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CHAPTER ONE

Tucker Taylor walked across the sticky floor carrying a second round of drinks for the table. The pub's best days were probably a few centuries ago, but that fact didn't seem to faze his companions, their voices rising from the dimly lit booth.

His younger sister, Nora, gave a cursory nod as she reached for a pint and continued her argument. "Clearly, Jane Austen's impact is the most far-reaching. Her insights into social issues were way ahead of her time, and her exploration of class and society remains as relevant today as in the nineteenth century."

"Oh, come off it!" Her friend Pip slumped back, her freckled features contorted. "The Bronte sisters were literary rebels. They gave us Mr. Rochester, the ultimate bad boy, and Heathcliff, who originated the idea of a situationship."

These two had been going in circles about dead writers for forty minutes. Tuck slid into his seat and absentmindedly checked his phone for the umpteenth time. Maybe something cool would pop up, like underwater hockey trick shots, kitten rescue shorts, or the mating habits of Peruvian giant yellow-leg centipedes. At this point, he'd honestly settle for a weather update.

"You'd prefer gloom-and-doomery over wit, charm, and financial stability?" Nora scoffed. "Who needs unhinged passion when you can have a comfortable marriage with a side of banter? Bro..." She gestured to him with a 'weigh in here' motion. "Who'd you choose: the boss who harasses you and totally doesn't have a wife locked away in his attic—"

"Or," Pip interjected, "the snobby wanker who is embarrassed to be infatuated with you?"

"Uh?" Tuck froze, hoping he didn't look like a deer in headlights. "Neither?"

Both women groaned, exchanging eye rolls before resuming their debate.

Nora, studying British literature at the University of Bath, had already booked a short friend trip to the village of Hallow's Gate when Tucker had sprung his surprise visit on her. She'd insisted that he tag along. Tonight, they had all gone to celebrate Yule at Ye Olde King's Head in the town square.

"What happened to the new king's head?" Tucker had mumbled when they parked out front. Pip, another student from Nora's department, offered a lukewarm grin, her facial muscles barely going through the motions. So, he'd decided to zone out, only half listening to which literary icon was the GOAT... Jane Austen or the Bronte sisters.

Who'd he pick for best goalie? Brodeur? Nah, probably Hasek. Weirdest? Hard to say. Maybe Bryzgalov—that dude was a bag of feral cats draped in a jersey, just as likely to start talking about bears as he was to ponder time travel.

He took a sip of beer, the amber liquid disappearing down his throat as he swiped at the foam clinging to his upper lip. It didn't take long for his mind to go back on airplane mode.

An hour later, Nora and her friend still hadn't come up for air. He'd passed the time packing down battered fish with thick-cut, golden-brown fries—sorry, chips—mushy peas, and a giant bowl of sticky toffee pudding while sending furtive texts to teammates.

Thousands of miles away, it was game day—the Austin Regals versus the Denver Hellions—and he wasn't playing. Again. He should be eating his lucky pregame meal—buttered bowtie pasta and a Coke—while wearing his superstitious boxers, the ones with cartoon axolotls. His teammates teased him for his habits while secretly revering them. After all, being a goalie came with tacit permission to be odd. But no rituals had ever prepared him for the team doc finding a lump in his armpit last spring or the diagnosis of stage 1A Hodgkin lymphoma. The good news? It had been easily cured. But treatment had been h ell, and he'd be sidelined for much—if not all—of the season.

"Hey." Nora reached over and poked him. "We're boring you, huh?"

"No, it's all good." He swallowed back a jaw-cracking yawn. "But I don't have a lot to contribute."

Pip's lips quirked to the side. "You'd rather tell us about how you hit a puck super hard?"

He couldn't tell if she was joking or being a pain in the ass. Maybe both. "Actually, my job is to stop them."