Puck Love

by Carmen Jenner

  “No, you just tell the whole world you’re a virgin when you’re fucking me like a pro,” he seethes. “At least I’m damn honest. What else are you lying about, Stella?”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Already did, baby, but any time you wanna be a dirty girl again, you just call me up, okay?”

  “Oh my god, you know none of this would have happened if it weren’t for—”

  “For what? Me? You think I sold you out?”

  “I didn’t say you.”

  “Then who? Eli? My mom?” It dawns on him then. I see it in the way his eyes narrow. Van shakes his head. “No. That’s not it. You think Emmett told the press.”

  I don’t want to believe it because I love Emmett, and I highly doubt he went to the tabloids, but maybe he told someone at work, or at his social group. “How else would anyone link the two of us?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. That’s far too big a leap to make. What could country’s good girl possibly want with a piece of shit like me?”

  “Van, you’re not helping here.”

  “Oh, I’m not helping? See, here I thought I’d helped you quite a lot these past few weeks, but my mistake. I didn’t realize you didn’t need me after all—just my house.”

  “I can’t stay here now.”

  “Could you before? Come on, Stella. Are we really going to pretend this isn’t just some midlife crisis for you, and that you’re not going to go running back to your people and forget all about that Canadian guy you screwed over?”

  “Screwed over?” I shake my head. I haven’t the first clue what he means by that. How exactly have I screwed him? “If anyone is screwed here, it’s me, and I don’t have people, Van. Don’t you get it? I’m it. I don’t have family or friends. All I have is a stadium full of people who think they know me. You get to walk away clean from all of this.” I lower my voice in a poor imitation of a man’s. “Van Ross is such a stud. He boned a virgin.” Hot tears spring up in my eyes. “Meanwhile, my career will be in tatters the second those pictures hit the internet.”

  “Why? Because the world might learn that you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be? Fuck what everyone says.” Van scrubs his hand through his beard, raking at the coarse hair as if he’d like to rip it out in frustration. “If you let go of what everyone thinks, of what everyone wants you to be, and just be you, just for a second, you might realize no one gives a shit if you give it up to an NHL player or a goddamn asshole roadie. It’s none of their business anyway.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You have a penis—technically, that’s a free pass to do anything you want. It’s different for women.” I bury my face in my hands. “The press is going to have a field day with this. My name will be dragged through the mud, but that doesn’t matter to you because your career isn’t over, just mine.”

  “Jesus Christ. Are you listening to yourself? Stop trying to be so fucking perfect and just be real with yourself, with me. So the whole world is going to know you’re no longer a virgin. Who gives a fucking shit?”

  “I do!”

  “Why? You think anybody cares if you have sex or not? Tomorrow, some other starlet will be making headlines and this story will be lining for kitty-litter boxes all over the country.” He rakes a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “And you’re not alone. I don’t wanna hear you say that shit again. You have me.”

  “No, I don’t,” I say, blinking back tears. I don’t have him. I don’t have anyone. For all I know he sold me out to the press, or his family did. “I have a shit-ton of regret, and that’s all I have.”

  He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Right, well I’m sorry your stay here at Lodge Ross wasn’t a better one. I thought we were connecting. Turns out I was just fodder for another country song.”

  “Van,” I say, reaching out to grab his arm, but he yanks out of my grasp. He grabs a pair of jeans from his walk-in closet and throws them on. He pulls out a worn Henley, and puts it on, struggling with it over his injured shoulder. I resist the urge to go to him, to help pull the material down over his large chest. It seems too personal after what just happened, as though the paps are still watching.

  The doorbell rings again, and I stare at Van. Silence hangs heavy between us. There’s nothing more to say, really. I think he knows that too, because when the doorbell rings a little more insistently this time, he walks out of the room and hurries downstairs. I follow, because I’m afraid he’s going to do something stupid again like break more paparazzo face, but when he swings the door back, it isn’t paps we’re faced with. It’s something much worse.

  “Shit,” I mutter, and both men glance at me.

  Van snarls. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m Logan Bryant.”

  “And?”

  “He’s here for me.” I step out from behind Van.

  “Who the fuck is this?” Van demands, “Why is he here, Stella?”

  “Why are you here, Stella?” Logan says. He’s angry, which kind of comes as a surprise, because Logan is usually so unaffected by everything. Unless it means his ego is taking a hit. “Do you know how crazy I’ve been going, not knowing where you are? I almost had to cancel three shows of my tour.”

  “Who is this jackass?” Van demands. Bile rises in my belly as I meet his gaze, and I’m sure guilt is written all over my face. “Stella?”

  I’m not prepared for the hurt I hear in his voice. I’m not prepared for his questions or the way his pretty blue eyes beg me to tell him the truth.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Heat claws at my cheeks. My breathing comes in shallow pants, and that crushing anvil feels as if it’s sitting on my chest again, weighing down my heart with panic until I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating on emptiness, on regret and fear.

  “I’m her boyfriend,” Logan hisses. “Who the fuck are you?”

  This is not how I wanted him to find out. It doesn’t mean anything, Logan showing up here. I find my voice, but from the look on Van’s face, it’s too late. “I can explain.”

  “Then you better start,” Logan says.

  “You had a boyfriend this whole time I’ve been fucking you?”

  “No, Van, it’s not—”

  “Don’t you talk to her like that.”

  Tears spring free from my eyes, and I swat them away with the back of my hand. “Why? So you can, Logan? Don’t pretend you’re here for me. You’re only here to protect your precious career.”

  Logan’s jaw drops, and his eyes widen in horror, but it’s as false as our relationship. “I love you, Stella. I may not always show it, but finding out you’ve been here, with him, when you couldn’t give yourself to me in two years—”

  “Two years?” Van shakes his head. His jaw is set, and his eyes burn with anger. “Nice of you to share that before I was buried balls deep inside you. Shit, and here I thought you only lied to everyone else.”

  “Van, it isn’t like that.”

  He sneers. “Then what’s it like?”

  “This relationship was a goddamn publicity stunt. Our label pushed us together because it sold more records.”

  “Stella, that might be how we started, but you should know I’d do anything for you. I planned on proposing this Christmas,” Logan says. I blink several times. Is he freaking kidding me?

  “Let me guess—in time with your Christmas album release?” I shake my head. “You should know I would have turned you down.” As if I would ever say yes to a man who used me to further his own career. “You know what? I can’t do this with you, Logan. You need to leave.”

  “I think you both should go,” Van says.

  I turn to him, begging him with my gaze to let me explain. “Van, please?”

  “Just go, Stella, before your lies fuck up anything else.”

  I don’t move towards the door, but I take a step toward him. I reach for his hand and link it with my own, pressing it against my chest. I beseech him, but he won’t look at me. I reach up and stroke the side o
f his face. “Van, please? You have to listen to me. You have to believe me when I say that Logan and I are—”

  He wrenches out of my grasp and leans toward me, screaming in my face, “Go! What the fuck are you waiting for? You want me to call the cops and have you removed? Fuck off back to your little world, and your plastic boyfriend, and don’t you dare think about darkening my doorstep again when you need someplace to escape to.”

  Shaking, I take several steps back into Logan’s arms. He attempts to hold me, but I shove past and flee through the front door, and I don’t look back at either one of them. I just head for the SUV.

  I’m met with Logan’s driver, Jonathan. Of course, he had Jonathan bring him here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had someone wipe his own ass for him. Jonathan nods and opens the door for me. I climb inside. I half expect Logan to ride in the front, so my uncleanliness doesn’t touch him, but he slides in beside me, and Jonathan closes the door.

  As Jonathon climbs in the driver’s seat, I finally find the courage to glance back at the house. Van isn’t waiting on the doorstep. His front door is closed to me, likely forever. The SUV moves down the long drive, and I shut my eyes as tears roll down my cheeks, unchecked.

  “Do you have any idea how much you’ve humiliated me?” Logan seethes. I don’t look at him. He lashes out and strikes me with his hand. A solid thwack to my left cheekbone. My head throbs, and hot tears prick my eyes and roll over my smarting flesh. I’m so shocked that all I can do is sit there with my hand pressed to my cheek and fear in my heart. When I glare at Logan, his expression is just as shocked as mine. He raises his hand to my face, and I flinch and cower against the door.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” He shifts closer and slides his fingers through mine. I attempt to yank free but he squeezes my hand so tight I fear my bones might break.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  His grip loosens a little, but not so much that I can take my hand back. “Stella, come on, baby. I didn’t mean to; it just happened.”

  “Lay a hand on me again, and I’ll go public so fast your precious career will be in the gutter before I can finish a sentence,” I say through my teeth. This time, I do snatch my hand back and I shift across the cab, wondering if I opened my door right now whether I’d fall down the side of Van’s mountain. I pull the lever back, deciding the fall and the Canadian wilds are a much safer option, but it doesn’t budge. I hadn’t even heard Jonathan flip the central lock. Panic seizes my chest, but I close my eyes and tell my heart to be still. I’ll make a run for it the first chance I get. For now, I’ll wait, because I don’t see another option.

  Twenty minutes later, we pull into the Fairmont Hotel. The building looms over us, and I can’t help but feel as if it’s a completely different hotel than the one I passed with Emmett and Van the day we went hunting moose. I feel like a different person than the woman who passed by here with the Rosses. In a lot of ways, I guess I am. I yank the handle again, but I’m still locked in. I glare at Logan. “Let me out.”

  “We’re staying here tonight.”

  “I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home.”

  “Stella, don’t make another scene. You’ve done enough of that already,” he says, as Johnathan opens the door for me. I climb free of the SUV and attempt to run, but Logan is faster. He grabs my wrist and jerks me along beside him. Several paparazzi have pulled in behind us, and they exit their vehicles, shouting for our attention. The sounds of their camera shutters snapping picture after picture twist like a knife in my gut.

  “Good evening sir, madam.” The bellman looks a little shocked when Logan breezes past, practically dragging me behind him. I try to yank free, but Logan has me in a vise grip.

  “You’re the one making a scene by manhandling me in public,” I shout.

  “Well, if you’d been the good girl we all believed you to be and hadn’t run off with some hockey player, I wouldn’t need to manhandle you, now, would I?” he hisses as we walk through the lobby. I glance at the concierge standing behind the counter. She’s currently busy with other guests, but I’m not worried because we’ll have to check in anyway, though all of the check-in staff are nowhere to be seen. “We’re gonna go up to the room, just you and me, and talk about your behavior.”

  Logan doesn’t head for the reception at all, but straight for the bank of elevators. Panic seizes my heart, and I struggle. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  The guests have moved away from the front desk, toward the doors, and the concierge picks up the phone. The lobby is completely free of people. Logan pulls me toward the elevators, but I finally wrench free of his grasp and run toward the hotel employee. She looks a little alarmed as I get closer, but I don’t care. “Help me. Please,” I shout, and she quickly sets the phone down. Call me dramatic, and this all may be a gross overreaction, but the truth is, I don’t know this man at all. I don’t know what Logan is capable of. I certainly never thought he’d hit me, but my face is still stinging like a bitch.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  “Call nine-one-one. Logan Bryant just hit me in the back of his SUV, and he’s trying to take me up to his room against my will.”

  “Okay, ma’am. I need you to calm down.”

  “Just call, please?”

  Logan swears under his breath as he sidles up to me. Jonathon shadows him, and looks as if he’s waging some internal battle between right and wrong. “Stella, sweetheart,” Logan says in the mild-mannered voice he so often uses to get people to do exactly what he wants. “You’re being irrational.” He steps forward and reaches for my hand, but I take several steps toward the hotel doors.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “Mr. Bryant. Is there a problem here?”

  “No problem,” he assures the concierge with a counterfeit smile. “Just my stubborn future fiancée making a scene. I don’t know about you, sweet pea, but I’m ready for bed. Jonathan, grab her, will you?”

  Jonathan stares between the two of us. He looks uncomfortable as hell. “I’m sorry, sir. It appears she doesn’t want to go with us.”

  Logan’s temper flares. “I don’t give a shit what she wants.”

  The hotel security muscles in on Logan, squeezing himself between us. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “What? This is bullshit. Stella, tell them they’re making a mistake,” Logan shouts as the security guard edges him toward the door. My whole body trembles, and my head throbs from where he hit me. Even if I wanted to tell them Logan wasn’t a problem—which I don’t—I’m pretty sure they’d never believe me, what with the way I’m shaking. Johnathan follows behind the security guard.

  “Miss Hart, are you alright?” The concierge smiles sweetly.

  I shake my head. “Just Stella. I’m fine.”

  She nods. “My name’s Penny. The police are on their way. They’ll likely need a statement from you. Mr. Bryant’s belongings will be brought down from the room, and he’ll be removed from the premises immediately.”

  I nod, because I don’t know what else to say. My mind is on a constant loop of Logan raising his hand to me and practically dragging me toward his room. I shudder when I realize this could have been so much worse. I don’t dare think of Van, or his hurt expression, because if I do, I’ll likely fall apart right here in the hotel lobby. Penny offers me a Kleenex, and I stare blankly at the box.

  “You’re likely in shock, Miss Hart,” she says softly. I take a tissue and pat my face. I wasn’t even aware I was crying. “Let’s get you situated somewhere more comfortable, shall we?”

  “Thank you.”

  Her fingers fly over the keyboard of her computer, and she grabs two keycards and places them in the encoding machine before popping them in a tiny cardboard envelope with the hotel logo on it. “If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room.”

  “I don’t have any money,” I blurt out. “Or any credit cards or ID.”

  “That’s okay; your stay
here is on us. We can at least get you situated in a nice room until the police come to take your statement. If you decide you want to stay longer, then we’d be delighted to have you.”

  I frown and follow her across the lobby. “Why are you being so nice?”

  “My ex may not have been as high-profile as Logan Bryant, but let’s just say I’ve walked a mile in your shoes.”

  I shake my head. “He’s not normally like this.”

  She smiles tightly, as if she doesn’t believe me. I’m not trying to make excuses for him, but I feel guilty all the same. I don’t know what else to say, so I keep quiet as the elevator doors ding closed, and my stomach dips as the lift begins its ascent. I swallow hard; I’m shaking like a leaf. Not because he hit me, though that did hurt like a bitch, but because I realize I have no idea who Logan Bryant is, and if I wasn’t aware of what he was capable of before, I certainly am now.

  Penny steps off the elevator first and leads me to a room down a long hall where she opens the door with the keycard and gestures for me to enter the room.

  It’s a nice big suite with a sitting room, a balcony, and a Jacuzzi. I catch my reflection in the glass doors leading out onto the balcony and blanch. I hardly know the girl staring back at me. She’s pale as a sheet. One side of her face is swollen, and she’s swallowed up by an oversized Crushers hoodie.

  “There are tea and coffee here in your room, but I can arrange for something stronger to be brought up. You just let me know, okay?”

  “Penny? Will you . . . will you wait with me?” I ask. She looks a little taken aback, but smiles and nods. “Sorry. I know you probably have work to get back to.”

  “Not at all. It would be my pleasure, Miss Hart.”

  “You can call me Stella.” I give a melancholy smile. “You probably saved my life tonight, so it’s only fair.”

  “Stella,” she says, and turns the Keurig on. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

  Van. Call Van. “I don’t know anyone’s number. They’re all in my phone.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. The joys of technology, huh? Listen, it might be a long shot, but if a Lana Lambert calls for me, would you put her through?”