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I hate puck bunnies.

Theo

H ockey is in my blood.

I scoff at the big screen before changing the channel and tossing the remote back onto the bar top next to my co-worker Kayla.

“Hey! I was watching that, Mr. Hockey Pants.” She grins and rolls her eyes.

Of course she was. Kayla has a crush on half the hockey team.

“I remember when I used to say shit like that,” I mumble, picking up the rag and cleaning my station in front of me.

Sure, I meant every word. Back when I played for the NHL, I lived and breathed hockey.

My life revolved around the sport; my diet, my exercise routine, hell, even my relationships were all planned to work perfectly into my crazy hockey life.

But what happens when hockey is ripped away from you?

What happens when you think you have only one purpose in life and suddenly, you’re just… lost?

They don’t really teach you crap like that when you make it to the big leagues.

Yes, technically, everyone in professional sports knows your career can be yanked away from you at any moment, but they don’t prepare anyone for how to handle it, what to do next, or even how to handle the money and fame, so that you aren’t left with nothing after that dark tunnel.

Ever since I was a little kid, my only passion has been hockey.

I used to think I had it all: the game, the money, the big mansion, and even a secret romance with a boy to call my own.

“I still can’t believe you used to be some famous hotshot hockey player.” Kayla walks over to my side and tugs the damp rag from my fingers. “And I’m pretty sure you’re going to scrub a hole into the bar top if it gets any cleaner.”

“Sorry.” I let out a deep sigh and leaned against the wall behind me. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Your mother again?”

“Worse. My ex.”

Her eyes widen, and I nod my head. “Yeah.”

“You can’t be serious,” she hisses, reaching for my hand and tugging me to the other side of the bar, where there are fewer people. “The ex who dumped you when you got injured?”

“The one and only.”

Damn. Sometimes I hate that she knows everything about Grant.

One night after work, Kayla and I stayed at the bar after hours and had a few drinks.

When she started flirting with me, I politely turned her down.

She was the first real friend I’d made since returning to town, and seeing her hurt made me want to open up.

To tell her my truth. Being gay was something I’ve learned to hide from the hockey world.

And now that I have my head on straight after my injury, I promised myself I’d be honest with those I cared about.

Once I started talking, I told her everything.

About how hard it was to keep a piece of myself hidden, and about the only guy I allowed myself to love while in the sport.

While I was in the NHL, the only people who knew I was gay were my mother, Grant, and his parents.

My ex is the son of one of my mother’s best friends and the only person she has ever successfully set me up with. But it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

Snapping me out of my daze, Kayla smacks my arm. “Well, what the hell does he want?”

“No idea. He texted me several times and even called, too. But all his messages just say he needs to talk to me. He doesn’t say what about.”

“That’s it? You aren’t even a little curious? What if it’s an emergency?”

I push my way past her, but keep talking as I walk back toward the bar. “I haven’t talked to him in years, Kayla. Not since he decided to upgrade to a better Daddy.” My words are nonchalant, but guilt still swirls in my stomach every time I think of Grant.

Even though he broke my heart, a part of me feels like I was the villain in our story. I wouldn’t blame him if he thought the same thing. I kept our relationship a secret, and if I hadn’t gotten injured, how long would I have been able to keep him hidden? To keep us a secret.

“Oh no.” She grabs my hand and squeezes.

“You have that sad, guilty look again. You can’t keep beating yourself up!

He was the bad guy. Not you. A good relationship is about communication.

From what you’ve told me, Grant never even hinted that he was unhappy.

And don’t forget about the timing of when he broke things off.

He dumped you when you needed help. He dumped you when you found out you had just lost your career. He sounds like a gold digger.”

“And you sound like my therapist.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a smart lady. Like me.”

I prop a hip against the bar. Some of the weight on my shoulders lifts, and I give her a small smile. “Thanks, Kayla. It was such a dark time in my life. Sometimes I just cling to the feelings rather than remembering to think about the logic.”

“It’s why I’m in your life now.” She winks. “But you can’t keep ignoring the guy. Well, I mean you can, but for whatever reason, you refuse to block him.”

I throw my head back, already done with this conversation. “I can’t just block him. Grant’s mother is best friends with my mom. Mom loves Grant, and I can’t exactly tell her the real reason we broke up.”

“Why not? She understands why you had to keep your relationship a secret. You were constantly in the spotlight.”

I narrow my eyes at her. God, why did I have to tell my friend everything? “Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe because she doesn’t need to hear about how I was a horrible Daddy, and Grant wanted to find someone better to take care of his needs?”

She opens her mouth to say something when the front door crashes open to a loud ruckus of chants and hollers. A swarm of Brynn U students wearing hockey jerseys and face paint storms in.

“Just like clockwork.” Thank fuck. I’ve never been happier to see the riled-up fans than I was at this moment. “Back to work.”

I grin.

Kayla narrows her eyes. She knows how much I hate this particular group. Last week, their drunken state resulted in a portion of the men’s restroom toilet missing. I mean, how the fuck do you carve out a chunk of tile from a wall and live to tell the tale?

“I don’t know why they celebrate here when most of the hockey players are partying at Delfy House. The team rarely shows up here. Not that I can complain too much, since they are the ones paying our bills.”

The Brynn U Ice Dragons won their game tonight, which means it’s time for the fans to celebrate. Despite its size, Brynn, California, is still a popular college town that treats the hockey and football teams like mini-celebrities. Like royalty ruling this town.

The same suspects rush over toward the bar while the others in their group make their way to their usual tables.

“It’s the pregame,” I reply.

“Huh?”

“The pregame to the main event. They have fun and get drunk here while the hockey team finishes showering, doing their post-game interviews, and whatever the hell else they need to do before celebrating with their fans.”

The leader of the group is a muscular blond guy who swaggers toward me like a male peacock showing off for the women who giggle and stare after him. “Hey man,” he says as he reaches me. “Can I get a few pints for my friends over there?” Mr. Cocky points at his table.

“Sure thing. Just tell your friends to have their wristbands visible and ready. Things will go a lot faster that way.”

He scoffs. “They already checked our IDs at the door, man. Doesn’t this get old?”

“Nope. Not one bit. I’m not gonna sit here and memorize every face. It only takes a few seconds to roll up a sleeve or take off a jacket. It’s that or we can skip the alcohol altogether.”

Mr. Cocky rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever, Dad.”

I chuckle. You have no idea, bud.

***

As the night goes on, more and more fans trickle in until we are so busy I feel like I’m a chicken running around with its head cut off.

I’m checking wristbands left and right, sliding drink after drink across the bar, and constantly running to the back to refill our ice station.

“Note to self,” I yell toward Kayla as I rush over with a new bucket of ice.

“We are definitely going to have to talk to the big boss man about getting us an ice machine here at the bar if the crowds are going to get like this during the weekends.”

She laughs. “Yeah, good luck with that shit. I’ve been begging for an ice machine for two years now. Just wait till playoffs.”

I groan.

At one point, Mr. Cocky shouts over the crowd and announces the party will commence over at the Delfy House. Never before have I been so thankful to see the bar clear out. Screw the tips. I’m so damn tired and just need a fucking breather.

Right as I’m about to grab a snack and head out to the patio for my much-needed break, it’s as if the universe has some sick sense of humor. The door swings open again, and a few players from the Ice Dragons walk in, followed by a group of puck bunnies.

A beautiful redhead in a miniskirt saunters up to the bar. “Excuse me, can we get a few frozen strawberry daiquiris for my table?” She points at the group of smiling puck bunnies in the corner.

“Sure thing. How many?”

The redhead squints, narrowing her eyes as she studies me. “Wait, do I know you? You look really familiar.” Her gaze travels down my body.

A sense of unease swirls through my stomach.

It was probably stupid to get a part-time job near the college that launched my hockey career, but I figured I was safe.

Does she actually recognize me? Not only is my style different from my expensive designer clothes I used to wear while in the NHL, but I changed my hair, opting for a trendy style with the sides shaved short, and a pile of red waves on top.

Even if people could recognize me with different clothes, it’s my body that’s changed the most.