Pucked Over (Pucked #3) (37 page)

“You wanna tell me what happened? Sunny called me freaking out about Lily,” Miller asks.

I close my eyes, undecided as to whether keeping them open makes the nausea go away. “Lily broke up with me.” The car jerks to a stop, and I fall off the backseat onto the floor. “The fuck, man?”

“
Broke up
with you?” Lance is looking at me like I’ve told him aliens really do exist.

I manage to get my ass back on the seat. This time I buckle myself in. “Or I broke up with her. I don’t know. She said she didn’t wanna see me any more.”

“I thought you two were just having fun.” There’s a bite to Miller’s tone.

“We are.” I shake my head. “Or we were. Last night she said it wasn’t fun anymore. That it was getting, like, serious. So that’s it. It’s done.”

Miller and Lance exchange a look. Miller turns so he can see me. “So you’re telling me Lily’s the one who ended things?”

“She initiated it. Yeah. I dropped her off after dinner, and I was gonna spend the night, or as long as I could, but she said I shouldn’t, and that she didn’t want to see me any more, and that was it. Can we not talk about this right now?” I drop my head against the seat and close my eyes again. I’m leaving out a lot of details, but talking about it doesn’t make me feel good.

Neither of them says anything else, so I keep my eyes closed. All I want is to fall asleep again and shut off all the thoughts in my head, the roll in my stomach, and these brutal feelings I don’t know how to manage. Before Lily, as soon as things started to get intense, I bailed. But with Lily it was intense like that right from the beginning, so maybe it took longer for me to realize what was happening. Or maybe that’s an excuse.

“Hey, sweets. Yeah. We’re on our way to the airport. Uh-huh. We got ’im. He’s still drunk,” Miller says.

“I can hear you, Butterson. You know that, right?” I crack a lid.

He flips me the bird. “Balls says she’s the one who cut things off.”

“You wanna find a different way to word that?” I mumble.

Lance barks out a laugh. Miller slaps his arm.

“Sorry, bro, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” Miller goes back to talking to Sunny. “I don’t get it. Why’s she so upset if she’s the one who ended it?” Miller’s silent for a long time, during which Sunny’s distressed voice filters through, but her words are lost in the sounds of traffic. “Oh. Right. Okay. I guess that makes sense. Sure. I love you, too. I’ll call you when we land.”

Miller ends the call. “Women are confusing.”

Lance snorts. “They’re vicious is what they are.”

I don’t say anything, because what is there to say? It’s probably better we ended it now anyway, especially with her moving to Chicago. I’d want to see her all the time, and I’d try to be her boyfriend, and I’d ruin it by messing around with someone else. It’s the whole apple-and-apple-tree scenario.

By the time we get to security, I’m feeling my hangover. I’ve got the sweats, and I think I’m going to hurl. I’m not very steady on my feet either. I take off my jacket and shoes and throw them into one of the bins. I follow with my belt and phone. Then I empty the contents of my pockets, starting with my wallet.

I check for change and find Lily’s wadded up panties. It’s the pair I bought her when I surprised her in Guelph. She looked so good in them. And out of them. I rub the soft lace between my fingers.

Lance is behind me. He elbows me in the side. “Balls, put your souvenir away.”

“It’s not a fuckin’ souvenir,” I growl.

He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Keep it together, man.”

I toss the panties in the bin and push it down the ramp. The security chick gives me a look, but I’m too morose to care. I wait while the guy pats me down, and then collect all my stuff, shoving the panties back in my pocket before anything else.

I don’t talk to anyone on the plane ride, mostly because I feel like a bag of shit, physically and mentally. I’m grateful for the hour of sleep I manage. The nap makes me feel marginally better. By the time we land, the nausea has passed for the most part, but all the other shit is still there.

As soon as we get to the hotel, I hijack the bathroom and shower to get rid of the booze smell. Miller’s lying on his bed, watching sports highlights. “Your phone’s been going off.”

I check it, but it’s not Lily. It’s my mom, wishing me good luck in the game. I feel guilty that I didn’t see her more over the holidays, especially since my sister didn’t come home, but I was with Lily. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t invite her to meet my mom.

“Not who you wanted it to be?” Miller asks.

“Nope.” I toss my phone on the bed. I should call my mom, but I don’t feel like talking to anyone. I rub my chest, annoyed by the weird ache.

“You could call her, you know.”

I drop down on the mattress and lie back against the pillows. “What would be the point? I can’t make this something it isn’t supposed to be.”

“What does that even mean?”

“She said she wasn’t having fun anymore, end of story.” I don’t want to tell him what I said to her. How shitty I made her feel. How I blamed her when it was my damn fault.

“She say why she wasn’t having fun?” Miller asks.

“She said it was getting too intense. Look, I’m in a shitty mood. I know you’re trying to help, Miller, but talking about it makes me feel worse. I just wanna focus on strategy for the game, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m gonna shower, and then we can go get something to eat with the team.”

***

I’m sitting on the bench, waiting for the whistle to blow so I can get on the ice and get out some of this aggression. We’re down one, and Waters has something going on with his shooting arm. He’s been rubbing his shoulder every time he gets off the ice. As soon as it’s my turn, I rush down the ice after the puck.

I put all my focus into getting close to the net. Westinghouse is parallel to me. I pass the puck, but one of the guys from Colorado manages to trip him up with a dirty move and gains control. He doesn’t keep it for long, though. Miller’s got things under control, and manages to get the puck back.

I camp out in front of the net, knowing if Miller can get it back to Westinghouse, he’ll pass to me. Colorado’s defense knows this, too. Number sixty-three is on me, nudging me in the back with his stick. I’m not in the mood for bullshit tonight.

I get behind him and give a little shove back. He elbows me, so I shift my foot between his and nudge the back of his knee, setting him off balance. We go down together. I wait until he grabs my jersey before I take hold of his. As we fall, I flip us.

When I’m on a slick surface with blades on my feet and I’m going down, there’s one essential rule: always be on top. He’s spitting obscenities, pissed because I pulled a shady move. But he’s been a problem all game. My plan isn’t to fight, though. All I want is to get him off my back. But he starts swinging, so I don’t have a choice but to deflect.

He grabs my cage.

There are very few things that really make me angry on the ice. Chippy playing is one of them. Asshole defense is another. And cage-grabbing makes me see red. I hold his helmet with both hands, pinning his head to the ice. I keep trying to get traction, but he’s still holding on to my cage with one hand, and trying to punch me with the other, so my feet keep sliding out from under me.

It takes three tries for me to get up. The crowd is going crazy. Colorado fans are screaming at the refs to do something. Chicago fans are just as wild. I shove off the guy as the whistle blows. I’m not surprised by the penalty, but at least Colorado gets one, too.

“Nice ice-hump there, Balls. That’ll look awesome on the highlights.” Miller pats me on the shoulder on my way to the penalty box.

We end up losing the game by one. At the bar some chick offers to make me feel better. She has dark hair like Lily’s, but it’s longer. Her lips are red, and her boobs are bigger. Her eyes are blue. I could try to fuck out some of the anger and whatever else is going on inside me, but I think it’ll have the opposite effect.

I decline and head up to the room instead. Miller’s already there. He’s lying down, doing what he always does after a game: watching the highlights.

“Check this out.” He points to the screen.

There I am, ice-humping the guy from Colorado. No wonder he was so mad. “He was being a dick; he deserved it.”

“Not arguing with that.”

Miller rolls out of bed and ambles to the bathroom. I shrug out of my suit and drop it on the floor, too lazy to give a shit. I check my phone, but I don’t have any new messages from Lily. Normally after a game she sends me one.

I pull up her contact and call her. It rings a bunch of times and goes to voice mail. I close my eyes at the sound of her voice, telling me to leave a message at the tone.

I take a deep breath after the beep. At first I consider hanging up, but then I figure she’s going to know it’s me from the number, and all I’ve done so far is pervert breathe. Miller comes out of the bathroom as I start talking. “Some girl wanted to fuck me tonight. She looked kinda like you. Well, only her hair, but not even—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Miller smacks the phone out of my hand.

“I’m leaving a message.”

I try to grab my phone, but Miller shoves me out of the way. I slam into the night table, and the lamp falls over.

“About banging some other chick?” he yells.

“I didn’t fuck another chick. That’s the point!”

Miller nabs the phone and puts it to his ear. I tackle him to the floor, and we wrestle, me trying to get the phone while he tries to punch buttons. He puts a hand on my face. “Stop being an idiot, Balls. I’m trying to delete the message.”

“I’ll delete it.” I elbow him in the ribs and finally get my phone, but I must hit the wrong button because I don’t get the option to delete or send. “Shit.”

“Don’t tell me you sent that.” Miller pushes me off of him.

I lie on the floor, panting. “I think I sent that. Should I message her and tell her to delete it without listening to it?”

Miller shakes his head. “You know, I thought I was hopeless with relationships, but you make me look like goddamn Einstein. I’mma call Sunny.”

“What good is calling Sunny gonna do?”

“She can at least talk to Lily.” Miller punches away at his phone, brows furrowed in concentration. “I’m getting voice mail.” He waits a few more seconds. “Hey, sweets. I’m guessing you’re asleep. If you get a chance, can you call me? Randy left a stupid message for Lily, and it’d be better if she didn’t listen to it. Love you. Can’t wait to come home…” He lowers his voice so I can’t hear the rest.

I decide it’s probably best if I message Lily since Miller can’t get a hold of Sunny.

If u get a msg from me can u delete it? It didn’t come out the right way.

I don’t hear back from her.

Sleep sucks. In the morning I have a message.

You’re not mine, so u can fuck whoever u want
.

This isn’t a conversation I want to have over text. I try to call again, but it goes to voice mail. I don’t leave another message since the last one sucked my balls.

Once I’m back home, I drop my shit at the door and head for my bedroom. All I want is to lie down and smell Lily. It’s weird, and maybe a little messed up. But the housekeeper’s been by, and the sheets are fresh. The clothes Lily left behind are folded in a neat pile on her side of the bed.

The damn chest ache is back. I rub the spot, hating the phantom pain.

That’s when I realize what I’m feeling is heartbreak. I’m always worried about hurting someone else; I never thought about myself. And it’s my own damn fault.

But trying for more with Lily will only end up causing her pain in the end.

***

“Why don’t you go see her while we’re in Toronto if she won’t answer calls?” Lance is currently kicking my ass at NHL Hockey on Xbox. Granted, I’m not trying very hard.

“There’s no point.” It’s been two weeks, and I’ve heard nothing from her.

He beats me for the third time, so I toss the controller to Miller. “You’re up.” I must throw it with more force than I intended because it hits him in the throat.

“Seriously, dude.” Miller rubs his neck.

“Sorry.”

“You’re worse than a PMSing teenage girl right now.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“Uh, yeah, you are. You’ve had penalties every game for the past two weeks. You’re almost as bad as me,” Lance says.

He’s right about that. I’ve been way more aggressive than usual. I almost got ejected from the last game for fighting. “Seeing Lily isn’t going to change that.”

“You can’t know until you try,” Miller says. He’s been on me to work shit out, but there’s nothing to work. Lily hasn’t messaged me again since I left that voice mail, and I don’t have the balls to try again. I don’t know what I was thinking doing that in the first place. She’ll be moving to Chicago soon, but it’s not like I’m going to run into her all the time. Unless she’s at games. Then I’ll want to talk to her when I should really just leave her alone.

According to Sunny, Lily’s flying to Chicago next week. Alex didn’t want her driving in a U-Haul in the middle of January, so he’s having her stuff shipped to the house. I hate that I’m jealous of a guy with a fiancée.