Page 111 of Heartbreak Hockey

I let my lids flutter closed. I am tired. Every limb of my body feels like someone filled it with wet sand. “I’ll sleep and you’ll stay right here?”

He squeezes me into him. “Not going anywhere. Promise.”

After a minute of trying to sleep, a thought comes to me and I laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Pounding on some guys from Boston’ll make me feel better,” I say.

He shrugs. “Lambs must be sacrificed.” Aside from the fact he’ll let me do anything I want to feel better right now, Mercy’s come to see just how much Boston needs an attitude adjustment.

“They’re hardly lambs. More like Orcs in hockey pads—and not the fun sexy kind in romance books.”

“You read about sexy Orcs, Leslie?”

“Duh. Who doesn’t?”

“Go to sleep, Jack.”

Chapter23

Baby, Baby, Baby

Mercy’s Log

MERCY

I’ve turned into the creepy boyfriend who watches you sleep. But you’ve started smiling in your sleep, did you know? I guess you couldn’t know that. Well, you do. I didn’t know it was possible for someone to be a ray of sunshine with their eyes closed. Selfishly, I hope you’re dreaming of me.

* * *

March - April

Iknow this was Rhett’s doing. I just know it. Jack’s too forgiving. He’s too positive. I guess it’s what I wanted from the beginning, to watch his optimistic nature return, but Rhett should get ground into dust for this.

Instead, Jack’s attitude is, “S’okay if I don’t get drafted, Merc. I’ve already talked to my dad and told him I’m staying in the AHL. Maybe it’s time I accept that this is where my hockey career has landed and enjoy it.”

Jack is the best up-and-comer I’ve ever seen. If he doesn’t move up, it’s a crime. I put in a call to Eddie to see if he’d heard anything through the hockey gossip mill, but he’s been busy with his own team as they head into playoffs season. I talked to Vancouver who claims one of their guys came back from injury early, but when I checked the rosters, he still wasn’t showing.

Could it be a mistake? Maybe, but I know it’s not. Know it in my bones. Do I have any proof? No. Just a bunch of useless gut feelings that all point to slime-y Rhett.

Through March, there’d been interest in other guys on the team. Jack was gracious and genuinely happy for them. He didn’t complain or resent them or his situation. Or the fucking unfairness of the whole thing. He carried on. Kept his stats up and his head down. I had to watch him pull off amazing feats on the ice several times a week and not get the recognition he deserves.

If it weren’t for his stats, I’d chalk my praise of him up to bias, but I’ve got the hard numbers to prove to everyone that he’s going unnoticed, just not the why.

As I go over the whole drama in my head, I clean my apartment. Jack and I still mate like bunnies, but there are more signs of life around the place than simply apocalyptic sex disasters everywhere.

His toothbrush lies on the bathroom counter instead of in the holder because he likes the bristles to dry over the sink rather than standing up for some reason. He leaves his favorite Juice Truck juices in my fridge so that no one in his condo drinks them by mistake … or on purpose.

He leaves the Jack and Mercy Meyer dolls in random places in the condo in deviant positions. Though sometimes, when he’s had to leave early in the morning to head to his trainer, he’s left them holding hands on the nightstand with notes that range from honey sweet to filthy kinky.

“You’re adorable when you sleep, Merc. Like a masculine Sleeping Beauty. As your prince, I’ll return to wake you with a kiss. So if you hear me come in, pretend you’re asleep, okay?” Love, Prince Buttercup.

“Bone me later?” Yours, Jack.

“When I get back, make me ride your dick until I can’t scream anymore, but don’t let me come until I’ve earned it … or my ass is fire-engine red from you whacking it to death.” Yours, Leslie.

“Roses are red, hockey pucks are black, you moan like a wolf with my mouth on your sack.” Love, Trouble.