Page 34 of Pucked Up (Punk as Puck #2)

I might have been fazed if I thought I’d have to go back to that job, but I’d rather choke down all my pride and live on my dad’s dime than continue in a soul-sucking office watching trust fund kids screw their academic careers without a care in the world.

I archived all of those, then froze. Last night, around midnight, three emails had come in, all of them with the PPHL address.

My heart crawled into my throat as I opened the first one.

Mr. Morin. My name is Bettina Weathers and I work in the PPHL recruitment office.

I’ve been speaking with Hugo Martin, the coach of your community league team and after watching some tape, my team and I are interested in having a meeting with you.

I know you’ll be in Montreal for the benefit dinner, and I have a representative there from the Boston Titans.

Would you be willing to meet with the GM of the team?

Please send me a message as soon as possible.

The other two were much the same—the Portland Seals and the Orlando Kings.

Both had their GMs at the benefit, both wanted to meet.

And it would be foolish not to take them up on their offer, but I only had one afternoon, and being able to stay in Boston—being able to stay close to my family? That meant everything.

I stared at the GM’s number at the bottom of the email. Vincent Rose. It was a name I’d recognized, only because I’d been peripherally aware of all the teams that were in the Eastern Conference, but I never expected to see them in my inbox .

The Titans were a good team. They’d been in the playoffs for five years in a row. They’d only taken the cup twice, but still, those were amazing stats.

For a moment, I could feel the cool metal of the cup against my palms. I could see myself hoisting it over my head on the ice. I could feel the joy in my chest. And fuck, I could see Hugo in the crowd grinning at me before tearing onto the ice to kiss me senseless.

Fuck. No. No . If I couldn’t do it before I knew about Reid, there was no way I could ask him to be part of this world now. His husband had started this whole thing. And then he’d died. How could I ask him to relive what had to be the most painful years of his life?

Taking a breath, I put Vincent’s number into my phone, then looked over at Ford. He’d rolled onto his stomach now with his stump tucked under him and his ass in the air. Lord, I could not with this man.

“I’m going to go get breakfast,” I told him after slipping my hearing aids in and listening for the little pings.

“Yellow.”

“Sure, bud.”

“With sprinkles.”

“Mhm.”

He snored louder, so I slipped into my orthotics and a pair of joggers before grabbing my crutches and heading for the door.

The buffet was crowded, but there were plenty of empty tables as I scoured the restaurant and debated if I wanted to try and balance food in my hand and make it to the table without it being a total disaster.

The hostess looked quietly terrified as she eyed me, and it was obvious she hadn’t been prepped for what benefit was going to be at the hotel that week.

Not just disabled players, but disabled hockey players. I wondered how many people had flirted with her and tried to get her number. I wonder how many she’d given it to.

I smiled at her, then scanned the room for a free table in a good spot when my gaze snagged on Micah. He was sitting in the sun, lounging back in his chair with a smile on his face, looking like a satisfied house cat.

Shit. I knew I needed to talk to him, but was I brave enough to do it here? Especially because there was every chance Hugo was sharing his table, and I was not ready for that. But my legs propelled me there anyway.

“Room for one more?”

“Oh my God, babe .” Micah sat up straight and patted the table in front of him. “Where’s my coffee? I can tell you need some.”

“I can get my own coffee.” I pulled out the chair beside him and sat close so I could hear him over the chattering crowd. “Are you doing table service?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t about to get my hands all up in those nasty-ass buffet trays. You know how much bacteria grows in those?”

“I bet Tuck knows,” I answered. Biting my lip, I took a breath and leapt. “Where’s Hugo?”

“Fucked him silly. He’s sleeping it off.” His face was a mask of indifference, and after a beat of silence, he leaned forward and socked me on the thigh. “He had to meet some old friends, you fucking asshole. He and I are not?—”

“No. I know. And I owe you a huge apology,” I told him.

“Accepted.”

“No, wait. Let me actually say it.”

“No. Boden, you’re one of my favorite people, okay? And I know that I haven’t exactly tried to change my reputation back home. Also, I have fucked a fair few people in town.”

My chest went a little hot. “But Hugo?—”

“Not him. I…” He stopped, his cheeks going pink. “I wanted a friend, okay? Like, a friend who doesn’t think I’m some glorified hockey whore who fucks anything with a hole.”

“I don’t think that about you. And even if you were, I wouldn’t care. I just…I like him, so it hurt a little more.”

Micah relaxed back into his seat and rubbed at his eyelids. “I know. I mean, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have been hanging all over him last night if I had. I would never, ever hurt you.”

I knew that, and yet, I’d let Tucker get all fussy about Amedeo meeting Micah, which was so unfair. I wasn’t going to tell Micah about that now, but God, we all needed to do better by our friend. “I’m sorry I sent him back all upset.”

“Yeah, that kind of sucked. Also, if you like him, why did you?”

“Because I’m not…” I fought through a thousand words of self-deprecation that I’d been telling myself since I was a kid. But those were all bullshit. “I don’t know. I was afraid I wouldn’t have room in my life for hockey and him, and I wouldn’t want him to compromise for me.”

“He likes you.”

“I know.” And it fucking sucked. One-sided would be so much easier to deal with. Glancing around, I sighed. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Micah perked up. “Oh my God, yes. I have to mingle with all these people later tonight. Save me, Obi-Wan.”

I pushed back up to my feet. “Come on. I need someone to anxiety dump on, and I need to do it over some Montreal bagels.”

“You are my favorite person in the world,” he said, kissing my cheek as he slid his hand around my arm. “Carbs are the way to my heart.”

“Then consider me Casanova.” I felt a million times better while also a million times worse, but being with a friend made it a lot easier to bear.