Page 35 of Pucked Up (Punk as Puck #2)

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

HUGO

“You were right.”

I looked up from my coffee at Vincent, who was smiling at his phone. “I was right about what?”

He grinned at me. “He texted.”

“He—oh.” He. Boden. My heart ached in my chest. I’d gone numb the moment I got into the bed next to Micah and I let him think he’d comforted me. He was such a good guy, and I didn’t want to break his heart by letting him know that my emotions weren’t better. They just shut down.

We had a decent night, and we both slept in, which was a good thing. I woke up to a text from Vincent asking me if we could grab breakfast before his potential meeting with my…well. Ex-lover was probably the best word for it now.

It hurt to even think it though.

“He wants to meet at one.” Vincent set his phone down and picked up his coffee. “How’s this whole thing going to go? Is he going to dog-pile me with anger because I’m not disabled?”

“He might not love that about you,” I admitted. “He was not thrilled with my appointment, and this is a community league team.”

Vincent sighed. “Will he tell me no?”

At that, I laughed. “He’s been trying to get into the PPHL without his father pulling strings for years now.”

“Well, his stunt in Beijing?—”

“No, I know. But you’d do well not to bring that up,” I told him. Vincent pulled a face, so I shrugged. “It’s a tender spot. It was one of his weakest moments.”

“Did you know him back then?”

I didn’t. The Paralympics had been a blip on my radar. Seven and a half years ago, Reid was still alive, but he was also very sick. I didn’t give a fuck about anything except getting him through flu season.

“We just met when I was appointed as coach.” Not true, but I wasn’t about to tell Vincent I’d fucked his future star player in a pay-by-the-hour hotel room before walking into that meeting room and seeing him there. “He can be…difficult.”

Vincent snorted. “I manage a hockey team. My entire life is handling difficult players. They’re all fucking divas in their own way. I’m not worried about him. Though…I mean, I’ve met his father. Is there an attitude there, or?—”

“No. God , no,” I said quickly. “He’s nothing like that man. ”

Vincent sagged back. “Thank Christ. Arnaud is a dick.”

I choked on my swallow of coffee. “Couldn’t put it better myself. Boden doesn’t want to be like him. He has a lot to prove to himself, so he can be a bit…intense.”

“As long as he brings that to the ice, I’m all for it. I want to nurture and feed that intensity, baby. We’ve been knocked out of the playoffs in the final round for the last two years since losing Bettie to Seattle. We’re missing someone who’s made hockey their entire personality.”

That was Boden. Mostly. There were other parts of him—the parts that lived in the quiet shadows that he neglected terribly—but I knew he was what Vincent was looking for. “You won’t regret it if you can get him to sign with you.”

“Who else is courting him?”

I raised a brow at him.

“Oh, come on, like you give a shit. You’re not beholden to those assholes anymore.”

He was right. I wasn’t. This was no longer my world, and even when I was with Reid, I’d been a visitor. Nothing more. “Orlando and Portland.”

“Oh, fuck those guys.” He looked irritated.

Portland was doing well. They had been for the last few years. But what he didn’t know was that Boden would choose a team close to his friends. I knew, deep down, one of the things he was terrified of was losing the people who cared about him .

“I think if you sweeten the pot early—come in strong and confident—you’ll be alright.”

“You’re not trying to make me look like a jackass, are you? Because you don’t want me poaching your best player?”

“I have a few more a lot like him,” I said with a small grin. Vincent immediately looked hungry. “None of those other guys are interested in going pro, but Boden is. He deserves this, Vinny. He deserves to be more than his worst moment.”

Vincent took a breath, and then his phone buzzed, and he looked down at it. “He changed his mind. He wants to meet in an hour. Shit. I don’t have a better offer pulled up.”

I wanted to go with. I wanted to see him in action. I wanted to catch a glimpse of the look on Boden’s face when he realized that there were people willing to fight to have him. But I needed to step back. He’d made it clear I was no longer invited into his space.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to wing it. Just remember, he wants this. All he needs is a little incentive.”

“I have the budget,” Vincent said, almost like he was trying to convince himself. “I should go. I need to make a call.”

“Good luck,” I said as he stood up.

He paused, opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, then closed it again.

“What?” I pressed.

He sighed, and by the look on his face, I knew what was coming. “I turned Reid down when a trade offer came across my desk. It was my first year, and the other guys on offer had better stats. He wasn’t the strongest player, and I?—”

“Vinny.”

“I’m so fucking sorry. Maybe if he’d left Montreal…”

“No. He was winding down by then. His injury wasn’t going to change. He’d been struggling to breathe on his own, and every fucking hit he took on the ice made it worse.” I closed my eyes for a long second. “I think he just wanted to feel like he was worth something.”

“He was,” Vincent said. “If I’d been in this job longer, I would have seen it.”

“I saw it. I made sure he knew,” I told him. “No one blames you. Not him and not me. You can breathe.”

He did, his shoulders sagging. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But think of this as your chance not to fuck up again, okay? Because this time, it’ll mean something.”

He shot me a salute off the side of his forehead, then turned and hurried out, leaving me to my coffee and my very tender, very broken heart.

I managed to occupy most of my afternoon with walking, window-shopping, and doing my absolute best not to text Boden and ask him if the meeting had gone well. But at some point, the afternoon started creeping toward evening, and I did need time to get ready.

Stepping into the lobby, I was surprised at how crowded it already was. There were people milling around with drinks, the chatter loud, the hockey players obvious, the WAGs all looking both annoyed with their partners and happy to be out for the evening.

There were collections of old men with greying hair drinking what was probably cheap scotch in expensive glasses, all trying to look very important.

It was everything I’d seen before and nothing I’d ever wanted to see again.

“Oh my God, Hugo.”

I turned toward a familiar voice, and Ford flung himself against my side, clinging to my arm. “My dickhead date fucking ditched me, and I don’t know anyone here. There are famous athletes in this room,” he hissed.

I sighed. “Mm. Why don’t you talk to them?”

“I can’t do that. Some of them know me for what I did.” I frowned, and he rolled his eyes so hard it had to have hurt. “Beijing? The scandal?”

“I’m pretty sure no one cares,” I said right as a guy in a very fancy-looking wheelchair rolled past and said, “Oh shit! Underwear guy!”

Ford groaned and buried his face against me. “I can’t be here.”

“I have to get dressed, so you need to?— ”

“Take me with you,” he begged, dragging his hand down to mine.

“Where are Boden and Micah?”

“They never came back!” Ford all but wailed. “Bodie was gone when I woke up, and then he sent me a text and said he and Micah would meet me at dinner. Can you believe the audacity of that guy? He invites me here like he cares about me, then ditches me for someone younger and hotter and?—”

I tugged him carefully toward the elevator that, luckily, had no line. “He’s meeting with Vincent Rose.”

“Oh God, the GM? Where’s his fuckin’ team? Look, Hugo, I know that Boden wants this, but I can’t afford to lose my best friend to some shit-stain West Coast team that?—”

“Boston,” I said, putting him out of his rambling misery.

Ford blinked, then threw himself into my arms, and I had to fully catch his weight, which was not easy. The man was definitely ninety percent hockey muscle. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“I don’t think you are.”

He eased back. “No, but I could be. If you keep Bodie here—well, not here. Not Montreal. That would also suck, but the drive wouldn’t be too bad, I guess? I could take the train if?—”

“He didn’t get an offer for Montreal,” I told him. The doors pinged open, and I stepped out, Ford close at my heels. He really was going to follow me to my room. He was like a lost puppy, and I had no heart to turn him out.

“Who else sent an offer?”

“Orlando—”

“Boooooo!”

“And Portland.”

“Fuck those guys!” Ford pulled a face and dramatically leaned against the wall as I pulled out my keycard to open the door. “Did you tell them no?”

“I’m not telling them anything. It’s Boden’s choice.”

Ford’s eyes went wide as he stepped into the room after me. “He wouldn’t say yes to them, would he? Seriously, do you think he’d just leave us like that?”

“I think Boden would prioritize you and Tucker over what’s best for himself.”

At that, Ford looked shattered. “Oh shit. He would, wouldn’t he?” He dropped down to Micah’s bed. “Okay, I can’t let him do that. Why don’t I…oh, I know! I’ll put together a slide show of the fish market and the Space Needle thing, and…what else is in Portland?”

“None of those things are, for one,” I said dryly as I pulled my suit off the hanger.

I should shower, but I didn’t want to bother.

I wasn’t trying to impress anyone anyway.

“Secondly, I think Boston is the better choice. He’d get lost in Portland.

Boston just traded someone that freed up a spot for a player like Boden.

He’ll be noticed then. He’ll be important. ”

Ford was very quiet, and when I started buttoning my shirt, I turned to face him and saw him watching me with a strange look on his face.

“Do you think I’m wrong?”

He tilted his head to the side. “No. I think you’re in love with him.”