Page 46 of Puck My Life

Everything is going wrong.

I lean against my bedroom door and try to breathe through my panic. I’ve never felt like this before. The world, my world has ended in a cloud of perfume and girlish titters. I’ve thought that this would happen, but not so soon, not now.

“Vae! We need you!”

I swipe at my face and straighten my top, giving myself a couple extra seconds before I slip out of my room and confront the nightmare that is now my life.

Deacon, Raynor, and Mal came home today with a girl, an omega. She’s in my class, and she used to call me names. They met her picking me up, apparently.

They brought this bitch home, into my house, and introduced her as their girlfriend. She’s a stunning omega with chocolate-brown hair and cherry-red lips. Karla is very good at hiding who she is deep inside her messed-up soul.

I feel like something died inside of me. The betrayal, the rage, the sick sense of loss.

With numb feelings, I walk into the kitchen and empty chips into bowls and fill drinks for them. I don’t even know why I’m doing it, just that anything that gets me out of that room is better than sitting in there while they ignore me.

Sitting while I watch them touch her.

This violent urge to scream crawls up the inside of my throat, putting so much pressure that I almost can’t swallow.

They talk, and then the kissing starts. The sound stops me dead, half-way back with their drinks. A screeching sound fills my head, blinding me to everything else. I take three steps until I’m standing in the doorway, staring at them. She’s kissing Mal. My Mal. He moans and pulls her tighter against him. Karla pulls her face from his, and Deacon kisses her. I can’t look away; I don’t know what to do.

I stare at them, unable to move as I take in every detail of their sordid tryst, my heart shattering in my chest. The betrayal burning bright and fierce, tearing every single part of me apart.

How could they?

Raynor pulls her up, and the four of them disappear into Deacon’s room.

Her cries come straight through the drywall. I throw myself outside, slamming the door, leaving everything behind.

I run all the way to our pirate ship, where I climb up and crouch as small as I can, unable to stop the sobs that are tearing me apart or the memories of the girl who has taken my place.

PRESENT

I can’t get out of being at the game. I tried, but Marilyn sent a message that was absolutely impossible to refuse. It’s the first game of the season, the one they’ve been working for.

I’m supposed to meet the alpha here. Jansen, I don’t know much about him, just that he’s a good friend of Marilyn’s, an alpha, and is the CEO of some big company. This is the first date I’ve had in forever, and I hate, really hate that it’s watching my Lost Boys play. I should have fought harder and said no.

Tonight will be Mal’s first game. I bet he’s freaking out. I should have gone home last night. He’s probably a mess. I twist my fingers and stand with the thousands of fans.

“He had Indy. He didn’t need me. Mal could have called; it’s not like I don’t have a phone.”

It’s hard not to sink face first into the tide of shame and guilt that is swirling around inside me. And what if she finds out and exposes me to their fans? The thought sends ice through my blood.

The Scorpions come onto the ice, stepping from awkward walks to effortless glides. They are tall, powerful, and aggression drips off of them. The captain, Julius Keene, holds up his hand as he leads the team in a quick circle of the ice. I watch, but my gaze goes to Deacon, who hits the blue line and drops into a crouch, laying his bare fingers on the ice. He skates to the second line and does the same.

I shake my head. I’m not sure when he developed that superstition, but I’m sure it was when he worked for the club, cleaning the lockers and arena after school and on weekends. Thinking about Deacon reminds me of Henry and that, despite all his asshole ways, deep down underneath the playboy persona, Deacon is a good alpha. Henry is an example of the Deacon I know and love.

Henry idolizes Deacon, and I’ve seen them on the ice together when everyone’s gone home, an unusually patient Deacon walking the young man through drills and stickwork. He’s happy on the ice with Henry, and I wish that he could be like that playing with this team. He could love this game so much more if he could open up to his team.

The Scorpions get into some quick drills, skating back and forth, stretching. I ignore everyone else but Deacon and Mal. The ice is bright and shiny; it looks smooth, the red and blue lines crisp.

The anticipation of the crowd is contagious, the laughter, shouts, milling of people wearing an ocean of Scorpion red. It’s addictive.

They leave the ice, and I sit through the pregame while the lights flash on and off. Spotlights flying up and around, while the linesmen and referees do racing laps of the ice, warming up their muscles.

And then the big screens come on, showing the guys coming out of the locker room, through the tunnel. They step onto the ice with fire blazing up four feet into the air. The crowd is already standing, but they scream when the players appear; the sound is deafening. I scream along with them. No one wants this win more than I do.

I don’t care about the rest, though I notice Vonn Keene, the backup goalie, and Rhett James, a defenseman, just behind them. They look good, all of them in uniforms, clean, strong, fresh.