Pucked Off (The Pucked Series)

by Helena Hunting

  “You should go get your friend.” I toss the phone to her.

  “That’s it?”

  I give her a blank look.

  “Okay, fine. Suit yourself. I’ll be in Chicago in a few weeks.”

  “You’re not getting me, Tash. This is it. There’s no more. We’re toxic for each other, and you need…something I can’t give you. I won’t do this with you any more. I don’t want to.”

  “Because of this girl?”

  “Yes. And because I can finally see what I was doing to myself, and letting you do to me. I don’t want to be this way, and I don’t have to.”

  “I could try—”

  “I don’t want you to. I don’t want to try with you. Look what you just did to me. I can’t trust you. I need you to stop. Leave Poppy alone. Whatever happens between her and me after this, I can’t have you messing with her life the way you did mine.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  I give her a look. “It would only take a phone call. You know that. It’s not something I want to do, but I will if you force me.”

  Tash laughs, but it’s a flat sound. “So that’s it?”

  “Aye. You need to go.” When she takes a step toward me, I put a hand up and ward her off.

  Her head drops. “Okay. I’ll go.”

  “And I mean it when I say no contact. Especially with Poppy.”

  Her expression is broken as she regards me. “Fine.”

  As soon as the door clicks behind her, I drop to the couch. I’m shaky and on edge, as is typical after altercations with Tash. But there’s a tiny little seed of relief within me too. Tash may not have gotten my message, but I think I did. I’m ready to move forward. Be different. Even if it’s a hard road ahead.

  I need something to replace all this unease, so I send a message to Poppy. She’s been so trusting, and now Tash has to come in and try to fuck it all up. What a fantastic legacy that will be if I’ve managed to get rid of her, only just a little too late.

  It’s the middle of the night, so I don’t expect a reply. All I can do is hope I’m the first person she calls when she gets up in the morning. If I’m not, things are going to be that much worse.

  CHAPTER 22

  HOW MUCH REALITY

  IS TOO MUCH?

  POPPY

  My phone wakes me, not because the alarm is going off, but because it’s ringing. I don’t get to it before it stops. I have enough time to note a million and one alerts lighting up my screen before it rings again.

  It’s Lance.

  My stomach flips. He’s coming home today. He’s sleeping over tonight. Well, he’s staying over; based on the messages we’ve exchanged the past few days, I don’t think much sleeping will be involved.

  I answer the call. “Hi.” My voice is sleep raspy.

  “Fuck. Thank fuck. Hey. Hi. I woke you, didn’t I?”

  Something in his tone puts me on edge. I roll onto my back, willing my heart to stop slamming around in my chest. “I have to get up soon anyway. Is everything okay? You sound…agitated.”

  Lance clears his throat. “Everything’s, uh, a little fucked up, to be honest.”

  The anxiety I’ve been working so hard to curb via extra yoga sessions, cookies and tea with Mr. Goldberg, and nights out with April this week suddenly wraps its fingers around my throat and squeezes the air out of my lungs.

  “I need you—” Noise in the background makes it hard to hear him for a few seconds. “—Please, Poppy.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

  “Poppy? You there?”

  “Here. Sorry. I missed some of that.”

  He exhales in a rush, the sound whooshing into my ear. It matches the blood pumping through my veins. “How much you miss?”

  “All I got was that things are fucked up and the I need you part.”

  “Look, Poppy, I’m gonna ask you to do something, and it’s gonna make you want to do the opposite.”

  “This doesn’t sound good.”

  “I know. Just hear me out, please?”

  “Okaayyy.” I sit up in bed and pull Lance’s T-shirt over my knees. I’ve been sleeping in it the entire time he’s been gone. It smells like his aftershave and him, and a little like sex.

  “So, I need you to avoid all your social media accounts until I’m back in Chicago.”

  I can hear his fingers tapping on something. Maybe the phone. “That’s a very specific, suspect request, Lance.”

  “I know, I know. And I can explain, but I need to be there with you to do it.”

  I try to keep my voice even. “What’s on my social media that I shouldn’t see?”

  Another heavy breath, a pained sound, and repetitive thumping follow. Long seconds pass before he speaks again, this time in a whisper. “Someone sent you a picture, and I don’t want you to see it—not without me there so I can explain.”

  “Is this a joke? Like last time when you showed up at my work all freaked out? Because if it is, it’s not a very good one.”

  “I wish it was a joke, but it’s not.”

  The lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow. “This sounds really bad, Lance.”

  “I know it does, and I know not explaining right now is probably making it way fucking worse, but I really need this from you. I’m getting on a plane soon. I’ll be home in a few hours. Can you please, please just give me until I’m with you?”

  “Were you with someone else?”

  “No, no. Absolutely not, Poppy. I fucking promise. No.”

  My heart seems to dislodge from my throat a bit. “Then I don’t understand what’s so dire about this situation that I need to avoid all my social media.”

  “You remember the dick on Miller’s forehead, and how nothing really happened but it looked like something happened?”

  My heart is right back up in my throat again. “Yes.”

  “It’s kinda like that.”

  “I see.”

  “So I’d really appreciate it if you could wait for me. So I can explain before you decide you never want to see me again, ’cause I don’t wanna be that guy who sits outside your house waiting until you come home so I can talk to you.”

  “You’re making it seem bad again.”

  “Shit. Sorry. I’m not trying to. I just need a chance to explain before you make any kind of decision.”

  He makes it sound so final, like whatever I’m going to see will end this. Us.

  “You do realize how much more this makes me want to look, right?”

  “I get that, but I’m banking on you being the good, rule-abiding girl you usually are and waiting for me. Will you do that? Wait for me?”

  I think about the conversation we had before he left and how so many people in his life seem to have abandoned him when he needed them most.

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  “Promise?”

  I sigh. “Promise.”

  “Thank you, precious. I gotta get on the plane. I’ll see you soon.”

  And then he’s gone, and I’m left staring at my phone, wondering exactly what could’ve happened to make him react like that. I can look right now and find out. But Lance is right about me—I’m a rule follower. I made a promise, and I won’t break it.

  I’m so glad I have back-to-back appointments all day. Otherwise I would crack and check all my social media feeds, like I promised I wouldn’t. Lunch was a challenge.

  I haven’t said anything to April, partly because I haven’t had more than four seconds alone with her, and also because she is not a rule follower and will persuade me to check. The anxiety is killing me. I feel like I’ve had a thousand cups of coffee when I’ve only had two.

  I’m in the middle of changing the sheets when the door to my room bursts open, and Lance comes barreling in. He slams the door shut. His eyes are wide, his jaw is tight, and his hair is a burned field in a windstorm. He looks incredible, and like his anxiety rivals mine.

  He crosses the room in two long str
ides and takes my face in his hands.

  “Just in case,” he mutters, then crushes his mouth to mine.

  He smells like plane and faintly of aftershave. I try to protest, because seriously, what the hell is going on—but his tongue slips in and stops any words. He groans, despondent and low as his hand slides around to cup the back of my head. The other finds my waist, pulling me tight against him.

  It feels so, so good. Five days of brief conversations and heated messages, five days of waiting for him to come home, and here he is. But there’s weight in his return, and bad things are coming. I can feel it in his desperation.

  I put my hands on his chest and push. He makes a tormented sound, and his tongue sweeps my mouth once, twice more before he pulls away. But he doesn’t let me go. He searches my face and caresses my cheek with gentle fingers.

  “You didn’t look.”

  “I said I wouldn’t.”

  “I was still worried. How much longer are you here? Can I wait? Can I take you home when you’re done?”

  “I have my car here, and I still have three more appointments.” I push on his chest again until he finally lets me go.

  “So you’re here until, like, five?” He rakes a hand through his hair.

  “About that, yes.”

  “I guess I should’ve asked that when I had you on the phone earlier, aye? Can I still wait?”

  “I have a few minutes between clients now.” I don’t know that I can take three more hours of this kind of torture.

  “I don’t wanna do this here.”

  “None of this is reassuring, Lance. You showing up like this, the call this morning, the secrecy. You get that, right?”

  “I do. I get it. I know I’m stressing you out. I just want enough time to explain.”

  His anxiety is enough to make me concede. “You can meet me at my house, if you want.”

  “Can I take your phone?”

  I raise a brow, and he closes his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Sorry. That was a stupid thing to ask. Should I wait outside or—” He bites his lip.

  Against my better judgment, I relent. “Let me get my keys for you.”

  I grab them from my purse. When I turn back, his hands are jammed into his pockets. I dangle the keys from my finger.

  He takes my hand and the keys and brings my knuckle to his lips. “I missed you.”

  I stare up at him, trying to decide if I’m an idiot for doing as he asks. I missed him too, but telling him that now doesn’t seem like an option.

  “I’ll be waiting for you. Will you still wait for me?”

  “Yes. I’ll wait for you.”

  When he leans in to kiss me, I give him my cheek. His lips linger there anyway.

  I arrive home at 5:09. Lance is sitting on the front steps. He’s showered and changed since I saw him earlier. He’s wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt that makes his pale eyes look even paler, and a bouquet of flowers and bag of Jelly Babies sit on the stoop beside him. He stands, running his hands down his denim-covered thighs. He reaches down and grabs the gifts.

  “Did the key not work?”

  “It did. I wanted to be out here when you got home.” He holds out the flowers.

  “Is this to soften the blow?” I try to make it come out light, but it doesn’t. The waver in my voice is far too telling.

  Lance winces as if my words cause him physical pain. I realize maybe they do, because his reality as a child was exactly that.

  I take the flowers and start to move past him to open the door, but he gets there first, twisting the knob, then stepping out of the way. He follows me through to the kitchen where I set the flowers on the counter.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Just water, please.” His fingers move to his mouth. He stops himself and jams them back in his pockets.

  Neither of us speaks as I fill two glasses with ice and water, pushing one toward Lance. Leaving the flowers on the counter, I dig around in my purse until I find my phone.

  “Do you want to have a seat?” I motion to the living room.

  My stomach is a churning mess. I haven’t eaten a thing today. My mouth is dry, and I want to get this over with so I can handle whatever is coming at me.

  “Do you want to change first or anything? I know you’ve had a long day.”

  “I just want to have this conversation.”

  “Right. Aye. Okay.” Lance sits in the middle of the couch, forcing me into close proximity.

  I angle my shoulders toward him, but keep my knees far away from his. I take a sip of water, but my stomach revolts even against that, so I set it down on the table and grip my phone with both hands.

  Lance takes a huge gulp of water before he sets the glass down and turns to me, his expression reflecting my fear. “So you know that woman I was involved with a while back?”

  My body feels like it’s going numb and hyper-activating at the same time. “The complicated one.”

  “Yeah. It was. It is.”

  “Is? As in still?” The conversation I overheard the night before he left, which has been plaguing me the entire time he’s been gone, plays through my head. I hate that I didn’t confront him about it then.

  He nods. His palms smooth up and down his thighs again. I want to put my hand over his to stop the action, because it makes me even more nervous.

  “She lives in LA.”

  A chill runs down my spine. “Where you played last night.”

  “Aye.”

  “And she was there?”

  “I told her I didn’t want to see her, but she’s not so good at listening, and she used to work with the team, so she always comes by when we’re in town.”

  “She worked with the team?” I don’t understand how he could’ve been involved with someone he worked with.

  “We trained with her.”

  “Isn’t that not allowed?”

  “Yeah.” His head drops. “That’s part of the reason it was so complicated. Anyway, I went right up to my room after the game. I didn’t stop at the bar, ’cause I worried she’d be there.”

  I try not to fidget with my phone. “But you ended up seeing her anyway?”

  “She plays head games, Poppy. She pulls this shit all the time. She’s got issues. Worse than me.”

  I want to tell him he doesn’t have issues, but that’s not true.

  “So what happened?”

  “By the time Rookie came up, I was already asleep. I tried to call you before I went to bed, but it was late here.” He reaches out like he wants to touch me, but when I jerk away; he retracts his hand, nodding like he understands my reluctance. “Anyway, he wasn’t alone when he came up.”

  “He brought a girl with him?” I don’t ask any of the questions that spring to mind, like what was he planning to do, have sex in the bed next to Lance’s?

  “He brought two.”

  “Was he planning to share?” I bite out.

  Lance shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe? Every time he brings a girl up, I take the couch in Miller and Randy’s room. And I’m gonna ask Coach if we can switch it up with the roommate situation before the next trip.”

  “He brings girls up to the room while you’re there?”

  He licks his lips and looks at his lap. It makes my heart ache like it’s being squeezed. “Sometimes the bunnies have their own rooms in the hotel, in case of hook ups.”

  “Sometimes but not always.” It’s a statement, not a question. And I know the answer is going to hurt.

  “Aye.”

  “So your roommate brought up two girls.”

  “Aye.”

  “And what happened?”

  “One of them was Tash, the woman I was involved with. He didn’t know who she was. He hasn’t met her before.”

  “I see.”

  “Nothing happened with her. Not with me. Not with Rookie. But there’s a picture that makes it look like something did. She wanted it that way.”

  “When was the last time you were with her?”r />
  “I saw her the night before I first came to see you at the clinic. But whatever we had was over a long time before that.”

  I close my eyes and try not to react to that information. I try not to envision him with her the way he’s been with me, in my bed. “And you slept with her then?”

  He shakes his head. “No. She wanted me to, but I wouldn’t. She tricked me.”

  “Tricked you?”

  “She brought someone with her.”

  “Another woman.”

  “Aye.”

  His fingers go to his mouth and then drop to his thighs. His eyes dart around and shame makes it impossible for him to look at me.

  I don’t want him to feel shame for his actions, for the things he’s done in the past. I don’t want him to feel like he’s worth less because of his choices. But I do want to understand why he felt compelled to make those choices.

  “And this is something she did often? Even though you’d told her you wanted to be exclusive?”

  He chews on his fingernails. It makes him look more boy than man. “Bring other girls?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aye.”

  “And what happened then?”

  I get more fidgeting, more avoiding eye contact.

  “Lance?”

  “I used to give her what she wanted.”

  “Which was?”

  “To take care of the situation.”

  He’s not going to come out and say it, and I can’t blame him. I need to find a way to say what I want to without him shutting down.

  “Did you want it to happen or did you let it?”

  “Let.”

  “Why?”

  “What?” He glances up.

  “Why would you let that happen if you didn’t want it to?”

  “Because she expected it. Because I thought maybe eventually I’d be enough. Because I didn’t think I deserved to have what I wanted.”

  My heart breaks for him. “What if I wanted that? Would you let it happen?”

  His face crumples. “You would never want that.”

  “How do you know?” I’m not asking to hurt him, but because I want to understand his thought process.

  “You’re not like that. You’re too precious for that.” His voice is hard, like stone.

  I place a palm against his cheek, hoping to calm the sudden surge of energy that seems to course through him. “You’re right. I would never ask that of you. I value you more than that.”