I square my shoulders and raise my shot glass. “To us. And to a night we’ll never forget.”
“Hell yes!” Lexie coos, raising her glass as Kayla does the same.
“I’ll drink to that!” Kayla slams her shot back. Lexie and I follow suit.
The tequila burns going down, but once it hits my stomach, warmth floods my system, making the world just a bit softer around the edges.
A girl could get used to this feeling, if only for a night.
After all, what happens in Cancún, stays in Cancún.
2
KNOX
“Cheers, motherfucker!”
I grin and raise my Corona, clinking the neck of the bottle against my best friend’s. It was Luke’s idea to celebrate our NCAA Hockey National Championship as a team in Cancún. Technically, we already celebrated in College Park, but I wasn’t about to turn down a trip to the Caribbean.
I sure as hell wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to spend time with my boys before I head off to training camp. “I’m gonna miss you next season.”
Luke snorts. “You’ll be up to your eyeballs in bunnies and benjamins. You won’t have time to miss my busted ass.”
My gut clenches at the mention of his torn ACL. Luke went undrafted, but he’d hoped to get signed post-graduation. He probably would have been if he hadn’t been injured during the Frozen Four.
Now his future is up in the air, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to help.
It’s a cruel twist of fate, and yet another reminder that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed—for any of us.
“Puck bunnies are your thing, not mine, Dvorak.” I shoothim a pointed glance. “You gonna take Coach Carlyle up on his rehab offer once you get the green light to start training?”
He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “We’ll see.”
“You’ll do it if you want to lace up your skates again.” Waverly’s hockey program has become a powerhouse under Coach Carlyle. If anyone can get Luke back on the ice, it’s Coach. “I have to admit I wouldn’t mind facing you from the other side of the rink. I’ve always wondered who would come out on top.”
He chuckles, low and deep. “You and I both know I’d clear the ice with your ass.”
“Maybe.” I smirk. “But first you’d have to catch me.”
I’m not one to brag, but I’m fast as hell. I was the number 3 draft pick at eighteen and would’ve gone on to play in the NHL at nineteen if it weren’t for Coach’s guidance. The man is like a father to me, and it’s thanks to him that I’ve developed a more mature style of play and am better prepared for the pressures of the NHL.
“St. James!”
I look up at the sound of my name and spot a couple of guys from the team. It’s clear they got an early start on happy hour, but we’re on vacation, so what the hell.
Luke snickers. “Twenty bucks says Bergeron pukes by dinner.”
No way I’m taking that bet. Everyone knows the kid can’t hold his liquor. “He won’t last through happy hour.”
A warm breeze cuts through the open-air bar as they weave an unsteady path toward our table, heads swiveling to track their lumbering forms. They’re graceful as hell on the ice, but off it? Not so much.
“Mon capitaine.” Bergeron, a rising sophomore, drops into the chair on my left as a few other guys pull up empties from thesurrounding tables. “Jones and I need you to settle an important debate for us.”
I spread my arms wide. Whatever the disagreement, it can’t be worse than the time they nearly came to blows over elephant ears and beaver tails, which—spoiler alert—are basically the same thing. “Hit me.”
“Would it be fair for Al the Octopus to compete in a mascot skills competition?” He narrows his eyes at Jones. “This asshole says it would be unfair because Al has an advantage due to the fact that he has eight legs.”
“Tentacles,” Jones chirps, a shit-eating grin on his face. “They’re called tentacles, Bergie. Don’t they teach anatomy in Québec?”
