping all conversation on the other side of the door.

I open the stall door, forcing my face to stay painfully stoic as I meet the two women’s eyes.

Mollie’s hands fly up to cover her open mouth. “Oh! I didn’t realize anyone else was in here. Especially you, Joy!” She frowns hard, her eyes puppy-dog pleading. “Look, I know you’re a reporter, but you can’t tell anyone what you heard. Please! It’ll ruin everything.”

I want to punch her in those pretty red lips. I want to yell at her that Dalton’s fucking me too. But I don’t.

Living in a small town like Maple Creek, I know firsthand how gossip can be destructive to people’s lives, and I do my best to try to stay away from the grapevine in town. But when it’s about me or people I care about, it’s human nature to want to know what’s being said. That way I can either tell everyone how wrong they are or forewarn my family or friend, depending on the situation.

I wish someone had warned me this time.

So I do think about telling Mollie the truth about Dalton and me. She deserves to know. It’s not her fault Dalton’s a cheating asshole. She’s just a woman like me who thinks she’s found something special and is lying to herself the way I’ve been doing.

I start to say something, but the words don’t come.

It’s not my place to ruin it for her. Dalton will do that himself eventually. And truthfully, she probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. If someone had told me about Buchanan, I absolutely would’ve shot the messenger and not believed a word they told me. When I was ready, I found out on my own, and Mollie will too.

“I won’t say a word,” I vow flatly. “Excuse me.”

I push past them to speed-wash my hands, no birthday song in my head because I can’t possibly be in here that long without falling apart.

“Well, I guess it’s nice to meet you,” June tells Mollie, but I can feel the weight of her eyes on me. She’s probably worried I’m gonna expose her brother’s affair with a Moosette and ruin his stellar season.

“You, too, Junie. I’m sure we’ll get to know each other better after Dalton wins the playoffs and gets drafted to the majors. Maybe you and I can plan his signing party together?” Mollie uses a nickname for June with ease, like they’re new besties who’re probably gonna get matching mani-pedis later, and makes the party suggestion like it’s all a done deal.

That motherfucking, lying, cheating asshole of a man!

I want to cut his big, beautiful, perfect dick off and feed it to him until he chokes on that damn piercing. I want to cut all the laces out of his skates, put ex-lax in his 5-hour energy bottles so he has violent diarrhea on the ice midgame, break his favorite stick, pour sugar in his gas tank, and glitter bomb his house.

I should’ve fucking known it was too good to be true. This is why I don’t date athletes. A lifetime of being told they’re special, having people literally scream their names, and living on a pedestal can lead to only one thing—arrogant jerks who think they’re entitled to anything and everything their heart, and dick, desires.

Hands still dripping, I walk out of the restroom. I set my jaw, straighten my back, and steel my heart as I step into the crowd. Fast as I can, I nearly sprint my way back to our table.

As soon as Rayleigh sees me, she asks, “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, yanking my jacket on and grabbing my purse from the back of a chair. “Nothing. I’m not feeling well. Gonna head out.”

“Okay, let’s go,” she says, instantly standing and grabbing her own stuff.

“No, stay with June so she’s not alone. I’m just going home.”

Rayleigh looks unsure but glances behind her, checking for June. Rayleigh’s not the type to leave a woman behind, especially since she’s so recently been the new girl in town. June might only be visiting, but Rayleigh doesn’t want her to be lonely.

“Really, I’m okay. Hang with June.”

I don’t give Rayleigh a chance to argue or ask any more questions. I stride for the door, telling myself not to look back. I almost make it, but right as I’m about to exit, I peek over my shoulder, telling myself it’s stupid even as I do it. I find Dalton easily, as if my eyes needed one last look. He’s posing for a picture with a group of people—some players, some fans, and some Moosettes. Of fucking course. I stare for what feels like forever, but he doesn’t glance my way, probably enjoying himself too much.

Fuck you, Dalton Days!

I don’t say it aloud, as much as I’d like to. No, I leave quietly, falling apart as soon as I get in my car and drive away.