Tomboy (The Hartigans #3)(68)
It was kinda hard for them not to when his mom told TMQ, “He was always a selfish boy, but I thought he’d grow out of it. And then when he signed that first contact, I thought it was our duty as his parents to help guide him however we could. If he wanted us to do that for free while collecting early on our retirement funds? I’m his mother, I’ll sacrifice everything to make his life better. And now we just make do. I mean, it’s not easy to make ends meet when you’ve run through all your savings, but I wouldn’t dream of asking Zach again to help us out even if he does earn millions. I mean, we’d asked before, and he made his feelings known. Now we just watch his game on the library internet because we can’t afford it at home or a cell phone.”
Ouch.
Lady Luck gave a rousing defense of him, but Blackburn has refused to comment on TMQ’s story, and hasn’t said a peep about it beyond “no comment” and an extended middle finger when a reporter asked during a post-game press conference. Yeah, that was just the beginning of Harbor City realizing that the most-hated man in town was back again.
And since then, he’s returned to start-of-the-year form on the ice, too happy taking crappy penalties and skating like he was gliding through molasses as fans chant “Blackburn sucks.”
So the question, hockey fans, is, has Blackburn returned to form or is this just a temporary glitch?
Comments:
TypeAB+: He’s a bust. I coulda told you from the beginning that he’d fizzle out. Don’t trust a guy who fucks over his mom.
Kris K.: It’s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers. He sucks. Trade him. And Lady Luck was never all that wow, either. Maybe if she got a makeover, but yeah, she’s a six on a good day.
GregDaGoat: Wow. Amazing how people love to build people up and then watch them fall.
TypeAB+: We’re just telling it like it is, ya homer. He sucks now. His chick is some kind of tomboy man hater, and she’s sucked the hockey skills right out of him.
The Biscuit Mistress: And I’m shutting down comments because too many assholes seem to be trolling here.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Zach had no interest in answering his door. Too bad that didn’t stop whoever was on the other side from pounding on it. It had to be Stuckey. Zach never should have given him the code to his security gate. It had just seemed easier, though, since his fellow defenseman had been picking him up for practices. He should have stuck with Uber. Now he had to deal with whatever bullshit was on the other side of his front door when all he wanted was to sit at the card table in his kitchen and play solitaire.
“Open up the door, Blackburn,” Stuckey hollered. “Otherwise Petrov will just pick the lock.”
“Go away,” he yelled through the door.
“No can do,” Stuckey said. “We have a delivery.”
We? What the fuck. Why in the hell were there enough people for a “we” on his front porch, and what kind of delivery was it? He yanked open his door and all but snarled at Stuckey, Phillips, Petrov, and Christensen, who were all crowded around his front door.
“About fucking time. It’s cold out there.” Phillips marched inside carrying an ottoman.
Too confused to stop him, Zach watched as the other man walked over to the absolutely barren living room like he had every right to be there. “What are you doing?”
“Delivering your furniture,” Petrov answered as he and Christensen carried in an oversize chair that looked like the vibrating kind in the mall and followed Phillips into the living room. “My old man owns a store south of here.”
What. The. Fuck. “I didn’t ask for this.”
Stuckey shoved a second ottoman into Zach’s arms. “Yeah, and yet it’s coming to your house anyway.”
He opened his mouth, but Stuckey gave him a glare he normally saved for opponents on the ice. “Just shut the fuck up and help us carry it all inside. Then it’s customary after your friends help you move your stuff in to tell them ‘thank you’ and offer them a beer.”
Now there was some bullshit. These guys strong-arm their way into his house with a bunch of furniture he didn’t ask for and couldn’t pay for and Stuckey wanted him to give them beer? Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen.
“I don’t—”
“Dude.” Stuckey picked up a box labeled TV stand that had been leaning against the door and pushed past Zach. “I told Peppers I wouldn’t punch you out if you were a pain in the ass about the furniture. The front office is already talking about trading me to Nashville. Do not increase the chances of that happening because I had to break your nose.”
That stopped him cold. If anyone on the team was going to get traded, it was gonna be him. Stuckey was a phenom, destined to have his name on the cup. “Why would they trade you?”
“Because we’re a great team that is playing like shit and they want to shake things up,” Stuckey said as he strode into the living room, set the box down, and started opening it.
That made no sense. None. What did make sense was getting rid of him. He set the ottoman down next to the one Phillips had already brought in. “Then they can trade me.”
“The ego on you,” Petrov said as he and Christensen passed by him on their way to the front door, no doubt for whatever else was in the back of Stuckey’s truck. “Blackburn, no one wants you but us.”