Puck Shots, page 1
Puck Shots
BECCA JACKSON
SILVER CROWN BOOKS
Copyright © 2025 by Becca Jackson
Cover Design Copyright © by Story Styling Cover Designs
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form, including photocopying, electronic or mechanical, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher (Silver Crown Books) or author (Becca Jackson) except for the use of brief quotes used in promotional materials, and reviews.
For information regarding permission write to beccajacksonauthor@gmail.com
No portion of this book may be used to train AI.
This is a book of fiction. Places, names, character descriptions, businesses, teams, mascots, locations and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
Contents
PUCK SHOTS
1. Cosmo
2. Eli
3. Cosmo
4. Eli
5. Cosmo
6. Eli
7. Cosmo
8. Eli
9. Cosmo
10. Eli
11. Cosmo
12. Eli
13. Cosmo
14. Eli
15. Cosmo
16. Eli
17. Cosmo
18. Eli
19. Cosmo
20. Eli
21. Cosmo
22. Eli
23. Cosmo
24. Eli
25. Cosmo
26. Eli
27. Cosmo
Epilogue
Love The Game
Acknowledgments
Also By Becca
About The Author
PUCK SHOTS
BECCA JACKSON
1
Cosmo
“Get it out of there!” someone calls. I don’t know who, but I get my skate behind the puck and send it skimming across the ice. Unfortunately, it lands right against the waiting stick of the winger for the other team.
“Fuck.”
I can already imagine the look on the coach’s face. Frustration mixed with a good dose of disappointment.
I’m immediately after it, but Luka, my best friend, is there first. He fights the winger for the puck, sends it right to me, and then it’s like everything slows down. I’m lightning on the ice, the puck moving back and forth, cool air filling my lungs, as I zero in on the net. The goalie gets smaller and smaller the closer I am. The hockey angel on my shoulder, the one I imagine telling me how amazing I am, is there, grinning widely and telling me I can do this, I can make the shot. A blur of color moves in from the side, but they won’t get to me in time.
“You bet I can,” I tell the hockey angel, and then I shoot. The puck hits the back of the net, the horn sounds, and all at once, the world starts moving at hyperspeed.
Luka slams into my side, wrapping his arms around me.
“Fuck yeah!” he screams, hugging me as tight as he can with the bulky gear on.
Orlando joins our celebration, launching himself into our hug with the energy of a five-year-old.
“Woooooo,” he cheers, and my smile is wide as we skate back past the team, sticks raised in celebration, tapping their gloves. The coach is smiling, too, but one brow is raised, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“Next time, do that without handing the puck over first.”
He’s a tough fucker, Coach Lorenzo, but he knows his shit. It’s the reason they have him running this year’s elite summer training program. If I want to get drafted to the NHL, this program will give me my best shot.
“Yo, Flash. Send it to Rover,” Luka calls, and a second later, the puck hits my stick, and I rebound it right across the ice to Rover. But he’s checked and slams against the glass, losing the puck. I bolt after it, but Terrance Cross has it, and if there is a guy close to as fast as me on this ice, it’s him. He’s on a breakaway. Our goalie is good, but Cross is better, and after a fake out to the left, he shoots for the right, and the puck hits the post and rebounds in. Fuck.
The final buzzer sounds, and we’ve lost the game, and that means we’re now tied for the summer camp cup with one game left.
“Good hustle out there, Flash,” Coach says on my way back to the locker rooms.
“Sure, thanks.”
It was good, but not great, and great is what I have to be if I am going to show the scouts this year that I am done with the partying Playboy lifestyle that took up my days last year. I’m not the only one hoping to grab the attention of the scouts this year by spending the summer at this training camp instead of relaxing with friends and family. Four of the guys from the Boston U team are here, too, my best friend and frat brother, Luka included. It’s intense. They have us up early, breakfast is in the main dining hall at six, and then we are on the ice by eight for a minimum of ninety minutes. After a twenty-minute breather, it’s into the gym for another ninety minutes of weights and strength training. We usually hit the ice baths after that, before refueling for the afternoon personal development sessions and physio. Days like these are my favorite, though. Thursday through Saturday afternoons, we split into teams and play for the summer cup. It’s intense, with all the players here training, wanting to take the win, but it’s the fun kind of intense.
***
“Why are we going out again?” Rover asks, massaging his shoulder as he waits for me to get dressed.
“We’re celebrating,” I remind him, drying off my arms and smiling down at the small lightning bolt on my wrist. It’s faded after the shower but won’t be that way for long. Drawing on my inner wrist with a Sharpie started when I was trying to figure out a brother tattoo to get, something my oldest brother, Brent, could do when he visited. He’s a tattoo artist, ad lives in the UK. We still haven’t decided on anything, so maybe by the time he visits next, we’ll actually have picked something.
Drawing the lightning bolt though, has become a sort of pregame ritual that I just can’t seem to stop. It’s not just the symbol; it’s the feel of the cool felt tip of the pen as it drags softly over my skin. The smell of the ink, the way it spreads into the tiny lines at the edges like it’s a living thing, reaching out and fusing with my body. A symbiote or whatever they call them in those sci-fi movies. Pretty sure they aren’t good things though, but this is. Ever since I started, every game, I somehow manage to pull off shots like today. True, I screwed up first, but the bolt and I came good in the end.
Rover scoffs. “We lost. What the hell are we celebrating?”
“Your bad ass hit, what else?” Luka chimes in, linking his arm around Rover’s neck and scruffing his flame-red hair with his fist.
“You’re finally taking hits like the big boys. I swear at the start of camp, a shot like the one you took today would have had you on your ass for a good twenty minutes.”
“Most players celebrate wins, you know?” he asks, shrugging out of Luka’s grasp and backing up against the locker. “But I know, I know. You aren’t like most players.”
I tap my nose with my pointer finger.
“You got that right, sunshine. We’ve spent the whole summer working our asses off, we deserve at least one night of fun, and tonight we’re hitting The Flock.”
“You know I’m not gay, right?” he asks, and I laugh. The Flock has fast become the best gay club that lets in under twenty-ones within an hour drive from here, but that’s not why we’re going there tonight.
“Julius Rising is playing tonight,” I say, pulling on my jeans and zipping up the fly.
“Seriously?”
“Yep, a surprise show, so keep it under wraps.”
Luka raises his brows in my direction. “If it’s such a surprise, how do you know about it?” he asks with a grin.
“Let’s just say I had a lovely…encounter with their tour manager a few weeks back.”
“So I should be thanking your dick then?” He laughs.
“Go right ahead,” I say, and Luka leans in close to my crotch.
“Thank you, little flash for—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” I interject, stepping back. “You know very well there is nothing little about him.”
“Sorry.” He grins, looking up at me. It’s no surprise people think there is something between Luka and me. Judging by Rover’s slightly tilted head, pinched together brow, and upturned smirk, I bet he’s thinking there is, too. But it’s not like that with us. We met at the rush party for Kappa Omicron Kappa last year and became fast friends. When we both were accepted, it didn’t take too much convincing to let us room together, too. Only seniors get their own rooms in the house; most first years have to share with two or more guys, but Luka and I convinced the Pres to let us stay up in the attic. It was such a piece of shit space without even drywall on most of the walls when we moved in, but with a bathroom and a few home comforts, like, you know, beds, it’s livable. The best part, it only fits the two of us.
“I’m so grateful to you, big, ginormous, super flash dick for charming the pants off the Julius Rising tour manager.”
“Technically, he left his pants on, but they were around his ankles, sooo…”
“Okay, enough of this,” Rover says, grabbing Luka by the back of his shirt and pulling him away. “Get dressed already. We’ve got about ten minutes until they start serving dinner.”
“I’m almost ready,” I say, grabbing my shirt and phone. There a
I flick open the chat, and Pedro, the striker for Liverpool, who was also the oldest at the photoshoot that kicked off this whole Love The Game group chat. His career in soccer has been a decade long, so it was no surprise he announced his retirement shortly after the photoshoot where we all met. He has sent through a selfie of him and his new husband on their honeymoon in the Maldives, a gorgeous aqua ocean behind them.
The comments are mostly congratulations and comments about how incredible the beach looks. I quickly tap out my reply.
ME:
Don’t do it on the sand, or it’ll be like screwing a bucket of glass shards. Unless you’re into that.
A few seconds later, Pedro replies with a pic of a broken window, the cracks spreading out from a hole in the middle like a tennis ball has gone through it.
PEDRO:
Too late. Send help. ***winky face***
I chuckle and am about to lock the screen and put it away when it starts to ring with The Monkees song from that old television show. I know people don’t really use personalized ringtones anymore, but I love them.
“Hey, Calvin, what’s up?” I ask, and my brother, the nicer of the twins, replies, “Hi Cossie.”
Great, the only time he calls me that is when he’s about to ask for a favor.
“What do you need?”
“It’s not me.”
“Sure, it isn’t.”
“No, I mean, I do need something but it isn’t for me. It’s for a guy on the team; do you remember John?”
“Yeah, the second baseman, right?”
“Yeah. Well, he’s got a younger brother and—”
“I don’t do blind dates. It might have worked out for you, big brother, but no, thank you.”
“I don’t want you to date him.”
“Then what do you want?”
“He’s a legacy at KOK.”
“Oh, umm, cool, so thanks for telling me, I guess.”
“I need you to look out for him.”
“Why? If he’s a legacy, he’s already pretty much got in.”
“Yeah, but he’s sort of…shy, and John was just worried the guys might not give him a fair go.”
“So you’re asking me to, what? Rig the vote?”
“No, no, nothing like that, just maybe, keep an eye on him, that’s all. Make sure no one messes with him.”
Luka is mouthing, “What vote?” and I roll my eyes.
“Sure, okay, whatever. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Thanks.”
“No worries. I got to go. We’re headed out.”
“Wait, you don’t know his name.”
“John’s brother isn’t his name?”
“It’s Eli Morely,” he replies, and I’m not even surprised that he’s ignoring my smart-ass remarks. That’s one thing Calvin and Tony got really good at. Ignoring me. They’ve been joined at the hip since birth. Fuck, before birth seeing as those fuckers grew in the womb together, identical twins, always there for each other, a built-in best friend. Where the fuck was my built-in best friend? I was the one they never expected. Hence the name. Cosmo. You know the whole, humans plan and the universe laughs quote, well that’s what my parents refer to my conception as being.
“Okay, Eli got it.”
“Thanks, bro. And it was really good seeing you the other week. You should totally come hang out more.”
“Sure,” I reply, knowing I probably won’t. It’s not that I don’t like my brothers, I love them, they’re family. But being in Savannah with two Banana Ball players is like trying to walk down the street with a neon sign above your head. Everyone stares, and they come up asking for photos, and guess who ends up being the guy holding the phone to take the pictures. Yep, me.
“Oh, and Ash says hi.”
I feel my smile spread across my face. Calvin’s boyfriend is a huge fan of hockey, and it was the second-best thing about my visit home. The first being Brent. My oldest brother moved across the pond to the UK years ago and hadn’t been home in three years. We talk all the time, and not just because he wants something.
“Tell him hi from me.”
“Cosmo says hi,” he says down the line, and then Ash’s voice comes over top.
“Hi, Cosmo.”
“Umm, Luka and Rover are waiting for me, so if that’s it…”
“Yeah. Umm, thanks, I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Yeah. Sure. Bye.”
I hang up and shove the phone into my pocket.
“So what did B-One want?” Luka asks, and I love the way he refers to my brothers by the nicknames they hate. That’s a real best friend right there.
“A new pledge is a brother of a guy in his team. He wants me to keep an eye on him.”
“What? Like a babysitter?”
“Nah, just you know, watch the guys don’t go too heavy on the hazing.”
“Since the Becker incident two years back, no one really gets hazed anymore. I think the worst we got was having to wash the outside of the frat house in our underwear.”
“I scored three dates out of that.” I laugh, and Luka shakes his head.
“Come on, Mr. Popular, time to fuel up for the night. This camp will be over before you know it.”
“Yeah, five days and a summer cup showdown game to go.”
“I can’t wait to be back. Do you think they’ll let us share the attic again, or do you think the work we put into it last year will have other guys wanting it?”
It’s good to hear that Luka is just as keen to share the same room we scored last year. Other than the missing drywall and being generally shit, we also shared the space with a squirrel we named Gunther for a few months until he disappeared. Maybe he’s still in here, hiding his nuts behind the drywall we put up. The derelict state of the place was part of the reason we got it, but Luka’s dad’s a builder and did up the bathroom for us, so now it’s less shit. “I bet they give it to someone else this year now that we made it half decent.”
“Riley messaged a few days ago asking if I cared if we shared it again this year. Apparently, there are a bunch of newbies rushing this year.”
“And you said yes, right?”
I don’t answer right away, and he nudges my side. “Please tell me I’m not sharing with Hewie, Dewy, and Louie?”
I laugh. “No, we’re good. It’s just us up there again this year. I think they’re probably hoping we do the rest of the work to fix it up so that when they do kick us out of there, it will be an actual livable space.”
“Phew. You had me worried for a second.”
“Hewie’s coming tonight, and I’m telling him you didn’t want to room with him.”
“It’s not him, it’s Dewey and Louie I can’t stand.”
“You mean Dennis and Leon?”
“My names are funnier. You have to admit, they look like triplets, with the matching crew cuts, bowling ball shaped heads, and arms bigger than my leg.”
“Wrestlers all look alike to me.”
“So what are we doing tomorrow?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Bueller, what do you want to do on your day off?”
“That joke works better on Ferris.”
“I know, it’s good, hey? Because it’s actually his name. So it’s funny.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
