Page 37 of Pucked Up (Punk as Puck #2)

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

BODEN

“I can’t believe how late we are.”

Micah squeezed my arm tightly as the car meandered through the busy traffic. I was, by nature, a lead foot—or lead hand. Whatever. I rarely bitched about other people’s driving, but goddamn, it was like the Lyft driver was being paid by the hour and not the mile.

“Relax,” Micah said. “Being late is fashionable.”

“Uh-huh, until you have to deal with a panicked Ford who’s come up with some disaster scenario in his head about an underground English terror organization kidnapping disabled hockey players for ransom.”

Micah grinned. “That would make a fucking amazing movie.”

“Sell it to Hollywood,” I muttered crossly.

He leaned into me. “I fucking will. I’m going to make sure Pedro Pascal plays me. ”

“You’re not Chilean,” I told him. “And he’s not blind.”

“I will sacrifice a disabled role to that able-bodied man,” Micah said. “He can strip me down and make me into his personal lampshade for all I care.”

“This conversation is getting weird.”

Micah laughed. “Sorry, I’m high on the fact that I’m sitting in this Lyft with a fucking famous pro hockey player!”

“We’re the only ones in this—oh. Shut up.” I still couldn’t help a smile. “I haven’t signed anything.”

“Uh-huh. But did you get a look at those zeroes?” He waggled his eyebrows. “They looked gorgeous.”

“I’m not falling into your blind pun trap tonight. There weren’t that many.”

“More than my rookie contract, babe. Why don’t you break up with Hugo and marry me. We could have an open marriage so I can fuck Pedro Pascal, and we can have a disabled Hollywood-hockey empire. I’ll write all the scripts, and you win all the trophies.”

“All your scripts would be porn. With, like, goblin dicks.”

“Only, like, eighty-three percent will be.”

“Again, I’m not having this conversation with you. My phone is dead, I’m stressed, and I—oh shit. There’s the hotel.”

Micah wrinkled his nose and ran his fingers along his thigh—a little stim he did when he was nervous. “How busy does it look?”

“The roundabout is full, and there’s a ton of people waiting to get their tickets checked at the door,” I told him.

He paled a little. “Boden? Um.” He swallowed thickly. “Babe, listen. You know you’re basically the love of my life?—”

“You say that to all of your friends.”

“And I mean it,” Micah said. “But I’m being serious for a second.

” His breath was trembling in his chest, and I realized that he was experiencing genuine panic.

“This is too many people, okay? I’m the born-blind freak who actually feels blind as fuck in big crowds like this.

And I don’t…I can’t deal with so many people touching me, and not knowing who the fuck is talking to me, and… ”

“Hey.” I took both of his hands in mine.

My fingers were stiff, but I tried to soften them as best I could as I rubbed my thumbs over his knuckles.

“We can go in the side entrance and head up to the room. Half the channels have audio description. You can order room service and wait for me to get back from the benefit.”

“I promised to be Hugo’s date. I can’t just leave him.”

“Sure you can. He’ll understand, okay?” My chest hurt from hearing his name. “I’m going to mingle, say hi to my dad, avoid Hugo?—”

“No! At least find Hugo and tell him why I couldn’t make it.”

“I’m not going to coddle him tonight. I can’t. But I’ll tell him you weren’t feeling well if I see him.”

“Tell him that my balls tried to crawl up into my body from the crowd, and I’m going to spend the evening trying to dig them back out.”

“I’ll tell him you wanted an empty room so you could jerk off into your sheets.”

“Better than the truth,” he said with a sniff.

Crisse. “I’ll tell him that things were feeling sucky and you needed space. He’ll get it. He’s a good man.”

“Yeah,” Micah said as the car rolled to a stop. “He is a good man. I know you have your plan or whatever”—he waved his hand at me, accidentally clipping me on the jaw, and he didn’t apologize—“but try not to forget that, okay?”

I couldn’t make that promise, so instead, I reached out and squeezed both his wrists as the Lyft driver found a way to the side door and let us escape the worst part of the crowd.

The moment I stepped into the ballroom, I regretted not bringing my wheelchair. I’d been too afraid to take it on the plane, considering it always got some sort of damage every fucking time I decided to fly with it, but it would have been really nice to give my legs a break.

I was still reeling from my afternoon with Vincent. I hadn’t known what to expect from him—I’d grown up around the NHL, and not a week went by when I was with my dad that I wasn’t dragged to some dinner or another. But this was different.

I realized immediately that I was being courted.

Vincent smiled. He flirted. He flattered. He said Hugo had sent him my tape, and after he was done watching it, he looked up all of my online videos.

“Including Beijing, I’m assuming,” I asked him.

He looked a little guilty at that. “I did. And I understand why it all happened.”

“Do you?”

He laughed, then leaned forward over the table and said, “I’ve met your father. So yeah. I do.”

I was ready to sign with him right then, but Micah grabbed my arm and without bothering to lower his voice said, “Yeah, no. You need to have someone look that over. And didn’t Hugo say you were expecting a couple other offers?”

Vincent seemed entirely unbothered. He offered to show us around the city, and I didn’t have the heart to remind him that I’d half grown up in Montreal, so I knew my way around just fine.

He was a perfect guide for Micah, which was nice since I was overly focused on making sure my legs continued to support me as we visited a couple of bookshops and then a tiny art gallery with tactile art on display.

Vincent was able-bodied, but he didn’t miss a beat in making sure everything was accessible for both me and Micah.

He also made sure he was always facing me so I could see his lips, which told me that in his job as GM, he paid attention to what his players needed.

I could have said the same thing for Hugo, and I knew deep down my immediate hatred of him had nothing to do with his functional body.

It had everything to do with the way he’d reduced me down to ecstasy and lust the moment that hotel room door had shut.

I hated him because of how much I wanted him. And now, I’d ruined everything that might have been good between us because of my inability to compartmentalize work and life. Fuck, I was such a fool.

Glancing around the ballroom now, I eventually spotted Ford, who was talking to a couple of PPHL guys I vaguely recognized.

I think they were from Calgary, but I couldn’t be sure.

His eyes widened, and he patted one guy on the shoulder before taking off, and before I could blink three times, he had his arms around me.

“Holy fuck, I thought you were dead!” He started speaking right against my ear. He didn’t need to. There was very faint music, but the chatter was a low roar so it wasn’t overwhelming my shit hearing.

“Not dead,” I said quickly. “My phone is. I left it upstairs with Micah.”

“That fucker couldn’t text?” Ford demanded.

“You’ll have to take that up with him,” I said as I leaned into his body. My legs were aching, and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget this night ever happened. “Did you eat?”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dad. I ate a salad like a good little boy. ”

“Well done. Find me my table, yeah? I feel like my legs are going to give out.”

He quickly led me through the room to a nearly empty table with a name card next to a small appetizer plate. Sitting down felt amazing, and I reminded myself that next time, I needed to take the fucking train and my goddamn chair.

“Let me get you something to eat,” Ford said, gripping the back of my chair and leaning down closer so I could hear him. His eyes darted around the room like he was looking for someone. It was probably Hugo, and that made my heart kick up a notch. “What do you want?”

“Anything.” My stomach was too tense for me to enjoy food. “Protein.”

Ford grinned down at me, and his hand started to move south. “I’ve got some protein right here for?—”

“No. Not tonight. I’m too tired.”

He deflated. “Fine. They have some chicken breast and…I don’t know, some kind of bean dish.”

“Anything,” I repeated.

He straightened up, then cradled my jaw. “I hope it went well. I, um…” He looked behind him, then grabbed his chair and yanked it close, sinking down. “I can be really selfish.”

“Um. Okay?” Where was he going with this?

“I love you and Tucker so much. I know I’m clingy, and it’s probably something I should work on in therapy. But, uh…like…” He bit his lip and turned his gaze up toward the ceiling for a second. “Look, wher ever you go, I just want you to be happy, okay? So if it’s the fucking moon?—”

Oh. He was panicking about where I was going to sign. “It’s probably going to be Boston.”

His eyes lit up, and then he shook his head. “But if another team?—”

“Ford.” He went quiet. “I will hear any and every offer that comes through. But I want to stay near you too. This is my home. It might not last forever. I’ll probably get traded, but for now, it’s a good start.”

“So the offer was good?”

I felt elation rising in my chest, and I tried to stamp it down because nothing was official and wouldn’t be for a while.

But I couldn’t help myself. The offer was for me—because of me.

Because of my skills and my talent. Not because my father pulled some strings. Not because Hugo called in some favor.

I grinned. “The offer was good.”

Ford jumped up and clapped his hands once. “Amazing. Okay. Protein. Non-dick-related protein.”

“Please just go.”

He turned on his heel, and I sagged back in my chair with a heavy breath. As I sat there, I noticed a few people staring. It probably had everything to do with my father, and that became obvious when he finally made his way to my table.

“Mon fils.”

I hated when he called me that. “My son,” like he was some Mafia don inviting me to kiss his ring. I had a fucking name.

“Papa. Sorry I was late. ”

He took Ford’s abandoned chair and started speaking as he looked away from me. I didn’t catch up until he turned back to me and said, “…too busy to realize. But I’m glad you made it.”

Ah, yes. Of course. Too busy for me, like always.

It was the thought of a petulant adolescent who had just realized that his very existence was a disappointment to his father. And no amount of therapy would ever cure me of those feelings. I could only let myself have them, breathe through it, and move on.

“Did you eat?” he asked.

“Mm? Oh, I will in a bit. Ford’s getting me something.”

He nodded, shifting uncomfortably. I knew being around so many people with so many very visible disabilities was a struggle for him.

It was a reminder that we existed—that we were demanding space in the world of pro sports.

And that for all the hard work he’d done to create a hockey legacy, I had come out like this.

Different than him and very much myself.

“Well, I can’t stay long,” he started, because of course. “I just wanted to talk to a couple of people. I have some numbers for you, actually. If you want me to pass them along, I’m sure they’d be willing to talk contracts.”

“I’m good for now.”

“Boden, crisse, can you just?—”

“I have three offers,” I told him. “Three good ones.”

His eyes lit up. “Anyone I know? ”

“I don’t know,” I lied. “None of them mentioned you. But we can talk about that later. I know you’re busy. Someone over there is trying to get your attention.”

He straightened and looked behind him, his eyes lighting up. “Ah, Franco. Yes. Of course. See you soon.” He stood up, bent over slightly, hesitated, then clapped me on the shoulder before making his way across the room.

I fought the urge to take out my hearing aids just to add some physical silence to the metaphorical one that was threatening to suffocate me. I wanted to get up and go after him. To demand to know why he couldn’t just accept me for who I was, but we’d had that fight before.

I would accuse, he would deny.

And I knew for a fact that even setting my sled on PPHL ice, that wouldn’t change. It would never be enough. There wasn’t a resolution to be had. There would never be a lightbulb moment where he realized that I was a whole person who existed, happy and content in the body I was given.

Even if I hoisted the cup over my shoulders, I would be doing it sat on my ass, not on my feet.

So there was no point in bothering to try and change his mind. I would always care, but as my therapist said, I needed to move through it, not get stuck, and it was time to start following her advice.

“Drink?”

I jumped half a foot at the sound of the one voice I’d wanted to hear all night. And the one I’d hoped would leave me be. Turning slowly, I saw Hugo just inches away from me, holding out something clear and fizzy in a small plastic cup.

“I shouldn’t.”

“It’s tonic water with lime,” he said, reaching past me to set it on the table.

“Thank you. Ah. I—” I stopped, then shook my head. Everything I wanted to say sounded hollow. Shallow. Pointless. I cleared my throat. “Micah wanted me to tell you that he decided to stay in the room. The crowds are a bit too much for him.”

“Of course. I understand,” Hugo said. He stepped to the side like he wanted to take the chair beside me, then changed his mind. “I was going to encourage him to stay back. I know he doesn’t like things like this.”

“You got to know him well.” Shit. That sounded like an accusation.

Hugo took a breath. “I thought you understood when I told you he and I?—”

“No. No. I…I meant that for real. I don’t think a lot of people take time with him.”

Hugo softened. “Yes. I like him. He’s different than most of the men I’ve become friends with over the years, and I think I needed that.”

I felt like a complete asshole. I could have been that for him. I could have welcomed him. God only knew how lonely and isolated he’d been feeling since coming to Turenne. And the way I’d treated him—like he was some disposable nothing—most definitely hadn’t made it better .

“Well,” he said at my continued silence, “I should leave you to your dinner. I see Ford’s on his way back.”

He was up and moving before I could get my tongue to work, so when I called out, “Hugo!” he was too far away to hear me.

“What’s that face?” Ford asked as he set my plate down.

“Nothing.” Just me royally fucking up once again.