Page 38 of Pucked Up (Punk as Puck #2)

CHAPTER

TWENTY

BODEN

The benefit was…a benefit. The chicken was dry, the salad overdressed, the side dishes tasting faintly of tin from being in an oversized restaurant can.

There were speakers, and the MVP gave a speech—some twenty-five-year-old who sounded a lot like Tucker and who clearly hadn’t prepared for the night.

A couple of the PPHL veterans—if we could call them that after only a decade—got up to tell their stories about how the PPHL had changed their lives.

Yada yada, bullshit bullshit.

Not that their stories didn’t matter—it was just that I’d heard it a thousand times.

It had been parroted to me over and over when I was younger, as though my dad was afraid I’d find something else to be passionate about besides hockey.

And I suppose I could have gone that way.

College had been nice. It had been quiet.

I played on a local team and studied psychology and thought maybe everything didn’t have to be about a fucking legacy.

But I was sucked back in, and now I was sitting at a table hating myself because hockey had once again ruined something good. This time, it was the man sitting across the room, waiting for his turn to speak.

“Tonight, we…an honored…,” guest , I assumed a balding old man said. He’d been introduced as Edwin, but that was about as much as I could make out since the PA system was kind of shit and didn’t mix well with my hearing aids. “Before we…wanted to…show.”

“A what show?” I asked, leaning toward Ford.

The lights dimmed, a screen behind the stage lit up, and suddenly, the man on all the banners around the room appeared.

Reid Martin. Hugo’s husband. I’d known he was there the entire time, but I’d been doing my absolute best not to look too hard.

But I couldn’t ignore it now. The music was too loud for me to make out what the video was saying, but I didn’t care.

It was easier this way.

Footage of Reid in his first PPHL game started to play, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw the camera zoom in on Hugo’s face. He looked like he hadn’t wanted to be there. He was nothing like the man I knew. That was not the man who had me in his office. Or in his bed.

Or on his lap, holding me all night long.

Fuck .

“I think I need to get out of here,” I said, grabbing Ford’s arm.

“Just wait until this little show ends,” he begged.

I nodded and sat back, my gaze straying to Hugo again. His face was a blank mask, but I could see the tension in his hand as he gripped his glass. He was shaking. Had he not known about this? It wouldn’t have surprised me if they’d kept him in the dark.

The music suddenly dimmed, and a voice sounded over the speaker, pitched perfectly so I could understand it.

“The night of my accident was the worst experience of my life. I felt like I’d lost everything.

When I came out of the fog, I realized that there had to be more than just some consolation prize.

How many wildly talented people were being passed over because people still didn’t know how to respect disabled players?

Why do we have the Paralympics but not disabled professional sports? ”

Reid’s voice was gravelly and rough and lovely.

And his eyes were bright. He was in a wheelchair, and it was clear he had very little movement in his upper body.

He had a scar in the center of his throat from his former trach, and the way his chest was moving and the way he spoke, I could tell he was vented.

The PPHL didn’t have players with his level of injury anymore.

The screen flickered, and suddenly, there was an ESPN newscaster on the screen.

“We’ve just been informed that the Connor Smythe winner Reid Martin has been in an accident.

Sources say it was a hit-and-run in downtown Montreal.

It’s unknown whether or not he’ll ever set foot on the ice again, but we here at ESPN are praying for him… ”

There was a small commotion, and I realized it was Hugo. He’d gotten out of his seat, and he was gone through a side door. It slammed hard enough not only for me to hear it but for me to feel it right in the center of my chest.

“Shit,” I whispered.

Ford grabbed the top of my shoulder and squeezed. “Do you want to go after him?”

There was only one answer to that question, and it was no surprise when he didn’t stop me as I got up and hurried after Hugo as fast as I could.

It was rare when I cursed my body. It was my body, damn it. It moved the way it was born to move. I rarely gave a shit about going faster than I was capable because I didn’t know any different, but tonight, I hated being slow.

Tonight, I hated feeling everyone’s eyes on me as I stood up and made my way toward the side door Hugo had used to escape.

The fact that no one had gone after him—that no one had seen the upset they’d caused—pissed me off beyond all reason, but I was also grateful because almost anyone else would have beat me to him .

The only real issue was by the time I got out into the corridor, he was nowhere to be found. I let the handle of my crutch go and patted my pockets, but I realized then I’d left my phone upstairs.

“Tas de marde!”

“There’s no need to swear so loudly.”

Hugo’s voice cut right through the din of the hallway and wrapped around my heart like gentle fingers. I turned as quickly as I could and found him tucked in the corner of a little divot in the wall that seemed to serve no purpose.

“Fuck anyone who cares,” I fired back.

His voice was rough and hoarse, and his expression was shattered, but he smiled anyway. “That’s my little fire.”

I took a couple of steps closer. “I’m not that little, you know.”

His face sobered. “I know. Boden?—”

I waited, but he didn’t say anything else, so I closed the distance between us, rested my right crutch against the wall, and offered him my hand. He hesitated, then took it, pressing my palm to the center of his chest. His heart felt like it was trying to break through his ribs.

“Is it a panic attack?”

“I think so. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one.” His eyes tipped down, but his face stayed up so I could see his lips. They were dry and bitten, like he’d been taking his nerves out on them all day. “Did they send you out here for me? ”

I scoffed. “No. Do you think I would have come for you if they asked me to?”

His gaze lifted and met mine. “So why are you here? You made it very clear?—”

“That I was a dumbass?”

“I don’t like that word,” he said.

“A dipshit. A fool. A complete and total?—”

“Boden,” he interrupted.

I took a breath, then curled my fingers into his shirt.

The fabric was so, so soft. Just like him.

“I like you. I’ve liked you even when I was trying not to.

I hated you for it a little bit. I hated myself for it a lot.

But I couldn’t stop. I thought cutting myself off would make it easier to bear. ”

“Did it?”

“No. I haven’t stopped craving you. I shouldn’t have left the way I did.”

He let out a very slow breath. “Maybe it was for the best. I’m not…” He closed his eyes as he trailed off. “Boden. Mon petit feu. I think I might be very, very broken.”

“Why the hell would you think that?”

He reached out and slid one arm around my waist, taking my weight so I could drop my other crutch and press my hand to the top of his shoulder.

He still didn’t open his eyes. “I couldn’t stand to be in there.

I couldn’t look at Reid’s face. I c-couldn’t…

the way they reported his accident like the most tragic thing in the world was him losing the ability to play for that fucking organization… ” He didn’t go on .

Leaning in, I pressed my forehead to the top of his shoulder. “That doesn’t make you broken. That makes you human. You’re allowed to feel hurt because the man you loved more than life itself was treated like an object.”

His grip on me tightened. “I don’t want you because I missed him. You know that, right?”

Why would he think I thought that? I pulled away slightly, and when he didn’t look up at me, I took his chin in my hand the way he’d done with me so many times.

“I think we should go talk where we can be alone. Let’s go to your room.

It’s closer, and Micah’s in mine, probably trying to eat his room service while jumping on the beds. ”

Hugo threw his head back and laughed. “He and Ford did the same thing to my room. Oh, mon petit feu. You don’t need to do this for me.”

“I know, but I want to. I have a really big apology to make, and I don’t want to do it here in this fuck-ass hotel hallway with people trying to listen in.” I didn’t know if there was anyone around us, but I didn’t trust these guys or their phones.

He took another breath, then leaned in like he was going to kiss me. But he didn’t make contact. He hovered a breath away, then leaned back and shook his head.

“If you’ve changed your mind about me—” I started.

“Boden. I think I’m falling in love with you.” No other words had left me so stunned in my life. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry to drop another thing on your head, but you must know that any hesitation isn’t because I don’t want you with every fiber of my being.”

I forced myself to speak. “So what is it?”

“I don’t want to drag you down.”

Well. If that was the problem, then it wasn’t actually a problem at all. Taking both of his hands in mine, I lifted them to my lips and gave him two sloppy kisses over his knuckles. I would never be suave or graceful like the movies, but I could be myself, and he seemed to like that.

Bits of tension drained out of him as he lingered at the press of my mouth. “Do you think Micah will be back tonight?”

“I think Ford will keep him occupied. He told me to go after you.”

“Did he?”

I laughed. “In so many words. Now, come on. I’m exhausted, and if I don’t get off my feet, you’ll be carrying me the rest of the way.”

“I will carry you anytime you want,” he said, then pressed my crutches back against my hands. He was patient as I threaded my arms through the cuffs and more patient with my slow gait, which was even slower from how long I’d been on my feet.

The walk felt like a million miles, the elevator ride a million hours, but eventually, we were standing in front of his hotel room door with the key in his hand and hesitation in his body.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m going to suck your dick when I’m done letting you know how much you mean to me,” I told him firmly.

He fumbled and dropped the card, then fumbled twice more trying to pick it up. “Putain!”

I couldn’t help a small smile. Usually, it was him throwing me off.

He was the one to strip me down to nearly nothing and rebuild me in a way that I could stand to occupy my own mind.

But tonight, it was my turn. Tonight, I would strip away every bit of doubt he had about me—and I’d throw mine along with it.

I hated myself a little more that it had to take a moment like the one he’d been forced to relive in that ballroom, but I wouldn’t be making that same mistake again. I was done pretending what I did or didn’t want.

Hugo was it. Everything else came after. And that did not—even for a second—feel like a compromise.