Charming as Puck(63)

I don’t want her to hurt.

And I especially don’t want her to hurt because of me.

“I just had this romanticized version of you that you’re something more than hockey, whisky, sex, pranks, and hockey. That I could see something nobody else could. That I was…ugh. I’m not making this any better.”

And now I’m feeling pretty fucking naked.

But I’m also feeling something akin to relief.

Because I don’t really know who I am past hockey, whisky, sex, pranks, and hockey either, but I know I’m something. And she believes in me too.

I take her face in my hands and block her from the street with my body. “You always make everything better.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but there’s still that crease in her brow putting a charley horse in my chest.

“It’s what best friends do,” I add in a rough whisper, because I’ve never had a best friend before. A month ago, I would’ve told you a hockey stick was my best friend. A month ago, I was a moron. “And you’re the best fucking friend I’ve ever had.”

Her eyes shimmer in the darkness. “Do you mean like the best friend you’ve ever fucked, or the best damn friend, but even better because fuck is a degree above damn?”

“Yes.” Fuck, this is hard. Felicity’s right. I’ve always been a selfish ass. And she always adds with good intentions, because she’s my sister so she has to think I’m more than just hockey, whisky, sex, pranks, and hockey too, but am I?

I want to be.

For Kami.

“I’ve got some pretty stiff competition to be yours,” I add, “but I’m doing my best.”

“Why?”

Because she’s sweet. Because she makes me laugh. Because she’s my good luck charm on the ice.

Because I don’t deserve her, but I’m a selfish bastard who wants her anyway.

“Nobody else has ever believed in me like you do.”

“The entire city believes in you.”

“Not for hockey.” Fuck, who am I? I shake my head. “And a month ago, that was okay. But I—Christ, Kami, I don’t know why you’d even want me. You’re right. I’m a selfish bastard who only cares about hockey.”

That finally earns me a smile.

Fuck, that smile. What is it about her smile?

“That’s not true,” she tells me. “You care about your cow too.”

And now I’m cracking up even though I feel like a total shit and smell even worse. “C’mon,” I tell her. “Let’s go see our cow. And get me a shower.”

“Is that an—ohmygod. Nick. I didn’t—you’re—what happened?” She touches my jacket, then yanks her hand back and tries to shake it off.

“Wake-up call,” I tell her with a grin. “You coming or not?”

It’s late.

She has to work tomorrow.

But she still smiles at me and nods. “Yeah. I’m coming.”





Thirty-Three





Kami



I’ve never felt like more of a total disaster than I do on the ride out to Nick’s parents’ place.

We were supposed to go to my place and have crazy monkey sex to celebrate his shutout, but because I flipped out when Aunt Hilda mentioned my stupid drunken ramblings about how I was finally going to go for it with Nick and marry him by this Christmas, I feel like some manipulative puck-chaser.

And then when I tell myself it was never about wanting him just because he’s a really hot hockey player, I start to feel all stalkerish and weird like I might be one of those people who sees a celebrity on TV and thinks that they’re actually talking to me when they smile and make their secret gestures to their family, because I can see past their celebrity-ness to the person inside, and I just know we’re meant for each other.

Except it’s not like that.

I don’t think.

Oh my god. I’m crazy and I just don’t know it.

“Did I tell you what I did to Berger to pay him back for Sugarbear?” Nick asks as he steers us out of downtown, completely oblivious to the second mental breakdown I’m having.

I tell myself I’m a normal, healthy adult who’s had a crush on her best friend’s brother for years, because I did actually know him—kind of—all the way back in high school even though he was a year ahead of me and didn’t know I existed because I was not a hockey puck, stick, jersey, skate, or rink, and I concentrate on the fact that Nick’s back to playing pranks, because of course he is.

This is normal.

“Please tell me it didn’t involve anything live,” I say, because this is also normal.

He laughs. “Nah, after your stunt with the penguins, not even the Berger twins and Frey together are willing to risk it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Coach knows it was you, doesn’t he? You called him and worked it all out before those birds ever hit the ice.”

He’s damn right I did, but admitting that would be akin to giving him power, and no matter how much I like him—rightfully or crazily or whatever—I can’t.

Also, I still felt like a horrible human being, because the penguins could’ve been legitimately traumatized, and I’ve never been one to go running to the teacher just because I didn’t like what someone else was doing. “I used to sneak out of my parents’ house and go over to Muffy’s house so we could write anonymous love emails to our secret high school crushes.”