Page 27 of Absolutely Pucked (Punk as Puck #3)

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

FORD

As I was pulling the sheet between the beds, hooking it around the lamp, my phone buzzed three times in quick succession. I snagged it from the nightstand and glanced at the screen, my heart doing a little double beat when I saw the name on the screen.

Well, it wasn’t Killian’s name. It said Ian, and that small lie was making me feel like shit. But it wasn’t like Micah was going to see it. Or ask.

I swiped open the text and saw two selfies of Killian with Nugget curled up on his chest. The third was a text.

Ian: I met a friend of yours. Jonah. He rode the bus with me to work and then I walked him around the store to shop. He thought I was Tucker at first. Just thought I’d make you aware.

“Oh my God, are you dying? Dude, I don’t know the Heimlich! ”

I realized I was choking on my own spit, and I swiped my hand over my mouth. “No. I’m fine. Swallowed wrong.”

“Your voice sounds weird.” Micah came around the bed, trailing his fingers over the mattress, and paused in front of the blanket fort entrance. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking ab?—”

“Yes you do,” he interrupted quickly. “You can’t lie to me.”

“Uhg. Fuck off.” I turned, grabbing the rest of the pillows, and threw them in the nest before taking a few steps toward him. “Let me guide you so you don’t fuck it all up.”

His brow furrowed, and his mouth set in a deep frown, but he took my hand and let me show him the little walkway between the hanging sheets. It was by no means perfect, but it was fun. Just like jumping on the bed had been fun, though my hip was killing me now.

But Micah was feeling better, and that’s all that mattered. He’d come up halfway between two panic attacks from the crowd, so I let Boden go off on his own, which was what I’d wanted in the first place. I was probably the most personable of all my friends, but I didn’t want to be there.

I wanted to be home with my cat and my…whatever Killian was to me.

Forbidden lover?

Fuck no. That sounded like one of those romance novels with Fabio on the cover that my mom used to read when I was growing up. I wasn’t a fan of the storylines. But I was a fan of those abs .

“Ford,” Micah said slowly. “I really don’t like when you lie to me.”

I took a breath and debated about telling him the truth, but it seemed unfair for him to know before Tucker. My friendship was starting to feel strained. Tucker was still distracted by Amedeo, but that wasn’t going to last long.

He was going to start paying attention, especially if one of our other friends asked him why I was being weird.

“I’m fucking serious,” Micah said, punching me in the thigh.

I winced. “Fuck off. Just…hang on. Let me take my leg off and get comfortable.”

He hummed his assent and shifted aside so I could stand up and unstrap myself from the confines of the socket and belt. I felt immediately better as my pant leg hung loose beneath my stump, and I settled back down beside him.

“Who texted you?”

“A new friend.”

He lifted his brows. “A new friend?”

“A new sex friend,” I clarified.

“Tell me it’s not someone from the fucking Ice Cats.” His voice was very tense.

They were the Legends’ and the Fury’s biggest rivals, and it seemed like all the dickheads in the league were traded to that team. Which I guess made sense, considering it was in Baltimore, and the energy there was chaotic as fuck.

“You know I don’t fuck hockey players.” Anymore , I added to myself. “No. He’s some guy I met at a club. ”

“Wait…the guy? The guy guy?”

I realized I hadn’t talked about my love life or meeting anyone since I met Killian at the bar that night. So I was screwed. “Mm…yeah.”

“I thought he skipped town.”

“He came back. And now he’s sending me selfies with cute kittens.”

Micah wrinkled his nose. “Uhg. Jonah has been up my ass about getting a cat. So much that he wants to move out.”

“I know.”

“And it’s fucking shitty. It’s shitty that he wants to abandon me in that place just for a goddamn cat, and?—”

“And you love him, so you’re not going to put up a fight?” I pressed. “Didn’t you tell him you wanted to get your own place so you could get laid without him listening in?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.” He sighed and flopped backward, misjudging the location of the pillows and cracking his head on the table between the beds. “Jesus. Who the fuck put that there?”

I put my arm around him and tugged until he had his head pillowed against my shoulder. He sighed with a happy hum and went boneless. “Better?”

“Yes, but if you tell people we fucked?—”

“Micah!”

“What? The last time I had a cuddle session, everyone assumed I was getting freaky with him.”

That would be Hugo. And Boden had been the one who freaked out. I could only hope that he and Hugo were working their shit out now, but Micah was right. We had all assumed.

“I’m sorry for being a dickhead. I have no business judging or assuming.”

Micah let out a trembling breath. “I, um…I don’t…”

I waited.

“I don’t have sex as much as people think I do. I thought if I dated sighted people who have nothing to do with the PPHL, they might not think I’m some horny fuckboy who only cares about getting laid. Except…for some reason, they all do , and when I turn them down…” He trailed off, and I knew why.

More than once, either Boden or I had gone out to rescue him from a bad date. And more than once, Boden and I had secretly judged him for it. I felt like an epic asshole.

“Hugo was the first person who didn’t think that about me,” Micah finished softly. “I like him. I hope Boden doesn’t fuck that up.”

I couldn’t help a small laugh. I was grateful the topic was off me and on literally anyone else so I didn’t have to keep telling half-truths. It wasn’t going to last. I wasn’t that lucky, but at the very least, I was going to hoard my borrowed time.

My borrowed time began to run out two weeks after we got back to Turenne.

“Left! Left!” Boden’s voice rang across the ice, but I was too distracted to realize what the fuck he was talking about until it was too late.

Some hulking motherfucker slammed into me.

He was a rookie on the Burners—the community league up in Boston.

I toppled over, hitting the ice just before my bucket flipped off my head and skittered several feet away.

My world swam, my vision going fuzzy, and when I tried to sit up straight, I couldn’t.

Fuck.

The sharp sound of the whistle penetrated my brain, sending searing pain up and down my spine. The lights reflecting off the ice were way too fucking bright, and it was too cold, and I realized in that moment my chest was burning because I couldn’t draw a breath.

Something smacked my back, and I gasped in a huge lungful of air, coughing as I exhaled.

“Get his face off the ice!” The accent—that was Hugo.

Panic rushed through me. This was our first game back from Montreal, but also one of Boden’s last. At least, one of the last games we were going to play together. It was also Tucker’s last season with the Wolves.

I couldn’t lose this.

“I’m fine,” I wheezed. Now that I was getting air, everything felt a little better. The sled had knocked the air out of me, but my head wasn’t hurt.

“My ass,” Hugo started, but in my clearing vision, I could see Boden holding up a hand.

“He’s fine. He’s breathing.”

I was able to right my sled, grateful my face was off the frozen water beneath me. I shivered, then shook my head and took a few more breaths. Everyone was staring. Wonderful.

“I’m pulling you for ten?—”

“Fuck that!” Boden and I cried at the same time.

“Fine. Six minutes,” Hugo said, his arms folded over his chest. It was obvious he would not be moved. My gaze found Boden’s, and I saw him soften, so I knew arguing wasn’t going to save me any more time off the bench.

Tucker skated up beside me and set a hand to the top of my back. “Come on, jackass.”

I flipped him off awkwardly with my gloved hand, then dug the spikes into the ice and pushed forward, following him to the bench.

Six minutes was enough time to be able to climb out of my sled and sit my ass on the bench, stretching my leg.

Breathing still wasn’t very easy, and the deeper the breath, the more it hurt.

There was a damn good chance I had a broken rib, but I wasn’t going to say anything until after the game.

“How bad is it?” Tucker asked, shifting his sled a little closer to me. He could fit easier. His sled was slender and low to the ground beyond his bucket since he didn’t need to make room for legs. He tucked the edge of his sled under the bench, then set a hand on my knee.

Talking to him was even harder now that I was admitting to myself that this thing with Killian wasn’t just sex. It was so much more.

I bit my tongue and looked away. The pain in my ribs was worse now. Fuck my whole life.

“Ford,” he growled.

I sighed. “I think I might have Bodie run me in for an X-ray when the game’s over.” Not that they could really do anything for a cracked rib, but the team would cover the cost of the visit, and I knew Hugo would kick my ass if I ignored a real injury.

He was getting ready to ask me to take the C, and I was both terrified and also feeling a little…excited wasn’t the word. The weight of responsibility was heavy, but something in me wanted it for the first time in my life.

I didn’t want to screw this up.

Everyone was leaving me, and I needed something to hold on to.

“What’s that face?” Tucker asked.

I shoved at him. “Nothing. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You can’t see shit.”

“I can see this.” He lifted his stick and tapped me on the chin just below my frown. “Also, I think you’re getting wrinkles.”

I gasped and fought off a cough from the pain. “How fucking dare you. I’m as fresh as a Georgia peach.”

He grinned and leaned against my leg. “Sure, bud. And my ass is as round as…I don’t know what else is round? Another Georgia peach? Do peaches grow anywhere else?”