Pucked Over (Pucked #3) (24 page)

There’s a murmur of acknowledgement.

“Anyone who misses a training session without notifying me and Evan will be benched for a game.” Coach gives me a hard stare. “Ballistic, you missed yesterday, so you’ll be warming the bench tonight.”

“Yes, Coach. Sorry, Coach.” Arguing would be a seriously bad idea, based on the somber mood in the room. Also, the fact that Tash has been replaced is a shock.

Coach sighs, lifts his hat, and runs a hand through his thinning hair before replacing it. “All of you will take home the team rules and regulations book and read it over, so I can be sure you understand what they mean. There will be a test. If you guys are gonna act like you’re in high school, I will treat you like you’re in high school. I’d like you to pay particular attention to the fraternization policy with support staff. He looks to Lance. “Romero, you’re on a three-game suspension.”

Lance glances up and gives him a curt nod. The muscle in his jaw tics. “Yes, Coach.”

Coach claps his hands together. “Get yourselves suited up and on the ice.” When Lance doesn’t move, Coach snaps his fingers. “You too, Romero. You might not get to play, but you sure need to learn how to be part of this team if you want to stay on it.”

“Yes, Coach. Sorry, Coach.”

“Anything else you want to say, Romero?”

He shakes his head. “No, Coach.”

“Then get moving.”

The room is quiet as we get ready for the pre-game skate. I have questions, but I can’t ask them right now. Practice isn’t easy. We’re all off, and it shows in the way we play. I don’t have much faith that we’ll be able to pull it together for the game tonight.

Lance takes off afterward without talking to anyone. I wait until me and Miller are alone before I ask any questions. “How’d Coach find out?”

“They were going at it in the locker room. Coach was the one who walked in on them, so Tash got let go, and they brought in this new guy.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“How’s Lance?”

“Not good. He’s not answering calls. I think this has been going on a lot longer than any of us realized. Tash’s career is shot—at least in terms of working with any pro team.” He stops in front of his car and spins his keys around his finger.

“This is a clusterfuck.”

“Yeah, man. He’s lucky he’s not getting traded. He’s gonna have to watch his ass from now on. Coach is seriously pissed. Tash’s been the team trainer for two years. These guys had a routine down, and now they gotta get used to a new one. There can’t be anymore bullshit like this or we’re gonna have more than new-trainer issues.”

“That’s kinda hypocritical coming from you, huh?”

Miller scoffs. “Even I knew better than to get all up in the staff.” His phone beeps. “Hold on.” He takes the call and walks away from me, his voice low. I can tell its Sunny since he calls her sweets.

I’m thinking it might be a good idea to stop by Lance’s later, if he still isn’t answering calls. He’s not good when he’s upset. He has a tendency to fly off the handle. And drink too much. I want to make sure he’s not face down on the bathroom floor or anything.

I send him a text while I wait for Miller to be done talking to Sunny. He’s doing a lot of pacing. I hope things are okay there. The last thing I need is more chick drama with my teammates. There’s already more than enough to last me a year. This is one of the reasons I’m wary about relationships; they mess with people’s heads.

I see it happen with my mom every so often. I think she’s tried to date a couple of times, but after the way my dad fucked her over—and sometimes still does if he feels like being a real asshole—she doesn’t trust men. I can’t blame her, either.

I scroll through my messages. I’ve got nothing from Lily. I get this twinge in the back of my neck. I rub it, but it doesn’t go away. It should be good that she’s not texting the day after. It means she’s not making this into more than what it is.

I pocket my phone when Miller turns around. “Everything all right?” I ask.

“Yeah. Fine. Sunny’s just worried. I guess she talked to Violet and got the story from her. Now they’re talking to Tash, and she’s all upset. I still don’t get why they’d be banging in the damn locker room.” He blows out a breath. “This situation is seriously messed.”

“I’m gonna stop by Lance’s to check on him.”

“Good plan. I’ll come with you.”

“Food first, though?”

“Damn right.”

We hit a buffet and carb load so Miller’s ready for the game tonight; then we drive to Lance’s place. We have the code to get in, but the safety latch is on, so we can’t get through the door. It doesn’t matter how long we ring the doorbell; he’s not answering.

“I’mma scale the fence,” Miller announces.

“That’s probably not the best plan.” Lance’s fence is one of those wrought-iron jobs, covered in ivy with pointy things on top.

“It’ll be fine.” Miller ambles over and jumps up, catching two posts. He plants his feet on the bars, but he’s wearing skater shoes, and they don’t have traction. Miller’s also a big guy. He’s beefy, like defense usually are, and he’s got a good thirty pounds on me, maybe a little more. I have to work hard to bulk up at all, and if I don’t watch it, I end up dropping all the weight I put on over off-season as soon as we start hardcore training.

He struggles with a couple of attempts, and I watch, biting back a laugh. “Want a boost?”

“Like you can lift my ass. I’ll boost you over.”

“No fucking way. You see how pointy that shit is?” I motion to the sword-like tips. My balls get achy just thinking about being near those.

“You’ll be fine. Seriously, Balls, those aren’t razors attached to the top.”

He’s right. I know that. But I’d rather boost him, even though I’d likely strain something. He laces his fingers together and bends down far enough for me to use them as a step. I can’t argue. He’ll razz the shit out of me. He knows I have irrational fears regarding the state of my balls.

Or maybe they’re not irrational considering how I almost lost them, and half my dick, when I was eleven.

“Fuck you, Buck,” I mumble and put my foot on his hand bridge. “I hope I stepped in dog shit.”

“I’ll wipe it on your ass when I hoist you over.”

“You do, and I’ll kick you in the face.”

“And I’ll taint-punch you, so we’ll be even.”

“Just boost me, asshole.”

“On three.”

“Yeah.”

Miller counts to three and launches me up. I manage to get my foot on top of the rail.

“Nice work! Now up and over.” He grabs my ankle.

It’s easier said than done. There’s maybe six inches between the iron bars, or whatever regulation is so kids can’t climb through or get their heads stuck. It doesn’t give me a lot of room for maneuvering. If I don’t have one of those spikes close to my balls, the other’s almost up my ass.

“Dude. Seriously. I will knock your fake fucking teeth right out.”

He lets go and steps back, which would be fine if I was prepared, but I’m not, so I almost end up spiking myself on both sides. There’s a lot of profanity, but eventually I make it over the ten-foot fence of death and land in Lance’s garden, crushing his flowers. Not that he’ll notice or care.

I hold onto my balls out of habit as I pop up. “Fuck you, Butterson.”

“Why are you pissed at me? I helped your ass over.”

“You know what, when you almost lose half your dick, you can be lackadaisical about this shit. But until then you need to be a little more fucking sensitive.”

“Lackadaisical?” Miller grins. “Have you been hanging out with Vi lately? Or Waters? Do you even know how to spell that?”

“I hate you.” I stalk in the direction of the patio doors. They better damn well be open.

I stop at the gate and unlatch it so Miller can get in. Then I continue my irritated stalking. I pull on the door handle, half expecting it to be locked, but it slides easily.

“Oh, shit.” Miller’s behind me, surveying the same scene I am.

It’s not good. Clearly our friend has lost his mind based on the state of his living room.

“Lance? Buddy? You here?” I call. I have to step over a broken something and around a bunch of other smashed shit to get through his living room.

“You sure you’re ready for this? He’s gonna be messed.” Miller follows behind me, shaking his head.

Lance has had a meltdown. They’re epic on the ice; off the ice they’re destructive. I check the kitchen and then the rest of the main floor and come up with nothing. We don’t take off our shoes on our way to the second floor—there’s too much broken glass. Music is playing up there. Heavy, angry stuff.

I pause at the landing. There’s a lot of shit in the hallway. Girl clothes. Some nice underwear. And a lot of holes in the walls. And more broken glass.

Lance isn’t a bad guy. He’s actually a decent person under all the bullshit and fighting, but he’s got a complex. No one knows why, or what he’s trying to prove, because as much as he invites everyone to his house to party, none of us is close enough to know why he does the things he does. All I know is his relationship with his family back in Scotland isn’t good. The rest of them are in Connecticut, and he doesn’t see them much, either.

Miller goes ahead of me. “Romance? You up here?”

Lance stumbles out into the hall, his shoulder slamming the wall. He’s holding a bottle of booze, and his knuckles are bloody. He’s definitely responsible for all the holes in the walls, not that there was any other possibility.

Miller rushes him and grabs the bottle before he loses his grip. Lance points an accusing finger at us. “Why didn’t anyone warn me?” Weaving into the wall, he stumbles toward the bathroom. He doesn’t quite make it to the toilet, but at least he hits the sink.

Getting him sobered up for the game tonight isn’t going to be fun.

***

Over the next couple of weeks, Miller and I keep an eye on Lance. He’s not going out to the bars, and he’s not throwing parties, which is a surprise. I figured he’d for sure bunny-fuck his way out of his funk, but he’s not interested in anything—apart from training and booze, anyway. After his three-game suspension, I was sure he’d get himself in shit on the ice, but he’s managed to keep it together for the most part. He still leads for penalty minutes, but at least he’s not picking fights as much.

I haven’t heard from Lily at all. It should be a good thing, but it kinda bugs me. I decide I’ll be the one to break the silence when I realize our next Toronto game is coming up. This time I want her at the game, and then in my bed for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, the game’s not at the end of a series, so I don’t have time to stick around. But at least we can have the night—and breakfast or something before I fly back to Chicago.

Lily answers on the fourth ring. “Hello?” Her voice is raspy, like it was when I woke her up in the middle of the night—repeatedly—to get back inside her.

“Hey. I wake you up?”

She makes a noise that isn’t really a word.

“I’ll take that as a yes. You want me to call you back tomorrow?” I don’t want to, but I figure I should give her the option since it is kind of late. I don’t even know if she wants to talk to me. Maybe after last time she’s not all that interested. Although considering how into it she was, I’d be surprised.

“No, it’s fine. I can sleep later. How’re you?”

I laugh at her mumbling. “You musta been out cold.”

“Musta. What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

“Wow. I’ve been out for hours.” The words are clearer now, no longer running together with the heaviness of sleep.

“Working too much again?”

“Still. Yeah. Nice goal last game.”

“You saw that?” I grin.

“The highlights, but yeah. How’s the new trainer? Sunny told me what happened with Lance. It’s kinda soap opera-y, eh?”

“Yeah. I guess. We’re all adjusting.” There’s a few seconds of silence, so I decide to throw it out there. “Since you mentioned games and scoring goals, we’ll be in Toronto in a couple weeks. Wanna come play with me?”

“You wanna see me again?”

I put her on speaker phone. “Well, yeah. I’m gonna be local. Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from you since last time.” She’s all quiet.

“You didn’t message me either.”

“Well, I don’t know how this works. I figure it’s supposed to be all casual and stuff.”

Sometimes I forget this is different. She’s not a bunny. “You can still message me and send me pictures of yourself. I like naked ones the best.” I adjust the pillow behind my head. “In fact, I think you should send me one right now.”

“I’m not sending you naked pictures. They’ll end up on the internet.”

“I promise I’ll keep them to myself.” I don’t expect her to send me naked pictures, although I’ve had plenty of women do that.

“Still no.”

“You can’t blame me for trying. I guess you’ll just need to come to my game so we can get naked in real life afterward.” Several memories, including the sex in the hotel bathroom, make my dick spring to life.

“I don’t know, Randy. I think I’m still recovering from last time.”

“Three weeks later?”

“We used an entire box of condoms.” Her voice goes a little soft, like maybe she’s reliving some of it, too.

“I remember. It was fantastic. We should definitely try to break that record this time.”

“What makes you think I want to do you again?”

“Do
me
again? Oh baby, I’m pretty sure it was me doing you, not the other way around.” She huffs, and I laugh. “If I say you did me instead of the other way around will it help me get you naked again?”

“Maybe. When’s the game?”

“Not this Friday, but next.”

“Let me check my calendar.” Silence follows, and then several seconds later, “Randy?”

“Still here. Waiting for a naked pic.”

“Still not happening. I have some bad news.”

“Don’t tell me you can’t come.” I don’t like disappointment.

“I can come just fine. I think you should know this by now.”

My voice lowers. “I sure fucking do, and I have plans to make it happen repeatedly in under two weeks.”

“That sounds fun, but I won’t be able to make the game.”