Pucked Over (Pucked #3) (17 page)

“Fine. Sure.”

“Great.” He smiles.

I used to find it charming; now it seems more of a leer. He thinks he’s going to convince me to get back together with him. He orders a coffee and a scone and takes a seat on one of the couches. He watches me while I work, which I find highly unsettling. I don’t feel like doing this with him today. But I suppose now’s as good a time as any to let him know this is really over.

At five, I clock out. Benji’s right there, opening doors for me, being all sweet. He’s good at faking nice, as well as guilt-tripping and manipulating. It’s a game he likes to play. I think I’d gotten so used to it after seven years, it seemed normal. But seeing Sunny and Miller together, and even Violet and Alex, I’m getting a much better sense of how dysfunctional my relationship with Benji truly was.

He puts his hand on my lower back, guiding me out of the shop. “You teach at six, right?”

I walk a little faster to get away from his hand. “Yeah.” His car is parked in the lot.

Here’s an interesting fact about Benji: he dresses like he’s homeless, but his family is fairly well off. He drives a brand new Jetta. He didn’t pay for it, though. His parents did, just like they pay for everything else.

He hits the button, unlocking it. I grab the handle before he can and slide into the passenger seat. He closes the door for me, his smile wavering a little as he walks around the car. He’s back to his grinning, fake-pleasant self by the time he’s in the driver’s seat.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, buckling himself in.

“Fine. Good. How about you?”

“Oh, you know. Keeping busy.” That’s Benji code for boinking other girls, or trying to make me think he has. I don’t care if it’s true.

“That’s good.”

He glances at me, lips pursed under his scraggly mustache. He stretches his arm out over the back of my seat as he reverses out of the spot. He nearly hits a customer and has the audacity to flip her off as he pulls out onto the street. I slouch in my seat so she can’t see me. It’s a ten-minute drive to the campus rink. I’m hoping we can manage not to have a screaming match.

“You know, you can always call me if you need a ride.” His fingers graze the back of my neck.

I lurch forward. “Thanks. That’s probably not a good idea, though.”

“Come on, Lils. How long are you planning to stay mad at me this time? I know I’m not perfect, but neither are you. We had a fight. It happens. It’s over now. I know you were mad at me when we were camping, and that’s why you kissed that hockey douche. I’ll forgive you for that.”

This right here is what I’m talking about. This is the kind of crap Benji pulls, putting it all on me. It wasn’t always this way. He was a great boyfriend for the first four years—doting, kind, sweet. Sometimes a little too much of all of those things. We were solid until senior year; then there were a couple of bumps and short breakups. Nothing terrible.

Things got rocky after high school. I went to university on a full scholarship instead of pursuing my dream. He went to college to get a diploma in loafing. It was eye-opening to be in classes with other guys who expressed an interest in me. Benji didn’t like it; he has insecurity issues. I’ve realized he used to project them on me by constantly telling me I wasn’t good enough. The jabs were subtle at first, but by the end he’d blatantly put me down.

I don’t know why I stayed for so long. Maybe I was too scared to have no one other than Sunny, since most of our friends left Guelph after high school. Maybe I was scared I’d end up like my mom, with a revolving door of loser boyfriends. Regardless, it’s a cycle that needs to stay broken, for good this time.

“I’m not asking to be forgiven for kissing Randy.”

“Fine. Then I won’t ask to be forgiven for screwing around on you, either.”

“Screwing around on me? Benji, we’re not together. You can screw anyone you damn well please. It’s none of my business.”

He’s silent for the rest of the ride—stewing, I guess. I hold my knapsack on my lap, wishing I’d gone with my gut and taken the bus, even if it meant rushing to get to the rink.

Benji pulls up to the front of the arena.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“So that’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?” As his anger expands, so does his volume.

“I don’t know what else you want me to say. We haven’t spoken in two months apart from the time you came to the coffee shop with that girl you apparently work with. We’ve said all the things we need to say to each other over the years. We should be good at this point, don’t you think?”

“Why can’t you admit you made a mistake with the meathead? Why are you so intent on becoming your mom?”

And just like that, he makes me feel two inches tall. I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the insults. “Don’t bring my mom into this.”

“Why? Because you don’t like the truth?”

I don’t engage; I don’t have enough time to battle it out. And I don’t want to. “Do you have my stuff with you?”

“Stuff?”

“My things? From your house?”

“I didn’t think you were gonna be playing this game with me, Lily. I thought we were gonna work things out.”

“Never mind. I gotta go.”

I reach for the door handle, and Benji grabs my wrist.

“Let go of me.”

He loosens his grip. “Come on, Lily. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. I miss you. I’m worried about you.”

My phone rings. I slip it out of my pocket. It’s five-thirty. It takes a good ten minutes to get changed, and I still need to warm up before the kids arrive for their lesson at six.

“Don’t answer that, Lily.”

I’ve about had it with being told what I should and shouldn’t do. The screen lights up, the name flashing its alert. Of all the people to be calling at this moment. I wrench my arm out of Benji’s grip, open the door, and get jerked back by the seatbelt. I slam my finger on the button and tumble out of the car, landing on my ass in a puddle. It hasn’t even been raining, so I’m not sure where the damn wet spot came from. “Thanks again for the ride.”

“Come on, Li—”

I hit the green button and bring the phone to my ear, meeting Benji’s annoyed gaze. “Hi, Randy.” I slam the door, pop up from the ground, and start hoofing it toward the building.

That was probably a really bad idea. Nothing like poking a hornet’s nest when you’re sitting right beside the hornet. Benji lays on the horn and rolls down the window. I start jogging, not interested in hearing his vitriol spew. My heart crashes around in my chest as I push through the arena doors, leaving Benji to fume.

“Hey, luscious. How’s it goin’?”

“Hey. Good. Great. How ’bout you?” I’m breathless, so each word comes out on a pant.

“Excellent. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Huh. What? No. Nope. Not a bad time.” The unpleasant altercation with Benji is immediately forgotten—okay, not forgotten, but made much less worse by the low, deep timbre of Randy’s voice. It makes my girl parts tingle like they’ve been dipped in mouthwash.

“You sure? You sound out of breath.”

“I’m on my way into the rink.”

“That’s unfortunate. Here I thought maybe I’d caught you with your hand down your pants.”

I laugh. “I’d probably get arrested if I did that right now.”

“Too bad. It’s a nice image.” He makes a sound, like a sigh with a hum attached to it. “So I’m guessing you’re lying about it not being a bad time.”

I shoulder open the door to the locker room. It’s empty apart from me. I put my phone on speaker. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to teach.”

“Awesome. How’ve you been?”

“Good. You?”

“Yeah. All right. My dad overstayed his welcome; I only got rid of him a few days ago.”

“I’m sorry about that. Didn’t sound like a good situation.”

“It wasn’t. It isn’t. But whatever. I don’t see him much, so I should be good for another six months before he fucks with my shit again.”

“I guess that’s a good thing?”

“Yeah.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, I change the subject. “How’s the season going?”

“I’m getting used to my new team. It’s good even though it’s different. You know how it goes—or maybe you don’t.”

“I can understand that. It’s like a learning curve, right? Figuring out how everyone works together and stuff. It’s probably like getting used to a new partner for pairs, but with way more people involved.” I pull my shirt over my head and kick off my shoes.

“Yeah. That’s a reasonable comparison. What’re you doing? What’s all that noise?”

“I’m getting changed.”

“No shit. Are you naked?” I swear his voice lowers two octaves.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Every part of me warms at the memory of the things he did to me the last time we were naked.

“I sure as hell would.”

I laugh.

“You’re not gonna tell me?”

“You can’t see me, so I’m not sure it matters.”

“It’s the idea, the possibility.”

“Fine. I’m naked.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Too bad. Look, speaking of getting naked, I’ve got a game in Toronto at the end of the week. We’re gonna be there overnight. I can get you tickets, and then you can spend the night with me.”

“Wow. Talk about cutting to the chase.” I’m not sure what to expect, not having heard from him in weeks. His dad being there may have had something to do with that, though. I’m a little shocked at his boldness, although maybe I shouldn’t be. Could be this is just how it works.

“It’s at the end of a series, so I can stay an extra night, if you’re interested. We can get extra naked. I’ll even take you out for dinner like I was supposed to last time.”

Oh, God. Hours of uninterrupted time with Randy. A night in a bed with no constraints and no one to walk in on us. Still, I don’t want to say yes right away and make it seem like I’m willing to drop everything for him. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“You do that.”

“’Kay. I’ll let you know as soon as I know.”

“Sounds good. I’ll make sure my special false-advertising boxers are clean for you.”

I cringe, still embarrassed. “You can get rid of those any time now.”

“I like them more now than I did before you decorated them.”

I won’t admit it, but I sort of like that he’s kept them. The alarm goes off on my phone, signaling that I need to be on the ice. “I gotta go. Bye, Randy.”

“Later, Lily.”

I hang up and start lacing my skates. Another dose of Randy is exactly what I deserve for finally getting Benji out of my life for good.

Persistence for Payoff

RANDY

It’s the middle of the third period in New York, and we’re down one. It’s not always easy to stay in a good headspace during away games. Being on the road means sleeping in beds that aren’t mine and a lack of privacy. Miller and I room together in the hotels, like we have since we played rep hockey and had tournaments away from home. Usually Miller’s dad would take us since my mom had to work and couldn’t afford to take the time off. Once we were teenagers, we went with our coaches.

Miller and I didn’t get into much trouble until our junior year of high school. We’d been playing street hockey, and some kid got him right in the face with a puck. Knocked his front teeth out, and a few other ones. It turned out to be a good thing after he got over the pain. Miller had bad teeth as a kid, and a bunch of titanium screws and implants fixed that problem after the accident.

He has to be super careful on the ice now, though. If any of those get knocked out, he’ll be wearing dentures until his hockey career is over. Maybe for the rest of his life.

Anyway, he was kinda shy with the girls until his teeth problem was resolved. Honestly, they probably would’ve been all over his dick regardless, but he’s a little sensitive about his perceived shortcomings. Kinda like I am about mine. We all find ways to manage, though.

I’m restless, waiting for my turn to get on the ice. I don’t get as much play yet because I’m still getting used to the team and learning how they interact with each other. It drives me crazy. Waters is in a bad mood with the score being the way it is, and the opposition is chippy, making it difficult to keep the puck in play. The refs are lax. It’s pissing me off.

Waters ends up getting two minutes for tripping, which gets me off the bench. They switch out a wing for me, and I fly down the ice, ready to take back the puck. I have an advantage tonight. We’re playing the team I was traded from in the spring. I know most of the players and how they move. Some of them might be my friends, but in terms of the game and winning, it doesn’t make a difference.

I nab the puck from their center, skating wide. I weave through players, my objective clear: get the puck into New York’s net. I scan for players close to me. Westinghouse is open and looking for a pass; I send the puck sailing in his direction just before New York tries to steal it. Picking up speed, I make my way toward the goalie, keeping an eye on the puck. Skating around behind the net, Westinghouse trades off right before he takes a hit. I skate around the guy looking to drop me, kiss the puck with my blade, and send it sailing between the goalie’s skates.

Scoring against my old team is a fantastic feeling, especially with us being down a player on account of Waters’ penalty. Westinghouse and I tap gloves and set up for the next play. I get back pats along the way. I can’t keep the grin contained as I face off against my old captain. Nothing beats the high of scoring a goal.

This is the rush I live for, the feeling that I’m invincible. The whistle blows, and the puck drops. I slap it away from NY’s center. Westinghouse is on it. He’s an awesome wingman. New York gets control, but Miller owns defense, keeping the puck away from our goal.

Waters is back on the ice once his penalty is over, and I’m on the bench, but I’m okay with that. I’ve done my part. We’re tied, and we’ve got three minutes left in the game. Waters is a bulldozer out there. He’s on a rampage, cutting down the ice with the puck, his focus singular. He fakes out the other team, his skating skills so refined he can trip them up without even touching them. The puck sails into the net again with only fifteen seconds left in the game. And we’ve won. There’s no coming back for New York.