“I’m pragmatic.”

“You can call it that if it helps you feel better about it. There’s no shame in loyalty.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s going to retire at the end of next season.”

“He has too much to lose now.”

“He does. He’ll go into sportscasting, and I can try coaching, and we can stay here where all the important people are.” They’re too much a part of both of our lives—the stability we both need, the good example of what a family should look like that neither one of us had growing up.

“I don’t like to think about any of the guys getting traded,” Charlene says softly.

“I know.” I press my lips to her temple. The idea of anyone not being here is difficult to fathom, but it’s a reality we’ll all have to face. “They’ll all be back eventually. Chicago is home.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I think I am.”

The sound of babies finally settling gives way to crickets. I’m nervous now, edgy, this thing I want to ask her making my throat tight and my palms damp. I think we’re at the place we need to be.

“Oh!” Charlene sits up and points out into the darkness. “Fireflies.”

I take the opportunity for what it is and stand, holding out a hand to her. “Let’s go catch one.”

We take the stairs down and cross to the beach where it’s darkest. Charlene is still, her eyes scanning the inky night for a tiny green glow. When she spots it, she jumps and claps her hands around it.

“Did you get it?”

“I don’t know.”

I come up behind her, ducking down to rest my chin on her shoulder, and we wait, patient and quiet to see if her palms light up.

“I think I missed it,” she whispers when it seems to be taking too long.

“Just wait.” I slip one arm around her waist and kiss her neck. And sure enough, a minute later her palms glow green in the inky night. She opens them immediately, and the firefly rises into the air, giving me the opportunity I need.

I clap my hands around empty air. “I think I got something,” I whisper.

I hold my clasped hands out in front of her, lifting the top one to reveal the small velvet box.

“What is that?” Charlene strains to make out what’s in my palm in the darkness.

I flip the lid open, the moonlight catching on the ring, making it sparkle as I come around to stand in front of her.

She lifts her wide, uncertain gaze to meet mine. “Darren?”

In my head I’ve done this a million times, practiced all the words I want to say to her. I drop to my knee in the sand, hoping I’ve got this right, that I know her as well as I think I do.

“I’ll never put the lid on your jar, Charlene. I love you too much to do that. I know I already have you in all the ways that count, but I want this with you. I want your fire and your softness, your innocence and your adventure. I want to love you and protect you and take care of you, exactly as you do for me. I want to watch you glow every day for the rest of my life. Say you’ll marry me. Be the only forever I need. Please.”

Charlene’s fingers lift to her lips and then drop to her pearls. Her eyes are soft and glassy as she takes my face between her hands and bends to kiss me. “Of course I’ll marry you. You’re my only forever.”

NOTE TO MY AWESOME READERS <3

In 2008 I started writing what would become my first published novel (duet, actually). It wasn’t Pucked, it was Clipped Wings & Inked Armor. If you’ve read it, you’ll know it’s the polar opposite of Pucked; heavy instead of funny. I needed a break from all the depressing, snot sobbing angst, so I started writing what eventually became Pucked. The year I wrote it, Chicago won the Stanley Cup, and then the year I published, they won again. Not saying I had anything to do with that, just kind of a cool coincidence.

If you’ve made it to this note, then you’ve been on quite the journey with me and the Pucked gang. I have loved every minute of writing this series and I’m so proud of this bag of WTF that came out of my brain.

The other day Debra Anastasia, who has been on this very wild ride with me the entire time I’ve been writing, told me that Pucked Love was me writing with my seatbelt off. And that’s pretty damn accurate.

The Pucked Series is where I let all the crazy out. It’s outlandish, wild, ridiculous and just so much fun. Of course there are ups and down. Of course there are challenges to overcome, but I think the best part of writing this series has been how much these characters feel like a family. It’s Violet’s insanity and her lack of filter, it’s Alex’s Zero Fucks Given attitude that she sometimes says and does embarrassing things. It’s in the way this unlikely group of characters supports and loves each other through all the good times and the bad that makes them difficult to say goodbye to.

Pucked Love is . . . nuts. I’ll be honest, when I started outlining this pile of crazy I was like OH SHIT. What the hell have I done? I don’t write BDSM. I might make little jokes about it, but that is not my wheelhouse. I write super consent-y sex where everyone is in control at all times—I mean, no one is actually in control during an orgasm, but there was no way on earth I was going to write BDSM with any kind of seriousness, so I had to get creative. I think Darren and Charlene are my favourite couple (although I say that with every book). I’ll always love Alex and Violet because they’re where this all started. Obviously I love all the couples for very different reasons, Miller and Sunny for being so freaking sweet, Randy and Lily for ruining all those bathrooms, Lance for being so broken and Poppy for saving him from himself with love and kindness and her quiet strength. But Charlene and Darren are a successful couple because of the people they have in their lives, not just because they’re right for each other and to me, that makes them extra special.

I hope you loved this finale as much as I did. I hope the epilogue gave you a look into everyone’s happy future. This Pucked family will take up a big place in my heart and I’m so glad I’ve had an opportunity to share so many laughs and tears with all of you over these past three years.

Don’t worry, it doesn’t end here. There are always new stories, new characters and new families to build and fall in love with. Thank you, though, for being a part of this, no matter when you jumped on the crazy train with me.

Endless Pucking Love,

Helena

Read on for a preview of

CHAPTER ONE

GHOSTS

LILAH

The curdled cream in my coffee should’ve been the tip-off that today was going to be craptastic.

Because I couldn’t start the day without a caffeine kick, I stopped at a lovely little café on my way to work—only to get to the counter and realize my wallet wasn’t in my purse and I had no way to pay for the overpriced latte I felt compelled to order.

So I ran back out to the parking lot and managed to scrounge up enough spare change to pay. Of course, by the time I went back to claim my drink, my latte had been scooped up by someone else and I had to wait an extra ten minutes because seven more people were now ahead of me in line.

Fortunately, work wasn’t far and even with the delay, I was still early. I’d hoped to have half an hour before my shift to do some reading in preparation for my upcoming statistics class. But no problem. I could fit that in during lunch instead of being social.

Just one more course after this and I’d have all the admission requirements for the master’s of nursing program at the University of Minnesota, where I’d applied for next fall. I’d been working as a nurse full time for four years, and now, at twenty-six I was ready to go back to school and pursue something new.

Latte in hand, I stepped outside into the drizzle that had begun during my wait. Ominous dark clouds loomed low as I rushed to my car. Setting my coffee on the roof, I rooted around in my purse for my keys. The light rain quickly became a downpour, soaking my hair and plastering my scrubs to my skin, and still, I couldn’t find my damn keys.

Which was when I lost my grip on my purse. The contents scattered over the parking lot, and my keys rolled under my Corolla. I had to get on my hands and knees to retrieve them, mashing my chest against the ground right into a puddle of dirty rain water.

By the time I finally managed to get all my things together—apart from my lipstick and a compact that had rolled into a sewage grate—I was approaching officially late status. And I had a staff meeting at nine thirty. In my frazzled state, I forgot about the coffee on my roof, which miraculously stayed in place—until I hit the first stoplight, when it promptly dumped all over my windshield.

I made it to work with little time to spare, looking like a drowned rat and completely uncaffeinated. Thankfully, I had an extra set of scrubs in my locker for just such mishaps.