Page 69 of Pucking Forbidden

HADLEY

THE LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY BITCHES

Sutton: Just officially upgraded us all to first class. I refuse to fly commercial without complimentary champagne.

Grace: Sutton, you are an angel and a menace.

Stacey: First class?! Omg. I’m literally wearing sweatpants with a hole in the pocket. I was going comfy since it’s not my turn to travel with the team and I don’t have to wear damn khakis!

Skyler: It’s Boston, babe. The sweatpants are fine. Just put a designer bag over the hole.

Rylee: Are we doing team colors or are we doing cute cute for the game? Because I bought a custom jersey, and I need to know the vibe.

Sutton: We are doing both. Obviously.

Rylee: And we’re sure the guys don’t know we’re coming? No one squealed?

Sutton: I didn’t say a word to Jayce.

Skyler: My lips have been sealed!

Stacey: Same!

Grace: I haven’t let anything slip. Hadley, you packed yet? The car is on its way!

Hadley: Almost! Just trying to shove three different pairs of boots into one carry-on.

The girls think I’m just tagging along for the ride, supporting the team for the first big away game of the season, but I have an ulterior motive. I'm really, really itching to break through Julian's armor. I’ve been chipping away at it, and the night he spent over at my place a week ago made some big cracks, I think. I don’t want to lose momentum.

That’s the thing about Julian. As effortless and charming as he is, spending this much time with him has forced me to pick up on just how guarded he really is. He doesn’t share himself easily, and the fact that he’s opened up to me at all feels significant.

I can still hear the terrifying, choked scream that ripped from his throat when he woke from his nightmare. I remember the agony in his eyes before he abruptly got up and walked out into the dark. The sheer worry has been eating me alive since. My mind has been spinning over what could have possibly caused a man that powerful to wake up in such terror.

Then, there was his confession that he can’t just be friends with me. I’m still not sure what to do with that, but deep down, I’m not sure we can just be friends either.

I want to be something more.

He’s tried to pull away from me over the last week. He isn’t texting me nearly as often, and we haven’t seen each other in person. I refuse to let him run from me. Every time his texts went cold, I initiated more. I flooded his phone with reminders that I was still right here, whether he liked it or not.

I grab my suitcase, zip it shut with a sharp, decisive yank, and sling my bag over my shoulder. Time to show Julian that he can’t shake me so easily, and that I’m there for him, whether it’s cheering for him in the stands, or being the shoulder he can lean on when he’s in pain.

When the girls and I arrive in Boston, more cars are waiting for us at the airport to take us to the stadium.

The biting October wind cuts straight through my jacket, a sharp reminder that autumn in Boston doesn't mess around.

I glance around at our group. We’re a vibrant blur of deep blue and bright gold. Sutton is wearing her oversized jersey over sleek leather leggings and a pair of killer designer boots. Grace has her jersey half-tucked into high-waisted jeans, her work camera bag slung over her shoulder, while Stacey has hers pulled over a thick hoodie. Rylee is glowing in her brand-new jersey with shiny gold accents, while Skyler has her blue jersey styled with a matching Night Hawks beanie and baggy jeans.

“All right, ladies!” Grace exclaims once we get there and are gathered outside the stadium entrance. “Tickets are on my phone, so stay close!”

We make our way inside, stepping into the climate-controlled warmth of the arena, and head straight for the security lines. The process is pretty seamless as we pass through the VIP entrance, the hook-up thanks to Grace’s connections.

As the dedicated social media manager of several Night Hawks, including her brother and husband, Grace practically holds the keys to the kingdom. She spends her weeks capturing the chaotic, high-stakes lives of the team's core lineup, and because of her, the arena staff moves us through the ropes as we belong here, bypassing the massive queues of fans spilling out into the concourse.

The moment we break past the turnstiles, the familiar, sharp scent of stadium popcorn and ice hits me. My heart is racing with a chaotic mix of excitement and nerves, the thrumming energy of the crowd vibrating right through the floorboards. I follow the flow of the group toward the tunnel leading to the rink, my pulse spiking with every step.

My phone buzzes again. I grab it, thinking it might be Julian, but frown when I see it’s a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Check the side hallway by section 104.