Page 52 of Puck Wild


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The Common Thread's back room smelled like old books, espresso, and incense burned to mask the fact that it was basically a repurposed storage closet. Juno had transformed it into something intentional—two mismatched chairs flanked a table that someone salvaged from a garage sale, and a microphone the size of a small planet loomed between them.

Juno was busy stringing everything together with cables when I arrived. She glanced up ."You're early and look like you're about to throw up. That's either nerves or you raided Evan's cookie stash again."

"Neither. I'm naturally this shade of green." I dropped into an available chair. "Very trendy. Very minor-league chic."

"Mm-hmm." She gave me the look. "Deep breaths, Riley. We're only talking."

"Right. Talking. On the record. With someone who can pick highlight reels that make me look like I learned hockey from YouTube tutorials."

The door chimed, and Nik Vanko walked in.

If skincare had a patron saint, it would be him. Perfect bone structure and hair that defied the October wind. He wore jeans and an expensive cashmere sweater, managing to make it look casual.

"Jake Riley." He extended a hand, and his grip was firm. "I've been following your comeback story. Impressive stuff."

"Story's not over yet." I tried to sound confident, but it might have been closer to defensive. "Still writing the ending."

"Aren't we all." His smile was warm, and that annoyed me. I'd prepared for Hollywood smugness, not genuine friendliness. "Nik Vanko. Though I guess you already knew that."

"Yeah, well… your follower count's hard to miss."

Juno swept in between us. "Boys. Settle in. We're going live in two minutes, and I want you both caffeinated and ready to generate some beautiful bedlam."

She handed us each a mug of something that smelled like it could strip paint. I sipped.

"What the—what is this?"

"Matcha with a shot of espresso." Juno grinned, sliding on her headphones. "My grandmother's recipe. She lived to ninety-seven and never backed down from a fight."

Nik raised his mug in a mock toast. "To inherited stubbornness."

"To not dying on air," I grumbled.

Juno's laugh blended whiskey and velvet as she leaned into the microphone. "And we're live in three, two..."

She pointed at us, and suddenly we weren't three people crammed into a storage closet anymore. We wereOn The Recordwith Juno Park, and I imagined the listeners settling in with better beverage choices.

"Good evening, you beautiful disasters. I'm Juno Park, and tonight we're diving into something close to my cold, journalistic heart: Queerness, Masculinity, and Minor League Mayhem."

Her voice took on a warm, conspiratorial tone. It would be hard to keep secrets when she spoke like that.

"With me are two players who've been making waves—and occasionally making headlines for all the wrong reasons. Jake Riley from the Thunder Bay Storm, and Nik Vanko from the Sudbury Wolves."

I waved before realizing gestures didn't translate on a podcast.

"So, gentlemen. Let's start with the hard-hitting journalism. If your rap persona and your locker room self had to co-parent a queer awakening, what would they name the child?"

I choked on my paint-stripping matcha. "Damn, Juno. We're not even five minutes in."

"Clock's ticking, Riley. This is live for many of my listeners."

Three seconds passed before I grunted out an answer. "Regret Riley."

Nik snorted. "Middle name: Viral."

"Oh, that's good." Juno smiled. "Regret Viral Riley. Future Thunder Bay legend or cautionary tale?"

"Both." I meant it. "Probably both."