Page 32 of These Pucking Boys

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying I made that romantic gesture to gain media exposure?”

“Didn’t you? You want to break into Hollywood, and you’re going nowhere in your career. Now you’re the jilted woman who got consoled by a bunch of hockey players and I’m the bad guy.” His eyes focus on the garment bag in my hand. “Is that my lucky suit?”

My mind is spiraling. I can hardly believe all that nonsense that came out of Bill’s mouth. Does he really believe he’s the victim in all this?

“Yes. If you want it, you’d better open the door,” I grit out.

He narrows his eyes, but instead of acting like an adult, he glares harder. “You know what? Keep it. Danika says I should get rid of old stuff anyway.”

My chest constricts painfully. I didn’t expect that hearing her name come out of his mouth again would hurt this much. Never mind the meaning of his reply. “That includes me, huh?”

He sighs. “Just take your things and leave, June.”

My eyes are tearing up, but I don’t want to give Bill the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “You can’t do that. My name is on the lease.”

He arches a brow. “Are you sure about that?”

My stomach bottoms out. I swear I signed a lease—I know I signed a bunch of stuff when we got the apartment. Could I be wrong? “My name is not on the lease?”

“You catch on fast.”

“Are you kidding me?” I shriek.

“Calm down. I don’t need a circus on my doorstep. Just go, before I call the cops.” He slams the door in my face.

I don’t move a muscle, stunned that the man I thought was the one could do such a vile thing. Hot tears run down my cheeks. I hastily wipe them away and glance at all my things, disposed of like trash.

A door down the hallway opens, making me turn. Who’s coming to witness my humiliation? At least it won’t be a crowd this time.

A teenager with dark long hair carrying a backpack hoisted over one shoulder walks down the corridor toward me. I’ve never seen him before, but I don’t know all the neighbors. He glances at my stuff lined up against the wall, then at me. “Got kicked out?”

His tone is nonchalant as if this is a common occurrence. There’s no pity in his gaze, but shame makes my face burn nonetheless. “Yes.”

“Need help getting your stuff downstairs?”

His kind offer almost makes me cry again. I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping the pain will help me keep my shit together.

“Aren’t you going to be late for school?”

“My ride won’t be here for another ten minutes.”

“Okay. Then yes, and thank you.”

He shrugs. “No problem.”

He adjusts his backpack so it’s carried on both shoulders and then stacks a few boxes and lifts them up. I stuff Bill’s suit into another box—I’m not sure what to do with it yet—then grab a couple of the trash bags and follow my helper to the elevator.

“We should fit as much as we can in the elevator and take the stairs,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’m June, by the way.”

“Paul,” he mumbles.

“Nice to meet you, Paul.”

He doesn’t reply, but he’s helping me, so I don’t care that he’s a little grumpy. I’m not in the mood to chat anyway. With Paul’s help, I clear the front of Bill’s apartment in record time. I’m not a packrat, thus I don’t own a lot of things.

I press the elevator button to send it to the ground floor, and when I turn, Paul has already disappeared down the stairs.

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