“Seriously? If she didn’t run screaming at the offer to be knocked up by you, I’m pretty sure it means she’s ready. Besides, I hear Randy’s been looking at rings, and he and Lily are the co-founders of the Anti-Marriage Brigade. If you propose first, it means you get dibs on wedding dates.”
“You think Randy’s going to buy Lily a ring?”
“Make sure his wiener is pointing down,” Violet instructs as I slide the fresh diaper under Liam’s butt. She nudges me out of the way and finishes up. “I think what people want can change with time and perspective. You and Char are a perfect example of that. We can all make ourselves scarce tonight if you want. It’s supposed to be nice out. There are always fireflies by the water when the sun goes down.”
I mull that over. “You really think she’ll say yes?”
Violet fastens the snaps and picks up Liam, patting his little fresh butt. “When I met Charlene, she didn’t date a guy for more than three weeks. She never settled down and wasn’t interested in long-term boyfriends, which, considering what she’s been through, isn’t much of a surprise. But everything changed with you, Darren. If you ask, she’ll say yes.”
“Okay.” I nod, resolved.
She smiles and pats my cheek. “Now go wash your hands so they’re not covered in crap residue, and maybe your face, too.”
By nine o’clock, Alex and Violet still haven’t reappeared from putting Robbie to bed. I have my doubts that Sunny and Miller will be back since the twins were fussy at dinner. Lily and Randy are likely doing what Lily and Randy do best, and with Poppy in the early stages of pregnancy where all she seems to want to do is take naps, she might be done for the night, as well.
I’m not sure Violet had to work all that hard to give me and Charlene some privacy.
Charlene snuggles into my side on the glider, and we watch the sun disappear behind the trees from the deck outside our bedroom. “Remember when we used to stay up until three in the morning and drink our faces off?”
“I certainly do. My favorite part was always getting you up to the room at the end of the night. You’re such an adventure in the bedroom when you’re drunk.” I run my nose up her temple and kiss her cheek.
“I always went into it with the best of intentions.”
I can feel her smiling. “Let’s try all the things!” I mimic her voice.
“I do not sound like that when I’m drunk!”
“You do, and I love it. You’re so fucking adorable when you’re trying to be a little firefly.” I chuckle. “We could do shots if you feel like letting your freak out.”
Charlene snorts. “I think I’ll pass. Those babies are like roosters at the crack of dawn. I can’t imagine nursing a hangover and dealing with all of that craziness.” She motions to the sounds coming from inside the cottage.
We’re silent for a few minutes, enjoying the peace and the quiet—apart from the occasional burst of crying coming from one of the bedrooms, anyway.
“Alex said the cottage next door is for sale.”
Charlene shifts so she can look at me. “You want to buy it.”
It’s not a question.
“This place isn’t going to be able to handle all of us for much longer.”
“Not with the way Sunny and Miller keep populating the future NHL draft,” Charlene agrees.
Sunny’s currently pregnant with baby number four, and very determined to have a girl. Based on Alex’s competitive nature, I’m pretty sure he and Violet will be trying for baby number two soon. Even Randy seems to be warming to the idea of having a family. Although I think it’s a lot easier to picture it when you’re surrounded by your teammates, who are essentially your family. Which is something I’ve started to do lately.
“It might be nice to have a second cottage for summer get-togethers, especially since my contract expires at the end of next season.”
“Chicago could renew.”
“Maybe, but if they do, I think it’ll be for a year at a time.” I stare out at the lake, considering all the options for our future. Charlene and I have talked about this often over the past year—what I’ll do when my contract with Chicago ends. “I don’t know if I want to play without Alex.”
Charlene kisses the edge of my jaw. “You are such a sentimental softie.”
“I’m pragmatic.”
“You can call it that if it helps you feel better about it. There’s no shame in loyalty.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s going to retire at the end of next season.”
“He has too much to lose now.”
“He does. He’ll go into sportscasting, and I can try coaching, and we can stay here where all the important people are.” They’re too much a part of both of our lives—the stability we both need, the good example of what a family should look like that neither one of us had growing up.
“I don’t like to think about any of the guys getting traded,” Charlene says softly.
“I know.” I press my lips to her temple. The idea of anyone not being here is difficult to fathom, but it’s a reality we’ll all have to face. “They’ll all be back eventually. Chicago is home.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I think I am.”
The sound of babies finally settling gives way to crickets. I’m nervous now, edgy, this thing I want to ask her making my throat tight and my palms damp. I think we’re at the place we need to be.
“Oh!” Charlene sits up and points out into the darkness. “Fireflies.”
I take the opportunity for what it is and stand, holding out a hand to her. “Let’s go catch one.”
We take the stairs down and cross to the beach where it’s darkest. Charlene is still, her eyes scanning the inky night for a tiny green glow. When she spots it, she jumps and claps her hands around it.
“Did you get it?”
“I don’t know.”
I come up behind her, ducking down to rest my chin on her shoulder, and we wait, patient and quiet to see if her palms light up.
“I think I missed it,” she whispers when it seems to be taking too long.
“Just wait.” I slip one arm around her waist and kiss her neck. And sure enough, a minute later her palms glow green in the inky night. She opens them immediately, and the firefly rises into the air, giving me the opportunity I need.
I clap my hands around empty air. “I think I got something,” I whisper.
I hold my clasped hands out in front of her, lifting the top one to reveal the small velvet box.
“What is that?” Charlene strains to make out what’s in my palm in the darkness.
I flip the lid open, the moonlight catching on the ring, making it sparkle as I come around to stand in front of her.
She lifts her wide, uncertain gaze to meet mine. “Darren?”
In my head I’ve done this a million times, practiced all the words I want to say to her. I drop to my knee in the sand, hoping I’ve got this right, that I know her as well as I think I do.
“I’ll never put the lid on your jar, Charlene. I love you too much to do that. I know I already have you in all the ways that count, but I want this with you. I want your fire and your softness, your innocence and your adventure. I want to love you and protect you and take care of you, exactly as you do for me. I want to watch you glow every day for the rest of my life. Say you’ll marry me. Be the only forever I need. Please.”
Charlene’s fingers lift to her lips and then drop to her pearls. Her eyes are soft and glassy as she takes my face between her hands and bends to kiss me. “Of course I’ll marry you. You’re my only forever.”
NOTE TO MY AWESOME READERS <3
In 2008 I started writing what would become my first published novel (duet, actually). It wasn’t Pucked, it was Clipped Wings & Inked Armor. If you’ve read it, you’ll know it’s the polar opposite of Pucked; heavy instead of funny. I needed a break from all the depressing, snot sobbing angst, so I started writing what eventually became Pucked. The year I wrote it, Chicago won t
he Stanley Cup, and then the year I published, they won again. Not saying I had anything to do with that, just kind of a cool coincidence.
If you’ve made it to this note, then you’ve been on quite the journey with me and the Pucked gang. I have loved every minute of writing this series and I’m so proud of this bag of WTF that came out of my brain.
The other day Debra Anastasia, who has been on this very wild ride with me the entire time I’ve been writing, told me that Pucked Love was me writing with my seatbelt off. And that’s pretty damn accurate.
The Pucked Series is where I let all the crazy out. It’s outlandish, wild, ridiculous and just so much fun. Of course there are ups and down. Of course there are challenges to overcome, but I think the best part of writing this series has been how much these characters feel like a family. It’s Violet’s insanity and her lack of filter, it’s Alex’s Zero Fucks Given attitude that she sometimes says and does embarrassing things. It’s in the way this unlikely group of characters supports and loves each other through all the good times and the bad that makes them difficult to say goodbye to.
Pucked Love is . . . nuts. I’ll be honest, when I started outlining this pile of crazy I was like OH SHIT. What the hell have I done? I don’t write BDSM. I might make little jokes about it, but that is not my wheelhouse. I write super consent-y sex where everyone is in control at all times—I mean, no one is actually in control during an orgasm, but there was no way on earth I was going to write BDSM with any kind of seriousness, so I had to get creative. I think Darren and Charlene are my favourite couple (although I say that with every book). I’ll always love Alex and Violet because they’re where this all started. Obviously I love all the couples for very different reasons, Miller and Sunny for being so freaking sweet, Randy and Lily for ruining all those bathrooms, Lance for being so broken and Poppy for saving him from himself with love and kindness and her quiet strength. But Charlene and Darren are a successful couple because of the people they have in their lives, not just because they’re right for each other and to me, that makes them extra special.
I hope you loved this finale as much as I did. I hope the epilogue gave you a look into everyone’s happy future. This Pucked family will take up a big place in my heart and I’m so glad I’ve had an opportunity to share so many laughs and tears with all of you over these past three years.
Don’t worry, it doesn’t end here. There are always new stories, new characters and new families to build and fall in love with. Thank you, though, for being a part of this, no matter when you jumped on the crazy train with me.
Endless Pucking Love,
Helena
Read on for a preview of
CHAPTER ONE
GHOSTS
LILAH
The curdled cream in my coffee should’ve been the tip-off that today was going to be craptastic.
Because I couldn’t start the day without a caffeine kick, I stopped at a lovely little café on my way to work—only to get to the counter and realize my wallet wasn’t in my purse and I had no way to pay for the overpriced latte I felt compelled to order.
So I ran back out to the parking lot and managed to scrounge up enough spare change to pay. Of course, by the time I went back to claim my drink, my latte had been scooped up by someone else and I had to wait an extra ten minutes because seven more people were now ahead of me in line.
Fortunately, work wasn’t far and even with the delay, I was still early. I’d hoped to have half an hour before my shift to do some reading in preparation for my upcoming statistics class. But no problem. I could fit that in during lunch instead of being social.
Just one more course after this and I’d have all the admission requirements for the master’s of nursing program at the University of Minnesota, where I’d applied for next fall. I’d been working as a nurse full time for four years, and now, at twenty-six I was ready to go back to school and pursue something new.
Latte in hand, I stepped outside into the drizzle that had begun during my wait. Ominous dark clouds loomed low as I rushed to my car. Setting my coffee on the roof, I rooted around in my purse for my keys. The light rain quickly became a downpour, soaking my hair and plastering my scrubs to my skin, and still, I couldn’t find my damn keys.
Which was when I lost my grip on my purse. The contents scattered over the parking lot, and my keys rolled under my Corolla. I had to get on my hands and knees to retrieve them, mashing my chest against the ground right into a puddle of dirty rain water.
By the time I finally managed to get all my things together—apart from my lipstick and a compact that had rolled into a sewage grate—I was approaching officially late status. And I had a staff meeting at nine thirty. In my frazzled state, I forgot about the coffee on my roof, which miraculously stayed in place—until I hit the first stoplight, when it promptly dumped all over my windshield.
I made it to work with little time to spare, looking like a drowned rat and completely uncaffeinated. Thankfully, I had an extra set of scrubs in my locker for just such mishaps.
Discombobulated but determined to keep it together, I managed to semidry my hair with the hand blower in the women’s bathroom, although the time I’d spent with the flat iron this morning was completely wasted.
I was on my way into the conference room for the morning staff meeting when an attractive man in a suit, wearing glasses—I’d always had a bit of a weakness for men with glasses—called my name.
Turned out he was from my husband’s lawyer, sent to deliver the final divorce papers. After six years of marriage, the asshole didn’t even have the common courtesy to bring them to me himself, or schedule a time for us to meet and sign them. I hadn’t realized we’d reached this kind of communicationless impasse.
I spent the entire meeting trying to hold back tears—of embarrassment, of anger, of frustration.
A pervasive feeling of emptiness clung to me like climbing vines, making the day drag. But I didn’t want to go home, aware my only company would be my dog, Merk, and as much as he was a good listener, I needed more than that right now.
I didn’t think my day could possibly get any worse.
I was horribly wrong.
At the end of my shift, I make my customary final stop at the nurses’ station to review end-of-day paperwork. Ashley, who works the reception desk, is staring up at an MRI brain scan, her hands on her hips.
“What’s this?” I ask, moving to stand beside her. The shadows on the scan don’t look particularly good.
“Stroke. Came in less than an hour ago.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “You on your way out?”
“Yeah.” My gaze snags on the name at the bottom of the scan. The clipboard slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. “Oh God.”
“Lilah? You okay?”
I shake my head, unwilling to believe what I’m seeing. This can’t be happening. Not today.
Ashley puts a hand on my shoulder. “Do you know him?”
I nod, swallowing back a terrified sob before I can respond. “Yes. What room?”
“Let me check.” She rushes to the board, finds the room number, and repeats it twice. “Do you need me to come with you?”
“No. I’m fine.” That’s not even close to true. The man I love like a father has suffered a stroke.
I wish I’d never gotten out of bed today. I wish there were no today.
I race to his room, heart in my throat, body humming with adrenaline. But when I get there, I don’t find Martin Kase’s wife, my second mother, as I expected. No, sitting in a chair next to the bed, head down and looking lost, is their son. My stomach fills with concrete as I take in not a ghost but the ghost from my past. Ethan.
My mouth goes instantly dry. My legs feel suddenly wooden and weak at the same time. I can’t seem to take a full breath. Or get a handle on the sudden, violent rush of emotions that paralyze me. I feel raw, as if my nerve endings are all exposed, and the air makes my skin feel like it’s on fire.
This is all t
oo much. I’ve already taken too many punches to the heart today. And in this moment I feel like I’ve barely recovered from the punch he delivered eight years ago. My heart aches exactly the way it did the night he called to tell me it wouldn’t work anymore. We wouldn’t work anymore. That all the years we’d been together—through my dad leaving when I was just a child, all of high school, every single first-time experience, prom, helping him pack for college—all of it meant nothing. He needed to focus on hockey, on making the NHL, and I was a distraction he couldn’t afford.
Ethan pushes up from the chair, his massive body unfurling. Good God, he’s filled out. Sure, there have been pictures on social media, and I’ve caught glimpses of him on the ice when I’ve accidentally turned on a hockey game—any time he plays I’ve made a point to turn it off. But nothing could ever prepare me for being this close to the man who took my heart, crushed it, and gave it back to me in pieces.
He’s still uncommonly beautiful, more now than he was when we were teenagers. I swear his shoulders are twice as broad as they were a decade ago. I can barely hold his eyes without being submerged in a deluge of memories I thought I’d buried long ago. I’d nearly forgotten how arresting his eyes are—okay, that’s untrue—but it’s been a long time since I’ve been hit with the full force of them. The vibrant blue with a halo of amber edging the iris, the burst of gold that colors nearly a third of his right eye draws me in and briefly holds me captive, just like it always did when we were younger.
“DJ.” It’s just my name. Two small syllables. But the effect of his voice is bone jarring. I feel the grit of his pain like sandpaper on my heart.
I fight to keep my voice even. “I go by Lilah now.” The words leave my mouth before I can call them back and find a different, more appropriate greeting. I shift my gaze away, anywhere but him. Martin looks frail in that hospital bed, and I wish Jeannie were here, a lifeline I can cling to, something to keep me from being torn apart from memories I don’t have the strength to handle. After all, the present is already crushing me under its weight.
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