Page 28 of Pucked Up (Punk as Puck #2)

“Like a cat collar,” Micah said. “You know, so we can hear the little shits. He’s blind too. Family thing, genetics, blah blah. It’s not that interesting.”

It was clear he didn’t want me to ask. He probably got entitled assholes asking him far too many personal questions. I remembered it well with Reid the first few times we ventured out of the rehab center in his new chair. It had been…a lot.

“Anyway,” Micah said loudly, “basically just let me take your arm, stay a step ahead of me, walk normally. And I mean that. Walk fucking normal, and don’t let me smack into benches or poles.

But also warn me about poles and benches and steps and shit.

I’ll have to drag my suitcase, so I can’t use my cane, and yeah. If it’s crowded?—”

“It’s not that bad,” I assured him. It was just past five in the morning. It was crowded, but not so bad we couldn’t navigate around. “But I promise I will do my absolute best.”

He relaxed a fraction. “Sweet. Yeah. Cool, cool, cool…”

“Has someone hurt you in a crowd before?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His jaw tensed, and his brows furrowed. “Define hurt?”

“I think you know what I mean. And you can tell me to fuck off if the question is too personal.”

He grinned, huffing a laugh in the back of his throat. “I like you.”

“Oh, ah… ”

“Not like that. Just…you’re cool. I see why everyone’s into your whole French Daddy thing.”

“My what thing?”

“God, you need a thorough education so you can live up to your potential. But never mind that for now. I have been, in fact, abandoned in a few crowds. Once at Disney because my date was a jackass. Once by my mom at the mall during the Christmas season because my little brother was having a total meltdown, and she was so overwhelmed she forgot I was standing there. I’ve been blind my entire life, so I have ways of dealing with the world, right?

But in the middle of, like, hundreds of people? It’s fucking terrifying.”

“I can imagine,” I said quietly.

The car rolled to a stop before Micah could go on. He clutched his cane tightly as he felt for the door handle, and I climbed out, walking to the trunk for our bags. The ride was paid on the app, so I waved at the driver, then met Micah, who was a little pale, at the curb.

“There’s a few dozen people shuffling around,” I told him as I touched the back of his hand with his suitcase handle. “Inside the doors, I see more people, but it’s not as bad as an airport. The food court will probably be the most busy, and we can stop for a coffee if you need something.”

He swallowed heavily, then nodded. “Mm, I probably should not have any caffeine. I really want to just crash out, pun intended. ”

I didn’t understand the pun, but I wasn’t going to ask. “Okay.”

He shuffled closer to me. “Thank you, by the way. That helped. The…the crowd thing. Letting me know. It sounds silly, but…yeah.”

“It doesn’t.” I brushed his arm with my elbow, and after some shuffling of his things between his hands, he took the back of my arm, and we made our way inside.

Check-in was easy. The station really wasn’t as bad as I’d been afraid of, and while the food court was busy, the few places open that early didn’t have any lines. But we had a suite, which meant we’d get free room service and use of the dining car, so I skipped it all, and we headed to board.

Micah stayed close to my side, his fingers an iron grip around my bicep, but the more things went smoothly, the more he relaxed. He made a few jokes and flirted with a couple of the passengers beside us waiting to get on the train. His charisma was fascinating and almost contagious.

I saw why everyone worried about him but why they loved him anyway.

Luckily, we didn’t have long to wait before we were boarded, bags stowed, and comfortably sat in our seats. The suite had two benches that turned into beds, but Micah seemed content to curl up against the side, temple pressed against the window, wrapped in a thick hoodie.

“Sorry for being shit company,” he said softly.

“You’re the furthest thing. ”

“Nice of you, but I know that’s bullshit. I know my two dickhead, so-called friends had a whole-ass lunch meeting with you to warn you off me.”

My face heated. At the time, it seemed rational. Now, I realized it was probably painful for him to know he was the cautionary tale.

“It’s strange when the people who love us most hurt us most.”

He lifted his head, then snorted. “Yeah. I mean, not in my experience. I’ve met some real shitheads since going pro and…yeah. I can take my friends being cruelly honest about my personality over that.”

I wanted to ask, but it wasn’t my place. “Why don’t you get some sleep. We have a long journey.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I stared, and although he couldn’t see me, he burst into laughter like he knew what my expression was. “Tell me you’ve been called that before.”

“Not in the way you’ve implied.”

“Missed opportunity. I like you, Hubert.”

“Hugo,” I corrected.

He grinned. “I know. G’night.”

Before long, the train lurched into motion, and he’d slumped over, immediately snoring.

By the time we were well into the journey and I’d had a breakfast and two coffees, Micah finally woke up. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever been like that. Had I ever been so relaxed or trusting that I could knock out in a train car with a stranger and then wake up like I’d never been asleep at all?

Micah went from snoring to standing and stretching like a cat, not the least bit sluggish. God, there was no way I had ever been that young and spry.

“Still here?” he asked.

“Right across from you.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen, which read out the time. “Fuck. I was kind of hoping I’d slept through the whole trip.”

“Sorry to disappoint. I promise I’m not the worst company.”

His expression fell. “Shit, no. It’s not you. I know I’m a dick, but I swear I’m not that guy.” He sagged back into his seat and rubbed at his eyelids. “I’m not a fan of, you know, all this.”

“Trains?”

He snorted a laugh. “Benefits. Jonah—you know my brother, right?”

“Mm. He coaches the peewee league at the rink.”

Micah barked a laugh. “Yeah. Fucker didn’t quit his job even after going pro. Not that the PPHL pays well. But he can afford to quit.”

“Maybe he enjoys it.”

Micah scoffed. “More like our parents are…” He trailed off.

“Never mind. Anyway, I didn’t even want to do this PPHL shit, you know?

Hockey was just a way to be busy and keep our mom from being up our as ses twenty-four seven.

She’s that mom who made us her whole personality.

God, I’m trauma dumping all over you. I’m gonna shut up now. ”

I studied him for a moment and felt the weight of my own trauma sitting in my chest. “My husband died.”

“Wait. Like… now ? Just now?”

“Several years ago,” I corrected. “He was in the NHL when we met. I was surprised he even looked twice at me. I was this awkward person—not fashionable, not striking. But he loved me.”

“Oh,” Micah said softly.

“He was hit by a car.”

“Fuck, that’s my worst fear. That is not how I want to go.”

I swallowed heavily. “He didn’t die. He became a quadriplegic. He was so angry about losing his ability to play hockey, and then he was angrier that the para hockey world didn’t get the respect or attention or financing it deserved. So he used his money and connections to change that.”

Micah was quiet for a beat, then sat back hard, his mouth dropping open. “Wait. Hold the fuck on. Is your husband Reid Martin?”

I nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see me.

“Hello? Did I break you?”

“Putain, sorry. No. I nodded. And yes. He is.” It felt odd to say is because he’d been gone for so long now. But there was something kind about the way that Micah spoke about him in present tense.

He threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay, you win. My shitty former relationships cannot hold up to that.”

“No. No, I…” I sighed and stood up, moving to the bench beside him.

“I wasn’t trying to compete. I was trying to say that I understood how things can be just absolutely shit.

I didn’t want to come to this either. I don’t like being paraded around by the people in charge like I’m Reid’s memorial trophy. ”

Micah was quiet for a beat, and then he reached a hand out, and I realized he was feeling for mine. I took it, and he squeezed. “This doesn’t mean I want to fuck you.”

I choked on my tongue. “I didn’t think that was the case.”

“People hear that I’m slutty or whatever and assume every time I so much as graze their shoulder, I want to fuck them.

And I’m tired of being the odd one out. Jonah is so close to our group of friends.

They’re always in some big pile of cuddles, but I’m not allowed because they think if I get skin-to-skin contact, I’m going to want to whip my dick out and stick it in someone. ”

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezed my hand tighter. “I don’t even know you, and I’m here holding you like some scared toddler. Christ, my life is a mess.”

“Yeah,” I told him. “It feels nice for me too. It’s been a while. I forgot what it was like to let someone close.”

After a short silence, Micah leaned against me, and I fit my arm around him. He nestled close. “Can I just have this for a minute? Can we pretend it’s not weird?”

“No, it’s not pretend. It isn’t weird at all. And if you don’t want me to tell anyone, I won’t.”

“Fuck what other people know.” He lifted his head, and I noticed several moles across his forehead placed almost like a constellation. I wondered what it was about him that scared people off. He should have been loved.

Just like I should be loved.

“If you need a hug,” he said in the quiet space between us, “you can always come find me, okay? Now that we know we don’t want to fuck each other.”

I laughed and squeezed just a bit tighter. “I’m okay with that.”

“So, like, did we just become best friends or what?”

Best friends. It was a novel concept. I’d never had one before. And I could do a lot worse than Micah. “If you want.”

“I like you, Hughstopher.” It was clear now he was doing that on purpose, and I kind of liked that about him. He was odd, like most goalies, and so damn sincere.

“I like you too.”

He turned his face up again and smiled. “I think I believe you.”

That was good enough for me.