Pucked: Pucked Over Part 35

"All of them, or this one in particular?"

It's a shot. My heart feels like it's made of sandstone, and it's crumbling into dust inside my chest. None of my breakups with Benji ever felt like this.

"All of them, except for this one," I say.

I slip out of the truck. Randy waits until I've unlocked the door to the house. Then he takes off down the street without so much as a parting wave.

I step inside the empty house and lock the door behind me. Randy's absence feels like shards of gla.s.s buried in my chest. I don't make it past taking my shoes off. I sit down on the floor, put my face in my hands, and cry.

Chapter 25.

Fun is Not my Middle Name RANDY.

I drove home on autopilot. I don't remember stopping at lights or pulling into my driveway, but I'm sitting here, staring at my front door, so I must have obeyed the rules of the road. Otherwise there'd be cherries flas.h.i.+ng in my rearview.

I cut the engine, but I don't move. My truck still smells like Lily, so I wanna stay here a little longer. I don't get what happened. I replay Lily's time in Chicago in my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong-how I missed the signs. Or maybe I didn't miss them at all. Maybe I decided not to see them because that would mean admitting I want more than I can have.

I was such an a.s.shole to her.

I sit here until I can see my breath and start to s.h.i.+ver. Trudging to my door, I put my thumb to the keypad and turn the k.n.o.b. The first thing I do is pour myself a generous shot of vodka. I have to fly out at seven-thirty tomorrow morning for a game. The last thing I should do is get drunk to manage whatever just happened. But I'm feeling s.h.i.+tty about this, so alcohol is the numbing agent of choice.

I get good and s.h.i.+tfaced and watch that little video I made while visiting Lily in Guelph, when I woke her up in the middle of the night for s.e.x. I don't watch it because I want to jerk off. I mean, yeah, it makes me hard-even as wasted as I am-but it's the way she's so unguarded. She's looking at me like I'm more than just someone she's pa.s.sing time and exchanging o.r.g.a.s.ms with. I knew even then that it was more than what it was supposed to be, and I let it keep happening. Because I wanted it. I wanted her. And now I don't get to have her at all.

Pounding on my door echoes the awful feeling in my head. I peel my eyes open and groan.

"b.a.l.l.s! We gotta roll!" It's Miller.

I push up off the couch, and the world spins so much I fall forward over the coffee table. I don't have great coordination, and my reaction time is shot-probably because I'm still drunk, and I've been shocked awake. I hit the floor with my face and taste blood.

It takes me a couple of tries to get my a.s.s back up. I stumble to the foyer, fumble with the lock, and throw the front door open, almost hitting myself in the face.

"Oh, s.h.i.+t. What happened?" Miller looks over my shoulder like he expects someone to be behind me. Maybe the person responsible for my b.l.o.o.d.y lip.

"I fell." I lean against the wall.

Miller frowns. "Are you drunk?"

"You woke me up."

"You smell like booze."

"I'm fine."

Miller's phone starts ringing. He glances at it, then at me. "Get your s.h.i.+t. We need to be at the airport. You should be ready to go."

I try to walk, but it's not working. I smash into the wall.

"Seriously, b.a.l.l.s, what's the deal? Sweets, can I call you back? What? She's what? I don't understand; she should be here, not there-"

I know they're talking about Lily. I turn and walk down the hall, knocking a picture to the floor.

"I'll call you back in a few... I love you, too, Sunny Suns.h.i.+ne."

I'm unnecessarily jealous of their relations.h.i.+p. I know exactly how not easy it is to be a professional hockey player dedicated to one person. I've watched Miller struggle with Sunny. I've seen Lance almost destroy his career. I've witnessed the impact on my own mother and sister. But right now, all I want is someone to fight for, and I've messed that up, too.

I make it to my bedroom and grab my duffle bag. My hockey s.h.i.+t should be in the garage. I hope. All I need are clothes. Miller isn't behind me like I figured he'd be. He shows up a few seconds later with a gla.s.s of water and pills.

He holds out the gla.s.s and his palm. "Drink this, and take these."

I do what he tells me. Then I look around my room. Evidence of the past week is everywhere. Three empty boxes of condoms litter my nightstand. A half-empty bottle of lube has fallen over and dripped on the carpet. My bed is unmade. My room smells distinctly of s.e.x and Lily. I can still see the look on her face when I told her I'd f.u.c.k her over. That devastation is exactly what I don't want to cause someone.

Miller snaps his fingers. "Dude, we gotta go."

"Right. Yeah." I nod, but I'm still not moving.

Miller shakes his head and shoves three pairs of pants, three s.h.i.+rts, a suit, and a couple of ties into my bag. Then he goes to my dresser and tosses in some extra boxers and socks. A pair of Lily's underwear must have accidentally ended up in there, because he tosses them on the bed. "Get changed, b.a.l.l.s. You smell like a bar. They won't let you on the plane if they know you're drunk." He pa.s.ses me a pair of boxers, then goes to my closet and picks up a pair of jeans off the floor.

I have to sit down to make it happen, but I manage to get changed into fresh clothes. I pick up Lily's underwear from the comforter and shove them in my pocket. I don't know why. But I need them.

Miller forces me into the bathroom and makes me brush my teeth. Once I have my wallet, he ushers me back to the foyer. I have to brace myself on the wall to get my feet in my shoes.

He shoves my jacket at me, shaking his head, and pushes me out the door. I climb into Lance's ridiculous Hummer and sprawl out across the backseat. I check my pockets for my phone, but it's not there. "Wait. I don't have my phone. I gotta go back in."

"I've got it." Miller tosses it at me. I try to bring up the home screen, but it stays blank.

"Took you two long enough. What was the hold up? You catch b.a.l.l.s doing what he does best?" Lance puts the vehicle in gear.

"You wanna tell me what happened? Sunny called me freaking out about Lily," Miller asks.

I close my eyes, undecided as to whether keeping them open makes the nausea go away. "Lily broke up with me." The car jerks to a stop, and I fall off the backseat onto the floor. "The f.u.c.k, man?"

"Broke up with you?" Lance is looking at me like I've told him aliens really do exist.

I manage to get my a.s.s back on the seat. This time I buckle myself in. "Or I broke up with her. I don't know. She said she didn't wanna see me any more."

"I thought you two were just having fun." There's a bite to Miller's tone.

"We are." I shake my head. "Or we were. Last night she said it wasn't fun anymore. That it was getting, like, serious. So that's it. It's done."

Miller and Lance exchange a look. Miller turns so he can see me. "So you're telling me Lily's the one who ended things?"

"She initiated it. Yeah. I dropped her off after dinner, and I was gonna spend the night, or as long as I could, but she said I shouldn't, and that she didn't want to see me any more, and that was it. Can we not talk about this right now?" I drop my head against the seat and close my eyes again. I'm leaving out a lot of details, but talking about it doesn't make me feel good.

Neither of them says anything else, so I keep my eyes closed. All I want is to fall asleep again and shut off all the thoughts in my head, the roll in my stomach, and these brutal feelings I don't know how to manage. Before Lily, as soon as things started to get intense, I bailed. But with Lily it was intense like that right from the beginning, so maybe it took longer for me to realize what was happening. Or maybe that's an excuse.

"Hey, sweets. Yeah. We're on our way to the airport. Uh-huh. We got 'im. He's still drunk," Miller says.

"I can hear you, b.u.t.terson. You know that, right?" I crack a lid.

He flips me the bird. "b.a.l.l.s says she's the one who cut things off."

"You wanna find a different way to word that?" I mumble.

Lance barks out a laugh. Miller slaps his arm.

"Sorry, bro, you know I didn't mean it like that." Miller goes back to talking to Sunny. "I don't get it. Why's she so upset if she's the one who ended it?" Miller's silent for a long time, during which Sunny's distressed voice filters through, but her words are lost in the sounds of traffic. "Oh. Right. Okay. I guess that makes sense. Sure. I love you, too. I'll call you when we land."

Miller ends the call. "Women are confusing."

Lance snorts. "They're vicious is what they are."

I don't say anything, because what is there to say? It's probably better we ended it now anyway, especially with her moving to Chicago. I'd want to see her all the time, and I'd try to be her boyfriend, and I'd ruin it by messing around with someone else. It's the whole apple-and-apple-tree scenario.

By the time we get to security, I'm feeling my hangover. I've got the sweats, and I think I'm going to hurl. I'm not very steady on my feet either. I take off my jacket and shoes and throw them into one of the bins. I follow with my belt and phone. Then I empty the contents of my pockets, starting with my wallet.

I check for change and find Lily's wadded up panties. It's the pair I bought her when I surprised her in Guelph. She looked so good in them. And out of them. I rub the soft lace between my fingers.

Lance is behind me. He elbows me in the side. "b.a.l.l.s, put your souvenir away."

"It's not a f.u.c.kin' souvenir," I growl.

He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Keep it together, man."

I toss the panties in the bin and push it down the ramp. The security chick gives me a look, but I'm too morose to care. I wait while the guy pats me down, and then collect all my stuff, shoving the panties back in my pocket before anything else.

I don't talk to anyone on the plane ride, mostly because I feel like a bag of s.h.i.+t, physically and mentally. I'm grateful for the hour of sleep I manage. The nap makes me feel marginally better. By the time we land, the nausea has pa.s.sed for the most part, but all the other s.h.i.+t is still there.

As soon as we get to the hotel, I hijack the bathroom and shower to get rid of the booze smell. Miller's lying on his bed, watching sports highlights. "Your phone's been going off."

I check it, but it's not Lily. It's my mom, wis.h.i.+ng me good luck in the game. I feel guilty that I didn't see her more over the holidays, especially since my sister didn't come home, but I was with Lily. I guess it's a good thing I didn't invite her to meet my mom.

"Not who you wanted it to be?" Miller asks.

"Nope." I toss my phone on the bed. I should call my mom, but I don't feel like talking to anyone. I rub my chest, annoyed by the weird ache.

"You could call her, you know."

I drop down on the mattress and lie back against the pillows. "What would be the point? I can't make this something it isn't supposed to be."

"What does that even mean?"

"She said she wasn't having fun anymore, end of story." I don't want to tell him what I said to her. How s.h.i.+tty I made her feel. How I blamed her when it was my d.a.m.n fault.

"She say why she wasn't having fun?" Miller asks.

"She said it was getting too intense. Look, I'm in a s.h.i.+tty mood. I know you're trying to help, Miller, but talking about it makes me feel worse. I just wanna focus on strategy for the game, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm gonna shower, and then we can go get something to eat with the team."

I'm sitting on the bench, waiting for the whistle to blow so I can get on the ice and get out some of this aggression. We're down one, and Waters has something going on with his shooting arm. He's been rubbing his shoulder every time he gets off the ice. As soon as it's my turn, I rush down the ice after the puck.

I put all my focus into getting close to the net. Westinghouse is parallel to me. I pa.s.s the puck, but one of the guys from Colorado manages to trip him up with a dirty move and gains control. He doesn't keep it for long, though. Miller's got things under control, and manages to get the puck back.

I camp out in front of the net, knowing if Miller can get it back to Westinghouse, he'll pa.s.s to me. Colorado's defense knows this, too. Number sixty-three is on me, nudging me in the back with his stick. I'm not in the mood for bulls.h.i.+t tonight.

I get behind him and give a little shove back. He elbows me, so I s.h.i.+ft my foot between his and nudge the back of his knee, setting him off balance. We go down together. I wait until he grabs my jersey before I take hold of his. As we fall, I flip us.

When I'm on a slick surface with blades on my feet and I'm going down, there's one essential rule: always be on top. He's spitting obscenities, p.i.s.sed because I pulled a shady move. But he's been a problem all game. My plan isn't to fight, though. All I want is to get him off my back. But he starts swinging, so I don't have a choice but to deflect.

He grabs my cage.

There are very few things that really make me angry on the ice. Chippy playing is one of them. a.s.shole defense is another. And cage-grabbing makes me see red. I hold his helmet with both hands, pinning his head to the ice. I keep trying to get traction, but he's still holding on to my cage with one hand, and trying to punch me with the other, so my feet keep sliding out from under me.

It takes three tries for me to get up. The crowd is going crazy. Colorado fans are screaming at the refs to do something. Chicago fans are just as wild. I shove off the guy as the whistle blows. I'm not surprised by the penalty, but at least Colorado gets one, too.

"Nice ice-hump there, b.a.l.l.s. That'll look awesome on the highlights." Miller pats me on the shoulder on my way to the penalty box.

We end up losing the game by one. At the bar some chick offers to make me feel better. She has dark hair like Lily's, but it's longer. Her lips are red, and her b.o.o.bs are bigger. Her eyes are blue. I could try to f.u.c.k out some of the anger and whatever else is going on inside me, but I think it'll have the opposite effect.

I decline and head up to the room instead. Miller's already there. He's lying down, doing what he always does after a game: watching the highlights.

"Check this out." He points to the screen.

There I am, ice-humping the guy from Colorado. No wonder he was so mad. "He was being a d.i.c.k; he deserved it."

"Not arguing with that."

Miller rolls out of bed and ambles to the bathroom. I shrug out of my suit and drop it on the floor, too lazy to give a s.h.i.+t. I check my phone, but I don't have any new messages from Lily. Normally after a game she sends me one.

I pull up her contact and call her. It rings a bunch of times and goes to voice mail. I close my eyes at the sound of her voice, telling me to leave a message at the tone.

I take a deep breath after the beep. At first I consider hanging up, but then I figure she's going to know it's me from the number, and all I've done so far is pervert breathe. Miller comes out of the bathroom as I start talking. "Some girl wanted to f.u.c.k me tonight. She looked kinda like you. Well, only her hair, but not even-"

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?" Miller smacks the phone out of my hand.

"I'm leaving a message."