Page 27 of Pucked Up (Punk as Puck #2)

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

HUGO

Boden was avoiding me. It was to be expected, the way he flew out of my house and didn’t look back. I ached from it. I thought we’d had something. I thought things between us had shifted, and for a brief moment, I thought maybe something good was about to fall in my lap.

But I was foolish to have even a scrap of hope.

I took it in stride. I didn’t ask where Boden was when he didn’t show up to practice, though the looks I started getting from Ford and Tucker told me that yeah, they knew now. They obviously hadn’t before, but whatever crisis my night with Boden had caused, he’d clearly spilled the beans.

At one point, Ford skated past me in his sled and pointed two fingers at his eyes, then one at me.

I huffed and waved him off, and he skated away, digging his picks into the ice hard enough to send flecks up in his wake. Tucker made a face behind his mask, then eventually made his way over to the wall and tapped it with his stick until I walked over.

“Ignore him.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea, considering I am his coach. And yours.”

Chewing on his mouth guard, he glanced at Ford, then said, “You know we know. Right? About it ?”

“I assumed as much.” I wanted to ask him what, exactly, Boden had said. What was I to him before, and then now after it all crashed and burned? But I knew better. That wasn’t a line I was going to cross during practice. “Get back to drills, please. You’re acting captain today.”

Tucker looked annoyed, but mostly because this was going to be his last bit of real playing with his team. When he took over the coaching position for the Legend, that would be it. I’d still see him, I was sure, but not like this.

I didn’t know him well enough to be sad, but there was still an ache in the pit of my stomach that I didn’t entirely understand.

Well, that wasn’t true—I did understand.

I just wasn’t ready to face what it meant.

Especially since it was very clear Boden wanted nothing to do with me outside of what I could give him physically.

And that was fair. That was the amended rules of our little…game.

Shoving that aside, I finished up with practice, then called an end and headed to the office so I could finish up my travel plans.

I’d finally spoken to Micah, who seemed resigned to going but not overly enthusiastic about it, and I felt bad, considering he and I were both being strong-armed into this.

But it was what it was. PPHL politics were no different from the NHL. There was always some corporate asshole making sure optics were pristine, and they didn’t care who was hurt and who was taken advantage of in order to achieve that.

I’d suck it up this once—for Reid, though I doubted he’d have gone if he’d been here. He would have laughed himself silly at Edwin, then insisted we spend the night on the couch with me feeding him all the foods he wasn’t supposed to eat and watching old ’90s rom-coms.

I missed those nights sometimes. It hurt, and I hated myself a little for not appreciating them when I had them. But I also knew Reid wouldn’t want me to wallow in that either. So I wasn’t going to.

“Coach?”

I glanced up from my computer, where my mouse had been hovering over the train ticket purchase button. I was going to grab myself and Micah a room to share since it was a good twenty-four hours to Montreal from the Boston station. Tucker was hovering in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked.

“Not at all. Have a seat. Do you need me to point out?—”

“I’m good,” he said, cutting me off. He found the chair easily and slumped down, using his hands to straighten his prosthetic knees so his feet stretched out in front of him. “Look, Ford didn’t actually mean?—”

“This isn’t something I’m actually willing to discuss,” I told him without letting him finish. “I understand that Boden is important to you and that he probably tells you almost everything.”

“Too much,” Tucker muttered. “But I guess I kind of deserve it.”

I couldn’t help a small smile. “Of course. But whatever is between us stays out of this building, alright? I don’t want any…” I searched for the word in English. “Untoward rumors going around, especially if he’s picked up by a team.”

Tucker snorted. “Yeah, right. If anyone’s going to take credit about that, it’s his jackass dad. Sorry,” he added quickly. “I know you’re friends or whatever.”

“We are not.” The thought of being friends with that man made my stomach churn. “We’re acquainted. Nothing more than that.”

“I—oh.” He frowned. “Did I know that? Anyway, whatever. That’s good because he’s a real fucking dickhead to Bodie.”

“I’ve noticed.” My words came out quiet and small and full of resentment because I had noticed, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Tucker studied me for a long beat, his slightly scarred, sighted eye fixed on my face for several breaths. “Well, anyway, I—” He stopped again. “I lost track of what I was saying.”

“Is that what you came in here for? To warn me about hurting Boden? ”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Nah. I mean, the fucker hurts himself enough, you know?” I did know. And I hated that too. “I think I just needed you to know that we knew.”

“This gave you away,” I told him, then mimicked the pointed eye gesture Ford had given me on the ice.

“Oh my God, my friends are such fucking nerds,” Tucker moaned. He slapped his hands on his thighs, then pushed to his feet and wobbled a bit before he steadied himself. “Anyway, I’m gonna go so this is less awkward. Just, you know, wrap it up.”

I frowned. “Wrap what up?” He had just made it clear the conversation was done.

Turning slightly, he lifted a brow. “Your dick, Coach.”

“I—” Oh . My face flamed, but I cleared my throat and nodded. “I always do.”

He stared at me a moment longer, then let himself out, closing the door firmly behind him. Sagging back into my chair, I felt more confused than ever. What the hell did this mean? How did Boden actually feel, considering he was avoiding me like the plague?

And, most importantly, what was I supposed to do about it?

I had zero time to think. It felt like between one breath and the next, I was packing my suitcase and heading over in a Lyft to pick Micah up for the station.

I didn’t know him well. We’d spoken over the phone but never in person, so I was startled to see up close just how much he looked like his brother.

They must have been twins. Jonah had a collection of tattoos on his arms, but other than that, they shared the same haircut, same face, same everything. The only real stark difference was that Jonah wore prosthetic eyes—often of varying colors and designs—and Micah did not.

And it seemed obvious he never had with the way his eye sockets were very small, and his thick, dark lashes were almost like two small commas. He had the same smile as Jonah though, and he stuck his hand out toward me after he was buckled in.

“So. Blind date with a blind guy, eh?”

Was this a date? “Euh…”

“Breathe, dude. I’ve been warned off you like sixteen times by literally everyone I know. I’m not going to hit on you.”

“I didn’t realize that was an actual thing,” I confessed. Journey and Ben had warned me about him, but I didn’t think they were being completely serious.

Micah sighed as he settled back against the seat and twisted his folded cane between his fingers like he was nervous. “Yeah. I’m kind of slutty.”

“Uhh… ”

“Not like slutty is a bad thing though. You know? Like own it. Embrace it. Get your rocks off in safe, sane, consensual ways.” He turned his face toward me again. “You a Dom?”

I choked on my tongue. “A Dom?”

“Mm. I feel like a French Dom would be amazing. Christ, could you imagine?” He cleared his throat, then did a terrible approximation of my accent. He sounded like the chef from The Little Mermaid . “Get on yair knees, boy. Zis is going to huuuurt.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Mm, no. You don’t. I’m not an accent guy. I am a guy who does like to get on his knees, but I’m not super into the whole pain thing. Well, that’s a lie. I play hockey, so I do like to get knocked around a little. But not by the guy who’s railing me.”

“Euh. Right.”

He stopped. “This is how I either get punched or fucked, by the way. I don’t know when to shut up. But it’s nice to meet you, Hughie.”

“Hugo.”

“I know.” He smiled and didn’t correct himself. “How long ’til the station?”

It was a while. A very long, possibly painful while. Before I could answer, he shrugged and reached over, slapping my thigh with accuracy that shouldn’t surprise me, considering he was a hockey goalie.

“Do me a favor? Wake me up when we get there. I didn’t sleep for shit. I met this dude on Grindr, and I let him help me work out my anxiety, and yeah. I’m fucking beat. Just shake me until I get annoyed. Sighted people never know when I’m actually up unless I say something.”

I stared for a second, then said, “Sweet dreams,” because what the fuck else was I supposed to say to all of that.

God help me, it was going to be a long, strange, probably eventful weekend.

Micah woke himself up about twenty minutes before the Lyft pulled into the drop-off section of the station. He seemed very antsy, which I had a feeling was his usual state of being. But I also had a feeling he normally hid it better.

“Is it crowded? I’m not a super-big fan of crowds. People get weird, and I just…” He stopped. “Have you guided a blind man before?”

“I have not. But if you give me instructions, I can do it.”

His lips twitched into a smile, his nose wrinkling. “Yeah, you seem like an instructions kind of guy. Were you a teacher before you were a coach?”

“Yes, but of adults. Not a fan of children.”

He burst into laughter. “Fuck, yeah. Me either. My younger brother has kids, and even when he ties bells around their fucking necks, I’m always tripping over them. ”

“Bells? Like a dog collar?”