Page 33 of Pucked Up (Punk as Puck #2)

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

BODEN

I wasn’t a crier. I wasn’t an emotional man at all—apart from anger and anxiety, which probably made up seventy percent of my personality. I didn’t like emoting. There were better things to spend my energy on, which was probably the issue.

There had to be some vault deep inside me that was overflowing, and this last thing with Hugo burst the seal. I was leaking all over. My nose, my eyes, gunk from my throat down into my lungs. I had never regretted anything so much in my life.

All I wanted was to call that asshole back here so he could hold me and tell me it was going to be fine. Because nothing fucking felt fine.

The fact that I was about to get a PPHL contract—several, according to him—in my goddamn email inbox should have been the greatest day of my life.

It was everything I’d been working toward, but thanks to my dipshit dick and even dipshittier heart, I was sitting on the bathroom floor debating if I wanted to cry more or throw up the meager dinner I’d managed to choke down.

Luckily, before I could lose it entirely, the hotel room door opened and shut. I’d almost forgotten I’d sent Ford an SOS text with a jumbled explanation of what I’d done.

I couldn’t quite remember, but it was something about me fucking up and ruining Hugo and being the worst man on Earth. It was obvious it was bad by the look on Ford’s face as he dropped his crutches against the bathroom counter and hopped over, sinking down beside me.

He had me in his arms in seconds, and I shoved my face into his chest, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. Fuck, he smelled like Micah. That motherfucker. He started all this.

Except, well. He hadn’t. He was just a symbol of what an absolutely shit-ass friend I’d been.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a terrible friend lately.”

“Bode—” His voice rumbled against my ear as I pressed it against his chest.

“Please don’t try to make me feel better. I am such a fuckup, and I deserve this.”

He eased me back against my will and forced me to look at him. “That is your dickhead dad talking, okay?”

“No. He’s just?—”

“This is a symptom of the way he’s made you feel your entire life. I don’t know what happened, but?—”

“Hugo told me he liked me. Liked me liked me. ”

“Okay…”

“And I kicked him out.”

Ford let out a heavy sigh, then swiped his hands over my face to clear up all the horrible eye leakage. “You had every right to kick him out.”

I sniffed and swiped my sleeve under my nose. Disgusting. I was so snotty. This was why I never fucking cried. Taking a breath, I focused on the muscles of my mouth because everything felt tight and spastic, and I needed him to understand my words. “His husband is Reid Martin.”

Ford didn’t look surprised. “Yeah.”

“Did you know this whole time?”

“Micah just told me,” he said, and that made me feel better, but only for a second.

“How the fuck long did Micah know?”

“I think Hugo probably told him on the train. They hadn’t met before that.

” Ford leaned to the side, snagged a washcloth from the low shelf under the sink, and wiped my face a little more.

I wanted to help, but my hands were curled into tight fists, and it was going to take a long sleep and probably a massage to calm my body down. “They’re not fucking.”

“I know. I keep assuming the worst of Micah, and he didn’t deserve that.”

Ford shrugged. “He hasn’t gone out of his way to change his reputation.”

That was true, but maybe there was a reason for it. Maybe it was some kind of defense. Either way, I needed to talk to my friend. Not tonight. Tonight was for wallowing and figuring out where the fuck I should go from here, but soon.

“Bodie?” I looked up at Ford again. “Do you like him too?”

I wanted to play the fool—to act like I didn’t know what Ford was talking about, but I was done lying to him and to myself. “I don’t want to. He’s not the man I was supposed to be with.”

“Is…that a thing? I mean, do you have a list somewhere that we’re all on with the people we’re supposed to be with?”

Rolling my eyes, I eased away from him and let my head thud gently back against the cabinet. “No. But I had a plan. You know the plan.”

“Yes, the shit-ass, you’re going to dive into the PPHL and be some perpetual bachelor married to your lucky puck plan.”

“That’s…” Not too far off. Shit. “It just wasn’t supposed to be him , okay?”

“Why? Because he’s hot? Because he makes you make animal noises when he touches you in special places?”

“Oh my God, stop talking. Never say those words together like that ever again.”

Ford grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. With a sigh, he reached out and took one of my hands, pressing his thumbs into my palm. My curled fingers spasmed hard, but the more he worked at my tight muscles, the more they started to relax.

“I usually have to pay for this,” I told him .

He snorted. “Just call me your…masseuse?” I shook my head. “Mas…oise?”

“Stop.”

“Whatever. Call me your massage guy for the night. I’m here to service everything but your dick. I don’t do happy endings. Well, for the right price, but I’ve seen your bank account, sir, and you cannot afford me.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Yeah, but you love me.” Ford smiled and leaned forward, smudging a kiss over my jaw. “And I love you too. You’re my favorite person, tied in first with Tucker.”

That made me feel a little better. If people like Ford and Tucker could find something in me worthy of being their favorite, maybe I wasn’t so bad.

“So,” Ford asked, switching to my other hand. “What do you want to do?”

I looked at him with a deep frown. “What do you mean?”

“About Hugo.”

“Oh, God…”

“I mean, you kicked him out, and it must have sucked because I saw his face and?—”

“Wait. When?”

“In the hallway. He almost knocked me on my ass coming out of the elevator. He wasn’t crying yet, but he was definitely going to.”

My heart felt like it shattered into a thousand pieces. “I’m such a prick.”

“You’re allowed to not want someone in your life, Bodie. Even if you both like each other. You’re allowed to have reasons to not be together.”

Bile rose into my throat. “They’re shit reasons.”

“So tell him you changed your mind.”

I stared at him, eyes wide. “After all that? After he confessed that he’s a fucking widower and that I’m the first person he’d fallen for since his dead husband?” Okay, he might not have said that, but it was implied.

Ford let out a heavy breath. “Even after all that. I’m the last person who’s an expert on love.

I haven’t dated pretty much ever, and every time I try, it’s a disaster.

But I’ve seen it when it’s good. And I’ve seen it when it’s real.

He looks at you like it’s real, babe. But don’t try if you’re not at least a little bit sure. ”

“I don’t know what I am,” I whispered. He cupped my cheek, then booped my nose. “Are you fucking serious with that?”

“Yep.” He did it again. “Boop. Now, bedtime, babe.”

“Uh…what?”

“Tomorrow is going to suck. You need sleep. Come on, get in the bed with me. I’ll put on some ASMR visual shit for you and rub your back until you pass out.”

I wanted to fight him. I still didn’t feel like I deserved it, but the promise of a long night of comfort was too good to pass up. And whatever else happened, I knew I would always have this.

And that was the only thing keeping me sane.

In spite of having Ford’s heavy, warm, snoring weight against me all night, I slept like shit.

I was comfortable, and with the massage he gave me as my newly appointed “massoise”—he was not giving that word up—and the muscle relaxer I choked down with room-temperature, flat Sprite, but I couldn’t seem to get any real rest.

The sleep I did get was broken and filled with dreams about Hugo. I was either making him cry, making him scream, or making him laugh in my face.

I woke sluggish and irritated, rolling away from Ford’s heavy leg that had wound around my calves, and I skipped my crutches, crawling to the bathroom instead. The hotel carpet was not kind on my knees, but it was better than dragging the tops of my feet over it.

After emptying my bladder, I took a moment to stare at myself in the mirror. I looked haggard and exhausted. The circles under my eyes would not be going away anytime soon, and my hair was a mess.

My fingers were a little looser, so I managed to flatten it down with water, but I didn’t think there was any amount of product that was going to save me today.

“This is your fucking fault,” I muttered at myself.

My father was going to have a goddamn field day with this. He was going to have one more reason to remind me about why I was such a fucking disappointment.

I swallowed back bitter bile and rinsed the sleep-sour taste out of my mouth with the tiny bottle of hotel Scope. It tasted like peppermint ass, but it was better than whatever was hovering at the back of my tongue.

When I moved back into the room, using the wall to keep me upright, I saw Ford lying on his back with his head hanging halfway off the bed, mouth wide open. There was a line of drool over his cheek, and though I couldn’t hear it, he was probably snoring.

Christ. I’d had a crush on him once, and maybe if I’d fallen in love with him, that would have been more endearing.

I coughed, and he twitched, his hand flying to his crotch to scratch his balls.

Shuffling to the desk where I’d left all my crap, I picked up my phone. Ford apparently had remembered to plug it in, which meant I owed him double for last night, and I yanked it off the cord before sitting in the chair and pulling up my emails.

There were dozens—mostly from the school since I’d sort of up and quit without any real notice. I’d agreed to transfer all my student files to the new counselor taking over from me, but the passive aggression from the dean’s office was…interesting.