Pucked Off (Pucked #5)(45)
“She’ll have lots of support even if that’s not how it goes,” Randy assures him. “Why don’t we play some Xbox, or watch highlights?”
“Yeah. Good call.” Miller goes over to his bag and rummages around until he finds his gaming console, which always comes with us. We play for a while until I think it’s safe to go back to my room.
The bunny’s gone when I get there, which is good, because I didn’t want to deal with having to kick her out so I can get ready for the game. Before we head to the rink, I make the mistake of checking my phone. Tash has left more messages, which I stupidly check, so when I take the ice for my first shift I’m already amped up.
In the first period I get a penalty for checking. In the second period I get one for sticking, and in the third period McHugh, the forward for Philly, gets all up in my space and keeps pushing at me from behind. We’re up by two, and they’re getting desperate. My ribs are still sore from the fight last weekend, and that’s exactly where he keeps elbowing me.
After the sixth time, I lose my cool and say a bunch of shit to rile him up. It works. He shoves me from behind, so I turn around and get up in his face, looking for him to throw the first punch. He swings a right hook, which I deflect. Then I let him get in a few solid hits. I rip my helmet off and shove him back, so he goes for my face, his gloved fist slamming into my cheek.
The pain is almost a relief. I need it. I want it. I don’t know how to exist without it. I don’t brace for the next punch, letting it take me to the ice. I’m careful to keep my head up, though, which means I take the hit with my back. I don’t even have a chance to fight back before Miller and a couple of refs are between us.
Randy’s right there with him. “Romance, you gotta take it down. Come on, buddy.”
I swipe across my cheek and realize I’m bleeding again. I’m sent to the penalty box where I reflexively look around the stadium. I don’t find what I’m looking for—which is my mother, wearing her disapproval in apathy. All I see are Philly fans cheering in the stands.
Both teams are down a player now, Philly having started the fight even though I was the one to throw the words. McHugh is pissed about it, and the chippy play keeps up. Fortunately we end up winning the game, despite the penalties, so I don’t get the same level of flak that I might’ve had we lost.
I get held up on the way out of the locker room because Smart wants the team doctor to check me out, so everyone’s settled in at the bar by the time I arrive. The bunnies are everywhere, trying to get in my lap, touching me, looking for a hook up I’m not interested in. My split eyebrow reopened during the fight, and my head is throbbing. I practically have to shove my way into a seat at the team table. I end up next to Waters.
“You all right, man? You took a solid hit.” He glances pointedly at my eyebrow.
“I’m good. Nothing I can’t handle. That guy wouldn’t let up,” I reply.
“I get that. But beyond this—” He taps his own eyebrow. “—are you good? Things settled down for you?”
Sometimes, after I see Tash or she calls or whatever, I talk to Violet, Waters’ wife. She’s good at listening, even if I only tell her the surface stuff. Last summer I went to Waters’ cottage after an altercation with Tash, and like usual, Violet was good about talking me down.
Later Randy asked about my relationship with her, and told me to watch myself.
I might look at Violet like family, but she’s not, and I don’t want to mess things up—for myself or anyone else—so I’ve given myself space from them. I never want to get between the people who are there for me. It’s kinda like how I’m leaving things alone with Miller right now. I get that sometimes the things I do rub him the wrong way, and now isn’t the time to hash it out.
“Yeah, man. Like I said, I got it handled. I’m gonna get a beer.”
“Okay. You did good out there, Romero. I know you’re keeping an eye out for Miller, and the team appreciates it.”
The compliment means a lot and makes me uncomfortable at the same time. I stand as Alex gets pulled into a conversation with Westinghouse, and I flag down a passing waitress to order a pint of Guinness.
Rookie’s got girls looking for action again, and he’s a lot more interested than I am, so when he asks, I tell him it’s fine to take them up to the room. A little while later I see Randy and Miller heading up, so I ask if I can come with them.
Miller gives Randy a look. “You’re not taking a bunny off Rookie’s hands?”
“I’m tired. I just wanna sleep.”
“That’s a first,” Miller scoffs.
“Look, man, I know you’re stressed about Sunny and the baby and shit, but you think you can cut me a little slack here?”
Miller blinks a few times, jaw working as the hardness in his expression eases a little. He nods. “Yeah, man. Sorry. There’s a lot going on.”
“You wanna crash in our room?” Randy asks, breaking the tension.
“You cool with that?” I pull my phone out of my pocket and check my messages. There aren’t any new ones since Tash messaged me earlier, and I haven’t read them. Yet.
“Yeah, man. Of course. You sure you’re all right?” Randy asks.
“Yeah. Just one of those days.”
The whole scene is losing its appeal. It brings me more trouble than it’s worth these days, especially since the guys I’m tight with on the team are all committed to someone. I don’t know if it’s that or the crap with Tash, but if I’m going to feel alone—which I know I will—I’d rather actually be alone as well.