Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny (Taking Shots)

by Madsen, Cindi

She’d started with “Hey, how’s it going?” and even though I’d said, “Busy,” she didn’t seem to get the hint. I’d just put my body through the most grueling workout I could, and I didn’t have any energy to expel on throwaway conversations.

  “So, Saturday night at the Quad was totally crazy. Best party ever!”

  My stomach dropped—I’d rather not think about Saturday night and everything that’d happened ever again.

  “I saw a whole other side of you.” She placed her hand on my arm and giggled. “You were so drunk and chatty. Were you wicked hung over on Sunday?”

  Yes, yes I was. Three days later, and I still felt off. But that was more because who was missing from my life. She had dark hair, tan skin, sexy lips, a killer body, and more smarts and wittiness than this girl had in her little finger.

  Which was totally judgmental of me, which I supposed made me the judgmental asshole Lindsay accused me of being.

  Parts of Saturday were a little fuzzy, but I had no recollection of Ashley being there, although I wasn’t surprised. She came to most games and parties. I heard once she was the person to go to if you needed someone to do your English papers, but I’d stayed clear of that, and Ashley in general, honestly, although she popped up on campus a lot.

  Now that she mentioned being chatty, I did remember talking a lot of shit and giving some over-the-top speeches when I wiped the floor with person after person at beer pong. The numbing effect of the alcohol had worked for a while, and I’d done my best to convince myself I truly was better off finally letting go of all the complications that came along with Lindsay Rivera.

  I’d even toyed with grabbing hold of the most attractive girl I could find in the near vicinity and seeing if I could scrub Lindsay from my mind in more effective ways. But even thinking it had made me feel ill, as well as a total hypocritical prick, and that only brought on self-loathing, which brought on more drinking.

  My brilliant idea to let go of my self-control and be an idiot for a night had backfired big time. Now I felt more out-of-control than ever.

  Guess it was time to admit that my control was a big facade anyway. My dad still pulled the strings, and once I found out about who Lindsay’s mom was and he’d planted that seed of doubt, I’d played out the motions just like he’d wanted.

  “Anyway,” Ashley said, reminding me she was still standing there. She leaned in as she flashed me a wide, blindingly white smile, waiting for something I’d never give her—I couldn’t even give it to a girl I was crazy about. “I’m planning to drive to Worcester for the playoff games.”

  “Cool.” At this point, that was all I had. But thanks to the fact that Lindsay wouldn’t be in the stands cheering for me, and it was my fault, playing hockey didn’t even appeal to me right now. “Well, I better get to class.”

  “Oh, me, too,” she said, but she didn’t let go of my arm. “I know the other night you said that your main focus needs to be on playoffs right now, but I promise I’m not one of those clingy girls.”

  Ironic, since she was literally clinging to me. At least even in my drunken state I’d brushed her off. The last thing I needed was another regret about that night.

  “Do you remember what I said on Saturday?”

  Trepidation tightened my gut. “To be honest, I don’t.”

  “I wondered. I told you that if you needed to blow off some steam this week, I’m open anytime…”

  I took a large step back, my tongue tripping on a way to respond to that other than “No, thanks.”

  She seemed to read it well enough, because disappointment flickered across her face. “Later, Ox.”

  “Later.” As I started away, I felt about one foot tall. My gaze automatically went to the newspaper offices, like it did whenever I was in this area of campus. Even when I was back at my apartment, or at the gym, or even on the ice, memories of Lindsay were everywhere I looked. In my bed, her hair splayed out on the pillow; straddling me on the weight bench, giving me mind-blowing kisses; in the audience cheering for me and giving me a touchable reason to play my heart out. Maybe I’d been slightly distracted with her in the stands, but I’d also been genuinely happy, something I couldn’t remember feeling in years.

  Without her? Life felt empty. Hollow. Pointless.

  I’d nearly called her dozens of times. But I’d thrown her past in her face like an asshole. I didn’t deserve to talk to her. To be with her.

  I was just selfish enough to not care. But I was also just selfish enough to hold back so that I wouldn’t have to feel the surge of pain and loss that talking to her and finding out we were really over for good would bring. Not with everything else I had on my plate right now and my teammates depending on me. So I was putting it off until after this week’s game.

  Because I was a fucking coward.

  …

  Megan and Dane were in the kitchen making cookies when I came home from my lifting session on Thursday night. Or more accurately Megan was trying to keep Dane from eating all the dough while she formed round balls and placed them on the pan.

  She smacked Dane’s hand as he reached around her, into the bowl. “Dane Owen Kowalski, I swear, you’ll lose that hand next time.”

  “But then how would I…” He whispered something in her ear that made her face go red and I went from being slightly jealous over their relationship and how I no longer had one with Lindsay, to feeling like a voyeur.

  I cleared my throat. “You realize I’m right here.”

  “Bro, that’s why I whispered the rest like a gentleman.”

  “I’d hardly call what you said gentlemanly.” Megan wiped her hands on a paper towel and then turned to face me. “The first batch of cookies will be done in about five, and then we’re planning on watching a movie if you want to join us.”

  “Yes to the cookies, no to being the third wheel. I don’t need a pity party.”

  “I get that you’re going through something,” Dane said, “but Megan was only trying to be nice, so how about you stop saying you don’t need a pity party while having one.”

  I clenched my jaw and started out of the room.

  Dane rounded the counter and stepped in front of me, blocking the pathway to the hall.

  “It’s like you want me to hit you,” I said.

  “I get that a lot. Especially when I’m trying to help my friends realize how big of idiots they’re being. I get it. When you fall in love with a girl, it fucks with your head.” He glanced over his shoulder at Megan. “No offense, angel. I mean it in a good way.”

  She walked over and wrapped her arm around his waist, but her eyes were on me. “It’s okay to have feelings, Ryder. I wasn’t even sure you had any until I saw you with Lindsay. Now I see how much you were holding back. Don’t go back to shoving everything down, because Dane’s right. If you let her go without a fight, you’re an idiot.”

  “No, I’m finally doing the right thing,” I said. “I didn’t back off when I should’ve—back when she first made it clear she wasn’t interested. Now I’m letting her go so she can be happy.”

  Megan shook her head. “She’s not happy. She misses you.”

  “What’s the point? I’m not going to go pour my heart out when it won’t change the fact that she’s graduating in a little over a month, and then she’ll move away, and I’ll still be here.” Here where you guys can shove your constant happiness in my face.

  Don’t get me wrong, I was happy for them, but that didn’t mean I could live here and watch the constant mushiness. They’d probably try to cheer me up or set me up, and I didn’t want anything that involved the word up. I was down, so low that I didn’t think I’d recover, and I didn’t see that changing any time soon.

  The timer on the oven chirped. “I changed my mind on the cookies,” I said. “I’ll leave you guys to your movie.”

  I’d just kicked off my shoes and stripped off my sweat-drenched shirt when the knock came at my door. Dane didn’t wait for me to answer, just walked right in and crossed his arms.


  “I’m about to jump in the shower,” I said.

  “You’re about to screw up your life. I don’t understand your endgame, unless you actually want to hurt Lindsay and let her leave Boston believing you never cared about her. If so, I have to say, you’re not who I thought you were.”

  “I’m not who anyone thinks I am. You don’t know me, my parents don’t know me—”

  “Bullshit. Maybe your parents don’t. But Lindsay sure as hell does. That girl changed you, and you changed her, too—you think someone like that just comes along every day? That you won’t regret this so much that none of us will be able to live with you? It’s not like you can just go lift even more until you forget about her—it hasn’t worked so far, has it?”

  “I don’t want a speech. I just want to be alone.”

  “Keep it up, and you will be. For good.” Dane stared at me, the disappointment clear. This guy who said whatever he thought and got himself into trouble constantly because of it—and honestly, one I kind of looked at as a fuckup before—was disappointed in me. How much lower could I get?

  He shook his head and did what I asked him to. He left me alone. And I did feel like I’d be alone for good. Even worse, without Lindsay, I didn’t even feel like a whole person anymore.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Lindsay

  Whitney dragged her feet enough as she approached my desk that I knew something was up.

  “The last time you came to me with that look on your face, you told me you couldn’t give me the article I wanted.” Maybe if she’d delivered a scathing piece on the unfair bias the college showed athletes, no hockey player would’ve dared to cross my path and I never would’ve slipped into that world again.

  “This is different,” Whitney said. “I’m not so sure you want this article, even though you asked me to write it. It’s the piece on the Hockey East Tournament’s championship game, and a certain player was responsible for a lot of big plays, so he’s heavily featured.”

  She hugged her open laptop to her, like whatever was inside it could ruin me—and honestly, it probably could ruin my makeup—so I tried to put on a brave face.

  “I’m perfectly capable of being objective. I won’t cut out everything good you say about the team or that certain player because of my personal connection and how it’s been severed.”

  “Severed?” Whitney arched an eyebrow. “You’re being really technical about this whole thing, and I know you’re a strong kick-ass chick, but it’s okay to be hurt, or even pissed. I heard enough of what happened via Megan to know he was an ass. That’s really not like him, and I’m sure he didn’t mean—”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine,” I said. I was making progress and all, but I couldn’t rehash Ryder and my ending. I needed to keep on working, keep my mind busy. “In fact, I just got an email about a position in Woodland Park, New Jersey, with the Record, and I’m heading up there next weekend for an interview. I’m super happy.”

  Whitney frowned. “So you’re just going to leave and never look back? You’re not even going to try to fix things with Ryder?”

  “What’s the point? I’m moving, and he’ll be here judging puck bunnies, but probably not harshly enough to keep him from hooking up with several. We can both move on and have our own versions of happily ever after.” A sharp pain lanced my heart. Yep, I was so freaking happy that I wanted to burst into tears.

  Whitney’s frown only deepened and her knuckles went white from gripping her laptop. “I’m just going to ask Will to format it—I’ve already read through it several times, and I promise it’s clean.”

  “I’m the editor, Whit. I have to edit it. Like I said, I’m fine.”

  Reluctantly she set down her laptop, clicked a few keys, and then gave me a skeptical glance before saying, “I hit send.” Instead of going back to her desk she sat on the edge of mine. “Look, Lyla and I have this thing we do when we need a break from life. We eat ice cream, and when the situation calls for it, we mix up margaritas as well. Come over tonight. I’ll call Megan and we’ll have a killer girls’ night and just forget about everything for a while.”

  As much as I appreciated it—and as much as I liked those girls—how could I be around them without thinking of their boyfriends and how Ryder used to be mine but wasn’t anymore? Tears would be inevitable, and I’d rather eat worms than let anyone see me cry—it was bad enough that Whitney witnessed them a few months ago. “Thanks, but I’m slammed.”

  “Okay, but if you change your mind…I’m just saying no one knows how you feel right now better than Lyla, Megan, and I do. We’ve been through it.”

  Yeah, but you all got your happy endings and there’s no way I’ll have one. I was moving to New York City for my internship, and if things worked out, I’d land the newspaper job in New Jersey. The commute between the two would be about forty-five minutes, so I’d work at both for a while if that was what it took. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t like my mom. I was following my dreams and making my own way, not relying on a guy to take care of me and make me happy.

  Of course, it’s not exactly my dream. But it might still get me there eventually.

  I clicked the mouse to pull up my email. “If I change my mind, I’ll let you know. But like I said, I’m just so busy.”

  Whitney came around the desk and hugged me. I stiffened, not entirely comfortable with the situation. But the longer she hugged me, the more I couldn’t help but sink into her embrace. She hugged me so tightly, and then I was hugging her back and blinking back tears, a giant lump in my throat.

  “Before the end of semester, we have to get together,” Whitney said. “Like it or not, you’re my friend, and I’m not ready to let you go without at least an intimate sendoff party.”

  So this is what having friends feels like. What belonging feels like.

  I’d gone so many years without genuine friendships, and it hit me how awesome it was, and how hard it was going to be to let go, and a tear accidentally slipped down my cheek.

  Mere minutes ago, I’d sort of wished she’d written the original article I’d wanted her to, but now the thought of losing her friendship—of never getting to know Lyla and especially Megan—sent a pang through me. Despite everything, losing any time with my newfound female friends would’ve been too high a cost, so I decided I’d let go of that article that could’ve been for good.

  “Thank you,” I said, and I did a horrible job hiding the squeak in my voice, but when Whitney pulled back, her eyes were watering up, too. Which only made it harder to keep from full-on crying.

  I wanted to believe that someday I’d find more friends, but they didn’t come easy for me, and in this moment, I wasn’t sure I’d ever quite find the same acceptance I’d experienced this past month again.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Ryder

  The Division I quarterfinals game was finally here, the one that determined if we’d advance to the semifinals.

  And I was thinking about Lindsay, and how after last night’s win, my friends and their girlfriends had sat me down, intervention style, to tell me how big of an idiot I was. Apparently they thought Dane hadn’t done a good enough job. The problem was, I knew I was an idiot. I knew I’d blown it, and I knew I didn’t deserve Lindsay.

  None of that was news. But the thing that had thrown me into a spiral was when Whitney put her fists on her hips and let me know that Lindsay had an interview next weekend for a newspaper job that would keep her in another state permanently, and that if I didn’t do anything—and soon—it’d be too late and I’d lose her for good.

  That made it real. It made her further away, even though I hadn’t seen her since last Saturday. After a week apart, the ache that came along with missing her had faded to a dull throbbing, but thinking of her being that far away and out of my life for good? That made the misery come rushing back. My chest always felt empty yet too tight and I couldn’t concentrate on a damn thing.

  Which didn’t bode
well for tonight’s game. I had half a mind to ask Coach to bench me so I wouldn’t screw up the team’s chance at making it to the Frozen Four, but without Lindsay, hockey and this team were the only good thing I had going for me.

  I wanted to go back in time a few months and make an excuse about why I couldn’t help Hudson retrieve Whitney from the newspaper office. I’d seen how much he needed her—how miserable he was without her—so I’d caved. If I’d never gone into that newspaper office that day, none of this would’ve happened, and I’d be none the wiser to how awesome life could be with Lindsay in it.

  Instead of making me feel better, that thought only pushed the pain deeper, down into my bones. It was like bumbling through life without electricity and then experiencing life with it, and how did you just go back to being happy with candlelight?

  I skated onto the rink to warm up, hoping the ice would somehow numb me. If I were going to go back in time, I’d choose to go back to the night of that party, when I lost my cool and freaked out over seeing Lindsay with another guy.

  I wasn’t sure how that’d work, considering the thought of her with anyone else only sent a toxic churning through my gut. I’m sure there will be plenty of guys in New York who can’t wait to get their hands on her.

  The churning intensified, and I was wishing violent ends to hypothetical guys.

  By the time we lined up, I was out for blood. I slammed into the guy I was guarding when he got the puck, satisfaction flooding my veins when he fell back on his ass.

  Might as well use my hulk-rage for good.

  As the game continued, that’s exactly what I did. Not one of the guys I guarded scored on me, and I forced turnover after turnover. Using my size and completely humorless mood, I even engaged in some intimidation tactics and smack talking, something I didn’t normally bother with.

  Playing angry was good in a way, because I needed to channel my frustration into something to keep me from internally combusting. But it also sent me spiraling further out of control, and it was like the game—and life in general—was happening to me instead of me happening to it.