Puck Performance: BTU Alumni Series Book #4

by Ciz, Alley

  The rails on either side of the hospital bed are meant to keep the patient safe, but as my hands wrap around the hard plastic, I pray they can do the same for me.

  “I swear, if you weren’t about to give birth to my nephew, I’d kick your ass. You don’t text that sort of infor—”

  Jase’s words cut off and his eyes flare—flashing gold with anger and not green with love—when he spots me standing next to his sister’s beside.

  A kaleidoscope of emotions flashes across his features before he pulls on the same mask I’ve seen him use on the ice. Gone is the man I fell in love with; in his place is the hardened enforcer feared throughout the NHL.

  The lyrics to “Ten Duel Commandments” play through my mind as we stand off against each other, only his laboring sister between us.

  I wish things could be like the musicals I’ve made my life’s work, because I really wish I could break out in song right now. Everything is better when said in song. And with jazz hands. Can’t forget the jazz hands.

  “Broadway!” Cali cries, rushing around his friend, who is frozen in place, and rounding the end of the hospital bed to hug me. My eyes flutter shut as I fall into his embrace to attempt to rid myself of the chill Jase’s dead stare gave.

  “Hey, Cali.” I hold on just a little longer.

  “Well shit, Jordan.” Cali’s hands curve around my shoulders, holding me out for his inspection as he speaks to her. “You should have told us there was a dress code for this thing.” Again he scans the white dress I have on. “I feel supremely underdressed.”

  Trust Cali to break the tension. It really is no surprise he and Jase are such good friends. They are both ridiculous, yet so damn genuine.

  And you threw it all away with a lie.

  Clearly, I’m my own worst enemy.

  I don’t have to look to know Jase is still glaring at me; I can practically feel the tips of the daggers he shoots my way slicing into my skin.

  “Why are you here?” Jase’s hard voice cuts deep.

  “Um…” I drop my gaze to Jordan, who shoots me a sympathetic look.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Bishop.”

  Ouch.

  Not Sweet Potato.

  Not baby.

  Not Mels.

  Not even Brightly.

  I’m Bishop now.

  “Jase,” Jordan scolds since I’ve forgotten how to speak.

  My eyes blink back tears.

  His continue to shoot daggers.

  “I’m…I’m sorry.” The words come out more sob than speech.

  “You’re sorry?” Jase retorts incredulously.

  Faltering under his harsh glare, I can only manage a nod.

  “Liars aren’t welcome here.”

  “Jase!” Jordan shouts, but he ignores her. He’s radiating animosity.

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  Every time I heard him mention the feud with Nate, each insult I had to hear and sit through…it was like a knife in the back not to come to my brother’s defense. The guilt that ate away daily over lying to the two men I loved the most in this world…

  None of it could have prepared me for what I feel under his hateful gaze.

  “Even your brother”—he spits the word—“who hates my guts, has always had the balls to at least tell me the truth.”

  “Bro.” This time it’s Cali who jumps in.

  “No wonder your parents don’t come around.” If he physically flayed me open it, wouldn’t be as painful as this. “But I get it.” He shrugs like his vile words are nothing more than a passing thought. “If you’re anything like your brother, I wouldn’t want to be around you either.”

  “Jason!” Jordan bellows.

  “Whoa, not cool, bro,” Cali adds.

  All the air is sucked from the room and I can’t breathe, crushed under the weight of my broken heart.

  I—

  I need to get out of here before I completely lose my shit.

  Shrugging out of Cali’s hold, I turn on my heel and flee.

  I barely register Jordan’s protest or Cali’s shout of surprise as I run down the hallway of the hospital, the stomp-stomp-stomp of my heels marking my progress to the elevator.

  My hands slap the wall as I crash a palm against the button to call the elevator, hitting it repeatedly in my haste. Intellectually, I know pressing it doesn’t make it arrive faster, but intellect has left the building, replaced by pure emotion.

  Come on, come on, come on, I beg.

  Press-press-press.

  Ding!

  A sob breaks free and I rush into the thankfully empty car, collapsing against the wall.

  The doors close, the car begins its descent, and finally I lose the battle, the tears falling freely.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you?!”

  I drop my gaze to where JD is glowering at me from the adjustable bed. Blue and white hospital gown on, IV inserted in her left arm, actively in labor—none of it takes away from the you are a fucking idiot glare she hurls at me.

  I see it, but at the same time I don’t. Nothing’s really registering since coming face to face with Melody for the first time in weeks.

  And, holy fuck, what a sight she was. Marilyn Monroe may have been the sex symbol of an era, but the bombshell has nothing on my girl in that white dress.

  Shit! She’s not your girl anymore, asshole. You walked away from her—literally.

  It’s true. I can’t deny it or, hell, even justify the way I left her standing in the tunnels under the Garden without a word. Can I even consider us broken up since I technically never said the words?

  Seriously, who does that?

  I’m an idiot.

  No—you, sir, are an asshole. Wombmate’s got it right. What the fuck did you just do? What you just said might be the most vile stuff to come out of your mouth—ever.

  “Jason.” What the fuck?! screams JD’s look as she thrusts an arm toward the door behind me. “Why are you just standing there?”

  I blink, slowly swiveling my head around to see the once-again-shut door.

  “Go. After. Her.”

  I want to. I really do.

  But I can’t.

  I won’t.

  Just like I haven’t been able to send any of the hundreds of text messages I’ve composed, only to delete them.

  I’ve been a mess, a complete shut-in outside of hockey.

  Honestly, I can’t believe my door hasn’t been knocked down by my family demanding answers.

  I know they know we broke up.

  I know they know why we broke up.

  I love her. I know for a fact I do. Yes, I mean in the present tense.

  But…

  I don’t deserve her. I let her go before she figured it out for herself.

  What is it they say? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

  If walking away then ignoring her didn’t make me lose her, the shit I just said will.

  “Jesus Christ, Jason.” I wince; that’s the third time JD’s used my full name. “I don’t understand.”

  Join the club.

  “I thought you giving up was bad, but that?” She again thrusts an arm at the door, wincing when the IV pulls from the aggressiveness of the action. “What you just did here…”

  I want to tell her. I want to be able to lay out all my fears, my insecurities, let her take them away and make me feel whole the way only she can because she’s my other half and always has been. When one of us falls, the other is there to lift them up.

  It’s our motto, an unspoken oath since we shared a womb.

  How am I supposed to tell her I broke our vow to each other by keeping this from her?

  And if I can’t tell Jordan, how the fuck do I explain it to Mels?

  I can’t.

  So I don’t.

  Instead, I run, and when that doesn’t work, I push.

  “This isn’t you, Jason.” Another use of the full
name. “You’re a fighter, a protector. It’s who you are. Why else do you think you became a defender?”

  Because I would never be good enough to compete with Ryan on offense.

  The thought is ugly and not what I need right now.

  “You push, and you prod, and you make sure everyone else goes after what makes them happy, and yet you do nothing when it comes to your own happiness.”

  My gaze slides to the floor, studying the scuff marks on the linoleum. I may not have told Mels about my hang-ups, but I sure as shit knew hers—the information about Nate notwithstanding. After maliciously using them against her, I know it will be a while before I can look at myself in the mirror. And JD? Our eyes are the same, and whatever I might see in them would be a million times worse than any reflection.

  My phone is out of my pocket and in my hands without me even realizing I reached for it. My thumbs fly across the screen, typing out a message, begging Mels to come back.

  I hover over the send button, the blue arrow mocking me, daring me to tap it.

  I shift an inch, and like the thousand or so that came before this one, I keep my finger on the delete button until this message is gone, just like its predecessors.

  I made my bed. Time for me to lie in the emptiness of it.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  April

  Dropping my bag to the floor with a thud, I fall back on the bed, spread out like a starfish. There’s a sense of relief that comes with being out of the city, away from the island that is home to both my heartbreak and my heartbreaker.

  I keep waiting for the day when it won’t hurt so much. Don’t they say time heals all wounds? Well, whoever they are can go fuck themselves, because they are full of shit. The breakup happened a month ago—it’s been two weeks since the smackdown in the hospital—and the cracks in my heart have not gotten any smaller. No, those bitches are as deep as the Grand Canyon.

  The worst part? I can’t even blame Jase for the mean things he said to me. I lied. For months.

  I could have told the truth—should have told the truth.

  My phone sits on the nightstand, mocking me with its silence.

  Zero texts from Jase. Not that I’ve sent any since that day.

  No response from my parents about going to dinner now that we are in the same city.

  Silence, silence, silence.

  Like the creeper I’ve become, I grab my phone, pulling up Jase’s Instagram and scrolling through his posts.

  Hockey.

  Hockey.

  More hockey.

  Baby Logan.

  Hockey again.

  Mario Kart meme.

  Hockey.

  Hockey.

  Not a potato reference in sight.

  The other thing lacking from his feed? A single taunt to Nate.

  When I come to about the dozenth post about hockey, I toss my phone to the bed, wincing when it bounces off the mattress and hits the floor with a smack.

  I don’t have time to wallow in self-pity. I need to be at the theater in half an hour for our final rehearsal before tomorrow night’s previews begin. It’s the final push before opening night, the last opportunity to test out material before we debut the show back in New York.

  Seven days.

  Nine performances.

  One potentially awkward, needs-to-happen conversation with my older brother.

  Good times, Boston. Real good times.

  Rolling from the bed, I hoist my bag up to start unpacking. I hate living out of a suitcase, so this is always the first thing I do.

  The alarm on my phone dings, telling me it’s time to go or I’ll be late.

  There’s only one thing left to unpack.

  Unwrapping it from the hoodie I used to protect it during transport, I pull out Mr. Potato Head and set him on the bedside table.

  Yes, I brought him with me. Yes, I know it makes me pathetic, but whatever. At least I’ve stopped texting him.

  Once all his pieces are back in place, I kiss the spud on the top of his little plastic hat and leave.

  The show must go on, after all.

  * * *

  Honey, honey, honey. Where the hell did I put the honey?

  I scan the counter in my dressing room for the little plastic bear filled with golden nectar.

  Preview number five is in the books, and my throat needs the relief only a giant cup of hot chamomile tea with honey can offer. I’ve had to cut the wine out of my diet completely for the sake of my vocal cords—something my heart is still picketing in protest.

  There you are. I spot the sucker peeking out from underneath my brown Norma Jean wig from act one.

  I place it on top of the mannequin head I’m supposed to store my wigs on.

  A check of the time confirms what I already knew—Nate is late.

  Or he’s not coming.

  I do my best to ignore how much the idea of that particular scenario hurts and instead focus on preparing my tea.

  My thumbnail traces over the tragedy and comedy masks engraved on the wooden tea box Jamie gifted me when he learned we like the same tea to soothe the throat.

  Unfortunately, all it does is make me think of Jase—again.

  Jase who is gone.

  Jase who hates me.

  Jase who I still love.

  The friends I can no longer contact because it hurts too much to have a connection to the one who broke my heart and not have him in my life.

  The same friends who had planned on coming to my show to support me because that’s what they do and my own family—except Nate—can’t be bothered.

  Nate who always comes.

  Except…

  Nate’s not here.

  Chapter Fifty

  I flip my phone in my hand.

  Screen up.

  Push with my thumb.

  Screen down.

  Another roll of my thumb.

  Over and over it rotates, screen side up then screen side down. Each time the screen faces me, it lights up with the picture of Melody kissing her Mr. Potato Head and a fresh arrow of pain hits my heart.

  I’m an idiot.

  A moron of epic proportions.

  Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me?

  Who the hell cares who her brother is?

  I did—but not anymore.

  The entire month of March is a blur, the only memory not hazy being the utter devastation on Melody’s beautiful face in JD’s hospital room weeks ago.

  Fuck.

  I know all about how crappy of a family tree my girl has, and what did I do? I beat her with the branches of it.

  I am in love with Melody Brightly (Bishop)—whatever. The name part isn’t important; the fact that I will never stop loving her is.

  I need to fix this, but even I know it will take more than a simple apology.

  It’s grand gesture time, and it’s a good thing I have an entire orchard of support behind me.

  My issues with Nate Bishop are exactly that—mine. They should have no bearing on Mels and me. I’ll have to figure out a way to bury the hatchet—and not in his back like I would prefer—if I want to have a shot at my happily ever after.

  It’s time to come clean about the underlying issues the rivalry fed off of once and for all. Owning my shit will fix half the problem.

  The other half? Well…Nate and I will have to learn how to deal with it like men and not the immature boys we’ve been acting like.

  Before I lose my nerve or throw up—both options equally likely—I click one of the favorites saved in my contacts.

  I shuffle my feet, unable to stay still, the ringing on the other end of the line like nails on a chalkboard as I wait for the call to connect.

  “Hey, bro.” Ryan’s standard greeting eases the storm brewing inside me.

  “Hey, Ry.”

  “What’s wrong?” Leave it to him to pick up on my distress immediately.

  I swallow down the hockey puck in my throat and remind myself this is Ryan, my big brother,
my closet confidant outside of the person I shared a womb with. I can tell him anything without him taking offense.

  “You busy?” I ask instead of answering.

  “Not really. I was gonna head over to Chance’s to watch the Fire game, but that’s not as important as whatever is going on with you right now.”

  I’m tight with most of the guys on the Storm, but the Blizzards are a cohesive family under Ryan’s leadership. The things that make him a great captain are all the things that make him the best big brother.

  “You’re home?”

  “Yup.”

  “Video chat?” I’m already stepping into my living room and grabbing the remote.

  “Sure.” There’s a click and the call disconnects. A couple of seconds later a goofy picture of Ryan with glittery makeup courtesy of Carlee fills my television.

  “All right, little brother. Tell me what ails you.”

  I swear, being a smartass has to be in our DNA.

  Where do I start?

  How do I start?

  How do I tell my older brother, one of my biggest supporters, the guy who would lay down his life for those he loves that I’ve felt inadequate because he’s my brother?

  “I take it this is about Melody?” he asks after I’ve been silent for a minute.

  “She’s part of it.”

  “And the other part?”

  “Um…” I shift forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and drop my head into my hands, raking them through my hair.

  “Look.” I lift my head to see Ryan has shifted to mirror my stance, blue eyes locked on the camera. “I understand you feel betrayed by her not telling you Bishop is her brother—a topic we can discuss at another time—but if you love her, you can’t let her go.”

  “I know.”

  “Take it from someone who lost the love of his life for good—it sucks. There’s nothing I can do about my situation, but you can.”

  I fill my lungs fully before letting the breath out of my mouth in a steady stream of air.

  “I already decided that before I called. I even have an idea for how I can win her back, but none of it will matter if I can’t make peace with Bishop first.”