Taming the Puckboy Book 2: Swipe Right on Puckboy
Author
Pearl C
Reads
15.7K
Chapters
51
"This is a terrible idea," she whispered. "I know," he said. And kissed her anyway.
Alice Bennet swore off hockey players after one destroyed her life at sixteen—stealing her inheritance, her home, her trust. Eight years later, she's rebuilt everything from nothing. Then Jake Showalter, captain of the Boston Bulldogs, walks into her life. Charming. Patient. Impossible to hate. But just as Alice dares to believe in something real, her past skates back into Boston wearing a Bulldogs jersey.
"You were mine then. You're mine now."
Some wounds run deep. Some men stay anyway.
Chapter 1: Kindness Has an Expiration Date
ALICE
Alice Bennet learned young that grief made people uncomfortable.
In the days after the accident that took her parents’ lives, casseroles piled on her doorstep, hugs pressed too hard, whispers of poor thing, poor girl followed her in grocery aisles. But once the funeral ended, the sympathy dried up like spilled milk. She was sixteen years old, sitting in a too-quiet house that smelled like her mother’s perfume and her father’s engine grease, and suddenly no one knew what to do with her.
No one except Ethan.
Ethan Callahan, the golden boy of Somerfield, had been her boyfriend since freshman year. Tall, broad-shouldered, already scouted by college coaches, and so absurdly good on the ice that his games filled the stands like Friday night football in Texas. Teachers called him “the pride of Somerfield,” girls whispered about him in bathrooms. Boys wanted to be him.
And Ethan wanted Alice.
When he and his parents showed up a couple of days after the funeral, Ethan held her hand, his smile sad-but-strong, while his mom dabbed her eyes and said, “You can’t stay in that big house all by yourself, sweetheart. Come home with us. We’ll take care of you.”
Alice believed them. She had no reason not to.
The Callahan house was twice the size of hers, all polished hardwood and framed hockey jerseys. Ethan’s dad, a businessman who bragged about knowing “the right people,” liked to hold court at the dinner table. His mom fussed over appearances, serving food on fine china, insisting Alice call her “Mom” if she wanted to.
Ethan kissed her forehead every night like he was the hero in some storybook. For a while, she let herself believe it was real.
But kindness had an expiration date.
It started with her parents’ house.
“You can’t keep it sitting there empty,” Mr. Callahan said one evening, his voice booming across the table. “It’ll fall apart. Vandals, rodents, God knows what. Be practical, Alice.”
“I just…” She twisted her napkin, throat tight. “It was my parents’ house. It’s all I have left of them.”
“Of course, darling,” Mrs. Callahan crooned, patting her hand. “But you’re a child. You can’t manage a property. Better to sell it, put the money somewhere safe. Think of your future.”
Ethan squeezed her hand under the table, golden smile in place. “They’re right, Al. Don’t torture yourself with upkeep and bills. You need to focus on school, on us. Let my parents help.”
And so she signed.
Her parents’ home disappeared. The furniture gone, the bank account shifted, the Callahans assuring her it was all “handled.” The money, they said, was in their account “just for now,” until she turned eighteen. “You don’t want to deal with the taxes,” Mr. Callahan had said, patting her hand at the dinner table.
At sixteen, Alice clung to the fantasy that they meant well.
By eighteen, she was ready to step forward.
She had applied to colleges in secret, scribbling essays at the restaurant where she waitressed part-time. Her heart nearly burst when the acceptance letter arrived. Against all odds, she’d gotten in.
That evening, she sat at the Callahans’ kitchen table, letter trembling in her hands. “I need my house money,” she said, voice soft but steady. “The inheritance. My college tuition’s due next month.”
The silence that followed chilled her more than shouting.
Mrs. Callahan set down her wine glass with deliberate care. “That money’s gone, Alice.”
Alice blinked. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”
Mr. Callahan folded his paper. “We used it. Food. Clothes. Gas. You think keeping you here was free?”
“That wasn’t yours!”
“It was ours the moment we opened our doors to you,” he snapped. “We gave you a home. You owe us.”
Her chest heaved. “That’s not true! You promised—Ethan, tell them!”
But Ethan wouldn’t meet her eyes. His jaw clenched, his fingers drumming the table. Finally, he muttered, “Maybe they’re right, Al.”
Her stomach dropped. “You don’t believe that.”
Mrs. Callahan’s lip curled. “Oh, I think he does. I think you have used our good faith a bit too much. We let you stay here, but following Ethan to college? That’s too much.”
“I am not following him to college! I got into UMich because they have the best science program!”
“You’re trying to tie him down. You think we don’t see it? A girl like you, alone, desperate… what better than to baby-trap our son before he makes it big?”
The words hit like a slap.
Alice’s cheeks burned. “That’s not—how could you even—”
“Don’t play innocent,” Mr. Callahan barked. “Ethan has a future. He’s meant for the NHL. You think we’ll let some small-town girl with dollar signs in her eyes derail that?”
Her hands shook. “I love him. I—”
“Love him?” Mrs. Callahan laughed, brittle and cold. “No, sweetheart. You loved what he could give you.”
Alice turned to Ethan, tears stinging her eyes. “Say something. Please.”
But Ethan just stared past her, expression unreadable. And in that silence, Alice’s last thread of hope snapped.
The next day, her duffel bag sat on the porch. She tried the door of the house, and the lock was changed.
Mrs. Callahan’s voice floated through the closed door. “We’ve done enough for you, sweetheart. It’s time you stood on your own two feet.”
Behind her, Ethan’s shadow loomed in the window. He didn’t open the door.
Alice tried to fight.
She slept at a friend’s place and went to her homeroom teacher the next day, who frowned kindly but said, “The Callahans are pillars of this community, Alice. Be careful what you say.”
She went to her old neighbor, a friend of her parents, who tutted. “That family saved you when no one else would. Don’t ruin Ethan’s chances with gossip.”
She even went to the police. The officer barely concealed his disdain. “You signed the papers, Miss Bennet. Legally, nothing was stolen. Best be grateful they kept you this long.”
The town believed Ethan and his family. No one believed her.
So she left Somerfield.
She boarded a bus to Boston with forty-two dollars in her pocket and fury burning hotter than grief.
The city was loud, anonymous, indifferent. No one whispered about her parents. No one praised Ethan. She was nobody, and that was freedom.
She swore she’d never be powerless again. Never hand over trust, never mistake charm for love, never let a golden boy hockey player close enough to ruin her twice.
It was a good vow. It held for eight years.
