Pucked Off (Pucked #6)(41)

Miller puts his phone to his ear. “Hey, Sunny Sunshine, we’re gonna board the plane soon. I wanted to check on you one last time—yeah…yeah. I know. I get that. I don’t like that I’m not there right now.”

He drops his voice to a whisper, gets out of his seat, and wanders toward the windows, watching the planes as he runs his hand through his hair, making the short blond strands stand on end.

I don’t know whether to feel sorry for him or envious. I have no idea what it’s like to need someone like that. Well, I guess maybe I do. Although, with Tash it wasn’t about need; at least not in the same way I think it is with Miller and Sunny. It was more about want.

Sometimes I wonder if I only wanted her to myself because she’d never give me that. Which is fucked up. There are things about me that aren’t right, and I know it’s because of how things went down in my house as a kid.

My dad comes from money. Lots of money. So does my mum. It’s the reason I have the house I do. My hockey salary is great, but I already had lots of cash flow before I started earning my own. The weird thing about money is that people equate it with stability, but there was nothing stable about my childhood.

I remember the way my mum used to go after my dad. Sometimes I wonder if my propensity for aggression is hereditary, or maybe she conditioned it into me. She was a small woman, always watching what she ate, always taking some kind of class or drinking something that was supposed to help keep her thin or whatever. I’m pretty sure it was just booze, now that I think about it.

On the days she was really fired up, she’d go at my dad, who I’m built like. He’d laugh and let her have at him—slapping him, punching, kicking—and the more he laughed, the angrier she’d get until he’d pick her up and take her, screaming and flailing, out of the room.

If my brother and I were there, a nanny would take us away, so we wouldn’t witness it. The next morning my dad would be at the breakfast table with a smile on his face, usually accompanied by faint bruises and the occasional scratch. He never talked about it, just went on and pretended like it hadn’t happened.

I usually wouldn’t see my mother for a good twenty-four hours after that. And when I did, she’d be back to a version of normal, but far more subdued, almost vacant. She’d be physically present, but she wasn’t really in there, just a body going through the motions. Flowers would arrive. My dad would take her away for a little trip, and then things would calm down for a while.

But as I got older, the pattern started to change. The violence became more frequent. My dad traveled more. And when my brother died, everything fell apart. Eventually, when Mum’s mourning turned to anger, it found a new target. An easier target. Me.

I thought maybe it would stop when we moved to Chicago. It didn’t. It went on long enough that it changed the way I’m wired.

“Romance?” Fingers snap close to my face, and I jolt. “Your phone’s ringing.” Ballistic points to my hand.

I look down. Usually by this point Tash would’ve given up, but she’s still calling, still leaving messages for me. I’m actually impressed that I haven’t responded to her, even though I’ve read the messages.

“She’s kind of a stalker, yeah?” Randy asks.

I shrug.

“Why don’t you block her?”

“What’s the point? I’ve tried before. She always finds another way.”

Randy shakes his head. “Man, I don’t know how you deal with that all the time.”

“I’m used to it, I guess.” I pull up my contact list to see if there are more new texts to go with the voicemail she’s left. Of course there are. All I can see in the preview is a bunch of profanity. Three messages down are the texts from Poppy.

I looked her up on the internet after I left her place last night. I kinda fucked that whole thing up. Or my dick did. Everything was fine until she started touching my face. I don’t think anyone has put their hand on my face without the intention of causing me pain since I was ten.

I’m damn lucky she’s willing to massage me at all after that bullshit, even if I lost the home-care privileges. I should make a bunch of appointments at the clinic so I don’t have to worry about being on another waiting list, and it’ll probably win points with Smart.

I dial the clinic and talk to the receptionist. Unfortunately Poppy’s all booked up for two damn weeks, so I can’t get in right away when I’m back. Obviously Poppy’s in high demand, so I just book as many appointments as I can before we get called to board the plane. I don’t have my game schedule in front of me, so I take whatever she offers, hoping it won’t conflict with an away game.

I catch a nap on the flight to Philadelphia, and I get paired up with Rookie to share a hotel room since Miller and Randy always stay together when we’re at away games. Waters and Westinghouse do the same.

Once we’re settled in our room, we head down for food, and then we get some ice time. My back is definitely feeling better, thanks to Poppy. And the nagging headache I’ve had for the past few days seems to be gone, which leads me to believe she was right about the teeth grinding.

Later on, Rookie asks if I want to go to the bar, but I don’t know if I can go and not drink right now. I don’t want to screw myself for the game tomorrow, so instead of joining him, I turn on hockey highlights and fuck around on my phone.