Sincerely The Puck Bunny Novels & Stories

Thankfully, they were all from the Campus Buzz community chat I’d followed last week. Curious, I tapped on it to see what everyone was talking about when I froze. The smile on my face instantly faded as I read the caption. MAYA JENNINGS DUMPED?! 👀 Star hockey player Caden Duke caught in an intimate poolside moment with a mystery girl. Fuck. Below the caption was a picture of me and Caden from last night—right after he saved me from the pool. I was in his arms, and our faces were so close anyone would’ve thought we were kissing.

SAGE MONTERO. @puckmedaddy: ‘Gah, I understand why he’s the captain; he looks like he handles a puck the same way he does a woman. Rough.’ Yeah, until he chokes you to death. @rookslapmepls: ‘I volunteer. I volunteer. I volunteer as tribute…sorry I meant puck.’ If desperate had a label, it’d be you, sweetheart. @rookmehard: ‘I know they call him the Angel cause he’s a devil in the sheets. Argue with the wall, everyone.’

At least not from him or any of them. Because I knew what sincerity could turn into. A knife to the chest, a fake promise, a word thrown in the air but never caught when I needed it. So I smiled. The kind of smile that felt painful to wear. I remember the had something to do with Melody at least. “It’s nothing, Hades. Forget about it.”

he demonstrated, his movements precise despite his bulky skates. Adrien chimed in, pointing at the leg pads. "These pads are your best friends. They'll absorb most of the impact, but you need to learn how to direct the puck safely away using them. It's about angling your legs at the right moment." "Puck control is key," Alec added, tightening a chest protector around me ironically. "When that puck hits you for the first time, it will be a shock, no denying that. But you'll get used to it. You might even start to like the adrenaline rush. It keeps you sharp, keeps you in the game."

Which is why I was grateful Lyon was already waiting for me at the rink with a bag of protein bars and too much energy at nine in the morning. The rink was cold, my favorite kind of cold, the kind that bit into skin and cleared your head. But today, even the ice couldn’t cut through the fog in my brain. “What’s with your face?” Lyon said immediately, tossing me a bar. “What face?” I muttered. “The ‘I either killed a man or fell in love’ face.” I stiffened. “That’s not a thing.” “It is. And you’re doing it.” I ripped open the bar aggressively and took a bite. “I’m fine.”

Most of them have a word in common. "Tits... tits... tits... breasts, huh," I lift my eyebrows in surprise, this one particular hockey fan is very respectful, "He said, 'This broad has the best breasts I have seen. Good job, Kent' well, at least he didn't say tits. I'm going to like that one." Bram chuckles and I continue reading out loud. 'Who is she?' 'Puckslut' 'Are you okay to play again? Please say yes.' 'I missed you, I love you. She's not good enough for you.'

“Just… practicing my interpretive falling.” He chuckled, low and warm, which should not have been allowed in this weather. “Solid form. Eight out of ten. Deductions for lack of follow-through.” He scooped up the traitor puck with his stick like it was nothing. “You’re Coach’s kid, right? Avery?” I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know my name?” “Small town. Plus your dad mentioned you in the group chat. Something about ‘my daughter who thinks hockey is just figure skating with violence.’” He tilted his head, that smirk deepening. “Accurate?”

A puck. I sit up slowly. Turn it over in my hands. It's regulation size and weight, no different from the hundreds of pucks I've handled in my life, except for the fact that it is clearly old worn at the edges in a way that speaks to years of handling, the rubber surface smooth in places from contact, the NAHL stamp on the face so faded it's barely legible anymore. Not mine.

I’m out of the room. “Let’s go,” I announce once I get to the car, where they are waiting for me. “Oh, look at you. Looking like a true puck bunny,” Jordan taunts, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Babe, she’s not a puck bunny. For fuck’s sake.” She hits his arm, and he winces. “Sorry, Dee. I was teasing,” he smiles at me, and I can’t help but return it. We always talk about how he looks like a young Leonardo DiCaprio.