Royally Pucked (The Copper Valley Thrusters Book 2)

When I take the ice with the Thrusters, there’s a new vibe in the arena. I love the roar of the crowd, the music, the booming announcer voice. I feed off it, whether the crowd is friendly or hostile, because either way, I have something to prove, and I’m damn fucking good at proving I belong on the ice no matter the city or arena.

Tonight, though, there’s an added weight.

I’m generally playing for myself, my team, and my team’s fans.

Tonight, I’m playing for my entire family and country.

My father, brother, stepmother, stepsister, Elin, and a half-dozen royal guards are all seated directly behind the bench. We’re separated by plexiglass, and they know my focus will be on the ice, not on them, but I still feel them.

I also feel the one person not with them.

Gracie.

I’ve not seen her since early afternoon. Nor have I heard from her, though Viktor filled me in on her departure, and Ares sent a text that included a roaring lion, which I haven’t translated yet—I’m far better with his grunting than his texting—but it was clearly a text of doom.

“Bro.” Lavoie leans into me on the bench as we wait for the puck drop, which my father has agreed to do after the playing of Stölland’s national anthem. “Why’s the monkey chick sitting with King Dad?”

“Long story.”

“I thought that was a joke about you being engaged to her.”

I smile. Because I bloody always smile. “Doing Boston’s job for them tonight?”

He grins back, except his grin looks like he means it. “You don’t play better when you’re pissed?”

“Nothing to be pissed about.”

“So if you’re marrying monkey-chick, and Ares isn’t into Gracie, you mind if I—”

“Game’s over in two hours, and you look so much better with two black eyes.”

The whistle blows, and I pile out onto the ice with the first string. Lavoie’s grinning while he pulls down his face mask.

He’s right though.

I might be smiling, but I’m a bloody terror when I’m pissed.

Which means I end up in the penalty box twice in the first period.

Coach is eyeballing me like the bench is in my near future, since Boston goes up three-one on us while I’m in the sin bin.

“Problem?” he asks me during intermission as we’re walking back to the dressing room for the break between periods.

I grin. Of bloody course I do. “Not at all, Coach. Family makes the Viking come out.”

“Channel it to putting the biscuit in the basket instead of your stick in Boston’s guts.”

We strip out of our jerseys and pads and grab water bottles. Ares sits beside me while we cool off for a minute.

“Head in the game,” he says.

Not a question.

An order.

“Got it,” I tell him.

He grunts, grabs his phone, and flips it so I can see a picture. “Do it for her.”

My heart stutters, then swells until my entire chest is pulsing.

It’s a picture on the string of text messages between Zeus and Ares. Gracie’s here. Nosebleed section, I gather from the pennant on the wall behind her and Joey.

“For the one who’s going to try to murder me in my sleep, or the one who’s making me lose sleep?” I ask Ares.

He grins. “Read.”

I glance at the message from Zeus below the picture.

Nice goal. Tell the royal pucker to let Kavanaugh do his job and not to fuck up your winning streak.

I eyeball Kavanaugh, our enforcer, across the dressing room. He tips a salute my way as he downs a bottle of Gatorade.

Could mean nice punch—was a bloody good punch, and the Boston fucker deserved it for insulting Willow—or it could mean I got your back, you bloody moron. You score and let me do the fighting. Probably both.

“Zeus is off tonight?” I ask Ares.

“West coast tour.”

“Ah. Nice of Joey to come watch you play.”

Yep, there’s that you’re a dumbass look.

“What do you do when you know there’s bad news on the way?” I ask him.

He grunts again but doesn’t stop there. “Fuck bad news. Eat it.”

Rather insightful. I’ll have to ponder that later. I nod to his phone and Zeus’s message. “’Twas an impressive goal. You’re fucking unstoppable, aren’t you?”

He nods and tosses his phone back in his locker.

I take a glance at my own phone.

Nothing.

Coach walks in for our intermission pep talk and dressing down, and I put all my faculties back on the game at hand. We’re down by two, and I’m not going to bloody well lose while Gracie and my entire family are watching.