PUCKED

by Helena Hunting

  He shifts his gaze from the ceiling to me. “Dick thinks it’s better for me to appear available until it’s over.”

  “Available?”

  “Unattached.” He swallows.

  My stomach bottoms out. “There are pictures of us together everywhere.”

  “I know. So does he. It’s stupid.” Alex sighs. “It could help me secure that big endorsement campaign, Violet. I have to start thinking about my career outside of being on the ice.”

  I know this. Hockey careers are short. It’s the reason I have my job and also the reason I have to do it well. It doesn’t mean I have to like what he’s telling me, though. “Is this why we’ve been staying in the past few weeks?”

  “I’m trying to fly under the radar. I don’t want you caught up in all my crap.”

  It’s another evasive answer. I try a different angle. “Does Dick know you’ve asked me to move in with you?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you think you should tell him if you’re serious about being with me?”

  Alex skims my cheek with his knuckles. “You’re right. I should. I will. I’ll talk to him this week.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise, baby.” He holds out his arms. “Come snuggle with me.”

  I settle with my cheek on his chest. His arms wind tight around me, his heart beating hard beneath the cage of flesh and bone. Our conversation should make me feel better. Instead I worry about what else he might be keeping from me.

  Instead of things settling down when the Hawks make the first round of playoff games, Alex is more stressed. Needier. I stay at his place almost every night leading up to the first playoff game.

  “I’m going home tonight,” I say while Alex inhales a heaping plate of pasta.

  He finishes chewing before he replies. “Why?”

  “You need to get a good night's sleep tonight. I won’t be responsible for messing up your first playoff game because I kept you up with these.” I motion to my rack.

  “I sleep best when my head is resting on your delicate pillows of love.”

  I roll my eyes. “You can snuggle with them after dinner, but me and the girls are going home at nine.”

  “That’s less than two hours from now.” Alex shoves his plate aside, picks me up out of my chair, and slings me over his shoulder. “Dinner’s over.” He takes the stairs at a run.

  Two and a half hours later, I’m fully dressed and standing at the front door. I’ve been trying to leave for the past twenty minutes. Alex is having some difficulty letting me go.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss the dimple on his left cheek. “I’ll stay tomorrow night.”

  “Since we’re into playoffs, I was thinking maybe you’d reconsider moving in.”

  I smile. “I thought we were going to talk about it after playoffs were over.”

  “No. You said you’d talk about it after playoffs are over, not me. You’ve stayed here the past six nights. You might as well keep staying and make it permanent.”

  I can’t understand why he’s pushing now. “So we have Dick’s seal of approval?”

  “I don’t need Dick’s seal of anything. Are you considering it?”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “I prefer the term tenacious.”

  “I’ll call you before the game tomorrow.” I wait for him to kiss me for the seventy-fifth time. It takes another ten minutes to get out the door, but I don’t mind.

  The following evening, Charlene comes to my place and we all pile into Sidney’s Hummer, excited to be front and center for game one of the playoffs. The stadium is buzzing with exhilaration.

  I’m currently staring at the back of Alex’s head while Charlene moans about Darren’s hotness. Charlene and Darren have been out a bunch of times since returning from Toronto. It’s been all over the gossip rags, which is a nice distraction from the less positive attention Alex and I have been receiving. The hockey fanatics are shocked. Darren has never been captured with anyone except his fans. He and Charlene spending time together makes for good publicity. He’s getting a lot more press on and off the ice. Charlene pretends she isn’t fazed at all by the attention; however, it did take her two hours and twelve wardrobe changes to get ready for the game.

  “Just look at him.” Charlene sighs as Darren skates across the ice.

  “He’s awesome.” It’s what she wants to hear. It’s also true.

  “He really is, Violet. He’s got to be the most romantic man I’ve ever met.”

  She yammers on and on, but I can’t be mad at her. I’ve definitely done the same thing to her regarding Alex over the past couple of months.

  Alex is on his game tonight, as is the rest of the team. No one’s messing around or getting chippy with the opposition. The focus is singular: Get the puck in the net and win the first game of the playoffs. This is a big game; it sets the tone for the series.

  These boys are determined and apparently off to an awesome start—the score is two-one in favor of the Hawks at the end of the first period. Buck is high on adrenaline, seeing as this is the first time he’s ever made it to the playoffs. He keeps the puck away from the Hawks’ net. That creepy Kirk guy even manages an assist, proving you can be dodgy and an amazing hockey player at the same time. The Hawks hold their lead all the way through and run away with the game. The final score is four-one, putting the Hawks in a great position moving forward in the series.

  The high is contagious, my own excitement spiraling as I absorb the state of the fans around me. Interviews are being televised on the big screens after the win, and the entertainment bulldogs are all over the team. The roar of the crowd makes it difficult to hear. Reporters fire questions at Alex.

  “Two game suspension earlier in the season . . .”

  “Reflects on you as the captain . . .”

  “Sexiest bachelor . . .”

  It’s disjointed, but the last bit catches my attention. I push forward through the crowd, hoping to hear better.

  “It’s an honor to be nominated,” Alex says, running his hand through his sweaty hair.

  He seems uncomfortable. A sea of people surround him, and I’m short, so he can’t see me.

  Another fragmented question filters through the crowd. Dammit, I wish I could hear what they’re asking.

  “. . . rumors about your relationship . . .”

  Alex blinks nervously. “I thought we were going to talk about the game, not my personal life.”

  Another reporter pipes up. “So the rumors are true?”

  The mic crackles with static, but his next statement is foghorn clear. “No comment.” He scans the crowd, and his guilty expression makes my stomach turn.

  Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. I want to kick the shit out of someone. I want to cry. This is the same as a complete denial, which makes me look like a total hockey hooker. I’m pissed.

  It’s obvious he lied about talking to Dick, and just last night he asked me to move in with him. Again. None of this makes sense.

  His answer feeds the vultures. “. . . The woman you’ve been seen with . . .”

  The words just friends drop like a sewage-filled balloon.

  Everything else is drowned out by the media’s questions. I’ve heard enough, anyway. If I have to listen to him a second longer, I’ll projectile vomit all over his fucking fans.

  I push through the crowd, desperate to escape. I don’t look back. I’m sure I can catch my own humiliation on YouTube later.

  I’ve learned an invaluable lesson today: Never trust a hockey player.

  ALEX

  I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. I hate that I’ve done this for the sake of an endorsement. None of this is worth it if it means I have to hurt someone I care about. And that’s exactly what I’ve done. My remorse is a kick in the nuts.

  From my right, Butterson yells, “You asshole!”

  I turn in time to see his fist barreling at my face. It connects with m
y nose; the crunch and pop of cartilage come from inside my head. I deserve it, but it damn well hurts.

  “Sonofa—” The warm flow of blood hits my lips and travels down my chin.

  I’m so pissed. I’ve been an asshole to Violet, Sunny is talking to Butterson every day, according to my mother, and now he punched me in the face. Thanks to the stupid advice of my dickface agent, I’ve put my pride before Violet. All the fucking evasiveness is pointless now that I’ve screwed my relationship with her. I want to take it out on someone. Butterson is the perfect target since he broke my nose.

  He grabs my jersey, intent on punching me again. “I’m going to kick the shit out of you!”

  “Bring it on, sisterfucker!” I yell back.

  Kirk grabs Butterson while Darren puts me in a choke hold and drags me away. Under a veil of red, I’m aware I’ve lost control.

  “Keep your mouth shut, Waters. They’re going to string you up by the fucking laces if you don’t get yourself together.”

  Swinging me around, he pushes me into the locker room, away from the media circus.

  Despite my fury, I have the wherewithal not to lash out again. The last thing I want—in addition to having destroyed the one relationship worth pursuing—is to add games to what could become a suspension. One more and I’ll be benched for the playoffs and let down my entire team.

  “Son of a bitch!” I clomp around the room. Skates suck for pacing.

  Darren tosses his gloves on the bench. “Do you even realize what you did out there ? What would possess you to say something like that to the damn media?”

  Butterson storms into the locker room flanked by our teammates. “I’m gonna rip your head off and shit down your throat!”

  “I’d like to see you try.” I pull my jersey over my head and rip off my padding, happy to unleash some of the pent up anger currently ruling my body.

  “Don’t be an idiot, Waters.” Darren shoves me back.

  I’m not thinking clearly. In what can only be considered a reflexive action, I throw a punch at Darren. It only takes a second for him to lay me out, his knee at my throat. I don’t move because attached to his knee is a leg and a foot with a sharp skate at the end.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” Coach yells, getting in the middle. “I’ve never seen a more embarrassing display in all my fucking years in hockey.”

  Darren jams his knee into my throat, cutting off my air supply. Then he releases the pressure and stands. I roll to the side, gasping for breath. It takes a minute to regain composure and pull myself up. No one offers to help.

  “Butterson, what’s gotten into you? The media is on fire with this shit. You mind telling me why the hell you punched out your own goddamned captain?”

  Coach’s face is redder than I’ve ever seen it before. He doesn’t give Buck a chance to answer—it’s tirade time. Coach can go on for hours when he gets into one of his moods. Some of the guys sit down and throw glares my way. This is going to be one of the long ones.

  “You’re supposed to be a team. We should be celebrating this win, not hashing out our personal shit in front of the fucking world.” He gives Butterson and me the stink eye. “No one is going to remember we won the first game of the playoffs or how well it was played. All they’re going to talk about is how the newest team member went after the team captain. It might only be a headline for a day or two, but you know who it’s going to stick with? Boston. They’re going to know we have a weak link, and they’ll take advantage of it.”

  Butterson’s shoulders slump, and he looks at the floor.

  “So, Waters, what did you do to piss Butterson off?” Coach looks at me expectantly.

  I feel like absolute shit for a multitude of reasons. Not only have I let my team down and potentially screwed us during this series, I’ve demo’d my relationship with Violet. Instead of celebrating with her, I’m sitting in a locker room with a broken nose, a decimated ego, and my whole team pissed at me.

  “I followed Dick’s advice.” I look down at my lap and shake my head. I need to fire his ass.

  “Do you think you could elaborate, Waters? So help me God, if you’re taking advice from your penis, I’m going to clock you myself.”

  “Dick, my agent. I’m supposed to appear available until the Bachelor of the Year crap is done with.” Spoken aloud, it sounds absolutely insane.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me!” Butterson forces his way through the guys holding him back. “You humiliated my sister and broke her heart in front of millions of people for publicity? So you could what? Make some fucking list and score a new bunny? Pocket some cash?”

  “It’s not like that.” It hits me, what he’s said. I’ve broken Violet’s heart. I’m overwhelmed and on the defensive, so I do the one thing I can—I hit below the belt. “Who are you to talk, anyway? I know you’re banging my sister, you cocksucker.”

  “I haven’t had sex with Sunny.” Those are the last words I ever expected to hear out of Butterson’s mouth.

  I stare at him and say nothing. He’s not lying; I can tell. He’s just as bad at lying as Violet is. If they were truly related, I'd think it’s a genetic trait.

  “Wait a goddamned minute.” Coach breaks the uncomfortable eye contact between Butterson and me. “Is this about a broad?”

  “Violet isn’t a broad,” We say in unison.

  Coach shakes his head and turns to me. “I want to see both of you tomorrow. You’ll be doing interviews to straighten this garbage out, so kiss and make up, and come up with a story that doesn’t sound like complete bullshit.”

  With that, Coach storms out. No one talks to me as they strip out of their uniforms and hit the showers. Usually the guys will get over things quickly. Not tonight. Darren won’t even acknowledge me.

  Once the entire team is gone, I shower. I don’t bother with my suit, since I’m not going out to celebrate. Instead, I change back into my street clothes, get a cab to my place, and get in my car. I need to get my nose checked, but that’ll have to wait until later. I drive to Violet’s and park in front of her house. Her SUV isn’t there, so I call her. Unsurprisingly, I get her voice mail. I let my head drop back as I listen to her new message.

  “Hi, you’ve reached Violet, the dumbass hockey hooker. I’m too pissed off and humiliated to answer my phone, but you can leave a message. Unless you’re Alex “Asshole” Waters. In that case, you can fuck the hell off. Have a nice day.”

  I sit there for a few long seconds after the phone beeps, just breathing, until I realize I should either speak or hang up. I choose the second option because it’s clear Violet doesn’t want to hear from me. I follow up with a call to Dick and fire him. He tells me I’ll regret the decision. I tell him to fuck himself in the ass with a hockey puck and hang up.

  I try Violet’s number again. It goes straight to voice mail. I’ve ruined everything.

  The meeting the following morning with Coach and Butterson is brutal. We manage to work out a feasible story which makes me look like a complete asshole. Like the broken nose, I deserve it.

  The next few days are plain old shitty. X-rays prove my nose is definitely broken. Again. It’s swollen and it hurts like a bitch. The black eyes are a sucky reminder of how badly I messed up.

  Beyond that, I receive endless calls from TV journalists wanting interviews. It’s a pain in the ass. I’m not used to dealing with this stuff on my own. I make a bunch of phone calls and find a new agent who’s willing to take me on despite the shitstorm I’ve created recently.

  If that isn’t bad enough, Violet’s phone has been disconnected, which tells me she changed her number. I have no way to contact her aside from email, which isn’t the way I want to go about explaining what happened.

  Beyond that, practices are rough. Coach is right; if Butterson and I can’t deal with our shit, we’re going to destroy our chances of making it to the finals. I don’t want to be the reason for that. He pulls Butterson and me aside and tells us we’re to keep our personal i
ssues off the ice or he’ll encourage the general manager to trade both of us. I think he means it.

  Butterson watches Coach walk away. “For the sake of our team, I’m going to let this go on the ice, but don’t think for a second I’ve forgiven you for what you’ve done to Violet.”

  “I get that. I’d really like to apologize to her—”

  He points a finger at me. “Stay the fuck away from her. Violet’s broken up enough as it is. She doesn’t need you making this worse by throwing out some bullshit apology.”

  I push his hand away. “It’s not bullshit. I care about her.”

  “Yeah? Well if that’s the way you treat people you care about, I’d hate to see how you are with the ones you don’t even like. How you got to be captain of this team is beyond me. You’re a selfish fucking bastard.” He turns away and skates back onto the ice. He’s not wrong, which makes me feel a million times worse.

  Despite Butterson’s violent warning, I try to contact Violet. I call her parents, hoping if I get to Skye, I can persuade her to put Violet on the phone.

  “Hall-Butterson residence.”

  “Hi, Skye.”

  “Alex.” Based on her icy tone, she’s not happy with me. “You screwed up big time.”

  I heave a sigh. “I really did.”

  “Violet doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “I know. Buck’s made it pretty clear and so has Violet.” I kick at the leg of my bed, noticing something red peeking out from the bottom. Picking it up, I find a pair of Violet’s panties. The red ones with my name on the ass. I sit down on the edge of the mattress and resist the urge to sniff them.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you out of this one,” she says after a long pause.

  I heave a despondent sigh. I expected this. She’s Violet’s mother, after all. It's her duty to protect her daughter. I’m lucky she isn’t ripping me a new asshole. “I figured as much.”

  “Honestly, Alex. You’re such a fighter on the ice. Why can’t you be the same way off it? Stop being an idiot and make a move. You haven’t even sent her flowers, and you always send her flowers, whether you’ve messed up or not. How do you think that looks?”