The Pucking Proposal (Maple Creek)

“Did you fuck for the playoffs?” Shepherd asks, holding up a hand for a high five in the locker room as we get ready for the biggest game of the season.

I gawk at him. “You did not just ask me that,” I deadpan, even though I most definitely heard him correctly.

“What?” he says, shrugging. “We need all the good luck we can get, and who am I to argue with anything that’s gotten us the best season in recent history?”

It’s been only a few weeks since our on-ice fight, but things are mostly back to normal between us.

At first, he tried suggesting that I’d taken advantage of his sweet, innocent sister, but I’d asked him who the hell he was talking about and followed up by inquiring if he’s actually met Joy Barlowe before. After Joy told him what really happened, he was pretty okay with me.

Though there was a hot minute where he proposed asking June out to see how I liked my friend dating my sister. I think the words turnabout is fair play were used, but I’d laughed at the very idea. My sister’s a brainiac who’d rather run science experiments on Shep than date him. After that, and a few other snarky quips, we’ve settled on one way to make things right.

I am, forever and ever, Shep’s beer bitch. It’s mostly a symbolic reminder, but the agreement is that I buy his beers, get them from the bar, and hand deliver them to him. Luckily, he’s solidly on Fritzi’s nutrition plan, too, and doesn’t drink often, so it’s not a hardship. Grabbing a beer for a friend is the least I can do when I’m fucking his sister.

Which I did do last night. For good luck. And also because we wanted to. We want to basically every day, so if our luck holds, the Moose should be the winners by the end of the night.

Final score: Moose: 4. Beavers: 3.

And with that, the Moose are the league champs! It’s not any one guy’s win. We did it together, as a team, each of us playing a part in the victory.

And the celebration.

The locker room is loud as fuck, high fives smacking and cheers yelled in every direction.

There’s only one face I want to see, though, and it doesn’t belong to a Moose.

The door opens and Joy comes in, followed by Ellis, who’s hauling his camera around like it weighs nothing, though I know it must be at least fifty pounds.

“Dicks up!” I call out.

“Hey, Joy!” a chorus of voices answers back.

“Thanks for the good luck!” Max adds, pelvic thrusting the air in front of him. Thankfully, he has compression pants on or I’d have to kill him, and it’d really suck for him to die on the night he won the playoffs.

She laughs. “Happy to do my part to support my favorite team. Going live in two minutes, so if you’ve got ’em, hide ’em, or they’ll be on the eleven o’clock report. Not sure that’ll do you any favors, Voughtman,” she quips, frowning at him in mock sadness.

She turns to me, and her whole demeanor changes from sports reporter going toe to toe with any athlete, to my girl. “Congratulations, Dalton. You were amazing out there,” she says quietly, just between us. “I loved every minute.”

“I’m gonna be amazing in you later too,” I vow, stepping right up close to her. “You’ll love that even more.”

What can I say? After a big win, I’m flying high on testosterone, excitement, and adrenaline, and the best way to celebrate is by roughly fucking Joy. Luckily, she likes to celebrate, too, because we’ve been doing a lot of it the last few weeks.

It’s been my best season ever. All thanks to her.

“Promise?” she purrs.

“Fuck yes.”

Ellis clears his throat. “Fifteen seconds.”

Joy steps away from me, her on-screen persona clicking into place in a blink. “Hello, Maple Creek, this is Joy Barlowe, coming to you live from the locker room of the new league champs . . . the Maple Creek Moose!”

Everyone cheers again and Joy steps into me, keeping a professional few inches between us as though she wasn’t just hanging on me like a puck bunny. “Dalton Days, how’re you feeling after tonight’s game?”

I smile at the camera. “Like the luckiest man alive,” I tell the lens, smiling happily. “This has been the best season of my life!”

Joy interviews Shepherd too. He does a great job of giving the other team credit for a great game and fighting hard throughout the playoffs, especially the Beavers’ defense.

After she’s done with the players, she talks to Coach Wilson, who’s clipped and stoic, but he smiles once. And for him, that’s basically jumping up and down on a couch, declaring his undying love for his players.

Ellis does his finger twirl thing, letting Joy know to wrap it up, and it’s done.

The season’s over, the report’s over. The only thing left to do is celebrate.

“I’ll see you at Chuck’s?” Joy asks. “Everyone’s already there, getting tables set up and saving us seats.”

I press a quick kiss to her lips, and in unison, the guys call out, “Ooh!”

“What’re you guys, a bunch of five-year-olds?” Joy quips, but she’s smiling and her cheeks are a pretty shade of pink.

When she’s gone, I hop in the shower and get dressed quickly. This is no after-game sweatpants night. Instead I pull on dark jeans, a black long-sleeve T-shirt, a Moose jersey over that, and my boots. I’m about to throw my bag on my shoulder when Coach pops his head out of his office. His face is red, his mouth pressed into a flat line. “Days? A word, please.”

I freeze, my excitement turning to ice in a heartbeat. What the hell does he want to talk to me about? I know the season had its ups and downs, but we won the playoffs, for fuck’s sake. He can’t be mad at that.

On the other hand, Coach Wilson could be mad at anything. He’s the type that’d win the Powerball lottery for $80 million and then be mad about the taxes and lawyer fees.

“Yeah, Coach?” I reply, sitting in the chair in front of his desk when he points at it.

“Good job.”

I wait for more. Maybe a “gotcha” laugh, but one doesn’t come. “Uh, thanks,” I stammer, feeling like there’s got to be a but coming any second.

“You’ve been a pillar of this team for a while now,” he starts, and a pit opens up in my gut.

Am I getting cut?

No fucking way. I played my ass off, and while DeBoer is doing great, really stepping up and proving himself, I’m not done playing. I’m not done.

Coach Wilson has still been talking, but my own thoughts were so loud that I must’ve missed something because he’s staring at me like I should be saying something.

“Sorry . . . what?”

He blinks, his eyes boring into my soul. “I said I got a call about you. The Otters want you for next season. You ready for the big leagues, son?”

Ready? For the NHL? For the contract I’ve always dreamed of? With the local team that’ll keep me here where Joy is?

Abso-fucking-lutely, I am. I can feel my face stretching into a wide grin at the reality of all my dreams coming true.

“Yes, sir. I’m ready,” I finally say, thrusting my hand toward him for a shake. “Thank you, Coach. For everything.”

“I’m gonna be sad to lose you. You’re a great player, Dalton.”

Coach called me by my name. It’s a first I won’t forget.

“Thank you,” I say again, too shocked to say anything else.

I think I tell him goodbye and grab my bag, but I’m not sure. The next thing I remember is walking into Chuck’s and seeing the celebration already raging.

Joy

I look at the door again. Dalton should be here by now.

The rest of the guys arrived about twenty minutes ago, and I’ve been willing Dalton to walk through the door ever since.

“He’ll be here,” Hope tells me again.

“I know,” I insist. “I’m just excited to tell him my good news.”

“You could tell me, you know?” my sister answers. “I can keep a secret.”

She can. But I want to tell Dalton first, so I mime locking my lips and throwing away the key. But out of the side of my mouth, I say, “I’ll tell you as soon as I tell him.”

She nods, understanding.

It’s good to see her. This stretch between visits was way too long, or at least it felt like it was with everything that happened. But she would never miss the playoffs, especially with Shep playing. Thankfully, she and Ben are going to stay for a while this time. His album is in the production phase, so all the guys—and Hope—are getting a well-deserved break.

With the season wrapping up, Shep and Dalton will have a little more downtime, too, so they’re all planning some Maple Creek outings. I still have daily sports reports to do, but I’ll be with them for the weekend fun, and I’ve already introduced Rayleigh and Hope, who are becoming fast friends as well.

The guys have some fun for city-boy Ben planned too. Shepherd suggested they take him fishing on the lake, and Dalton laughed evilly, so I’m sure that’ll go well. Someone—or maybe all of them—will definitely end up overboard in the still-cold water.

“There he is,” Hope tells me, and I whirl, my eyes finding Dalton instantly across the crowd.

I run to him, weaving my way through the crowd with his mom and sister doing the same. His mom hugs him first, holding him tight and crying happily as June and I hold each other supportively. Mom hugged Shepherd the same way when he walked in. The players’ families have sacrificed so much for them to play hockey and chase their dreams, so seeing them win means everything.

And then Dalton wraps me in his arms, picking me up so that my feet dangle several inches above the ground. He buries his head into my shoulder and murmurs, “We did it, Joy. We did it.” His voice hitches, and I feel every bit of the emotion in those few words.

“You did it,” I assure him, going koala-mode and hanging on to his neck.

He pulls back, meeting my eyes. “I got the call,” he says, his dark eyes filled with excitement. “The NHL. The Otters.”

“What?” I gasp, struggling to find my footing. Literally. I wiggle until he puts me down and then grab his face in my hands, pulling him to my level. “Really?” He nods. “Oh my god, Dalton! Congratulations!”

I’m swept up in his arms again, and though I don’t think anyone could’ve heard what he said, it’s like everyone understands what’s happening. There’s a big cheer all around us, hands reaching out to pat Dalton on the shoulder and back. Some of them land on me, too, like I had anything to do with his dream coming true.

“Congratulations, Dalton!” a feminine voice says from right beside us.

I look over and see Mollie trying to wiggle up to Dalton’s side. I swear, that woman cannot take a hint. Shepherd had a meeting with the Moosette captain, Ashley, informing her that one of her teammates was causing trouble. Since then, the two groups have basically been avoiding each other, staying in completely opposite orbits, and the no-fraternization rule has actually been in effect. Not that Mollie seems to care.

But she’s persona non grata among all the Moose, and Shep’s promised me that as long as he’s with the team, every new guy’s going to get the message on Mollie. She’s going to have to get her kicks somewhere else.

Dalton doesn’t even notice her. His arm is tight around me and he’s grinning at Shepherd, holding up a hand for a high five from his best friend.

“Dalton?” I say, pulling his attention back to me. Once his eyes find me, I tell him, “Me too. Matt’s moving up to Milligan’s old spot, and I’m getting promoted to head sports reporter. Still at the local station,” I add, downplaying it.

But this is a big deal for me.

Greg could’ve interviewed outside the station, could’ve found someone older, more experienced, more male . . . but he didn’t. He said that wasn’t even a consideration they made. When Milligan said he was retiring, Matt applied for his post, and I was the only person they thought of for Matt’s place.

“Joy! That’s amazing!” He hugs me tight, celebrating my victory along with his own.

I don’t know why, but tears spring to my eyes. There’s just so much love and happiness, I can’t hold it all inside. I don’t want to hold it in.

Dalton’s dream is coming true. My dream is coming true.

And most importantly, we’re together. Us. Dalton and Joy, the best team ever.

“You know that means I’ll still be reporting on you, and I won’t go easy,” I warn.

He laughs, nodding. “I know you won’t. Tell it like it is.”

“You sure?” I question, giving him a skeptical look.

“I can take it,” he promises.

“Okay then, you asked for it . . . I love you, Dalton.”

A smile steals over his face, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “I love you, too, Joy.”

“Hey, lovebirds,” Shep calls. “Sorry to interrupt—not!—but I’m feeling a bit parched. Chop-chop, beer bitch.”

We glance over, and Shep’s eyes are lit with glee. He’s not the least bit sorry, but he is letting us know, in his own weirdly twisted way, that things are okay with the three of us.

“I got it,” I answer, wanting to let the teammates celebrate. “This time,” I add, reminding Shep that this won’t be a usual thing. One step away, I turn back. “And don’t ever call me a bitch, beer or otherwise.”

Dalton fights to hide a grin, enjoying me putting my brother in place.

“Didn’t call you a bitch to begin with,” Shep says, his arms open wide in puzzlement at the callout. “I called this asshole one,” he insists, throwing a thumb Dalton’s way.

“Aww, you can call me bitch anytime, sweetheart,” Dalton teases, blowing him a kiss.

And like that, they’re tussling good-naturedly, acting like they’re fighting when what they’re really doing is showing affection. Apparently, they can’t just hug it out and tell each other “I love you, man.” I watch them walk toward the group, a warm glow in my heart.

For a long time, way down deep, I thought I was unlovable. Little did I know I just needed to be loved by the right man. And that man is Dalton Days, the best hockey goalie in the league and the defender who somehow broke through all my defenses, even the ones I didn’t know I had.

“Happy looks good on you,” Hope says, sidling up to me at the bar as I place our order.

“Thanks,” I answer, blushing. “You too.”

She does look good. The Los Angeles sun has given her a golden glow, but mostly, I think she’s glowing from within.

“You know what this means, right?” she whispers, bumping my shoulder with her own.

I turn around, three beer bottles clenched in my hands, and spy Dalton and Shepherd across the room. “Yep,” I say. In my head, I send her a twin-lepathy message . . . last man standing.

Hope locks her eyes on our brother, a smirk tilting up one side of her lips as she answers in my head.

Last. Barlowe. Standing.