Page 59 of The Pucking Wrong Man

“Oooh, asking for favors already. You’re not even in the circle yet,” Ari commented, popping up like a gopher next to me. I resisted the urge to growl.

“I need you to cover with the coaches, make up some kind of excuse...and I need one of you to take my place in the post-game press conference.”

Ari groaned like I’d told him his favorite hair gel was sold out.

“Why do you need this favor?” asked Lincoln, lifting an eyebrow and staring at me in his usual intense way.

“Can we talk about that later?” I asked desperately, watching as Anastasia finally made it to the exit and disappeared from sight.

“You take two press spots next month,” Ari offered.

“Done,” I snapped, already making my way down the tunnel.

I stepped into the shadows of my usual hiding place outside the shelter with just a few minutes to spare before her curfew, and now I was pacing back and forth, waiting for her to appear. My breath was coming out in icy clouds, and I was fucking freezing. I’d taken one second to take off my jersey and my pads in the locker room before running out. The Under Armor shirt I wore beneath my pads was still soaked with sweat and I could smell myself, even out here in the alley where I was surrounded by trash and possibly human feces.

My wet shirt wasn’t helping with the cold situation.

Okay, there was now one fucking minute to go before those doors locked. The security guard that I’d seen every night was standing at them right now, staring out toward the street like she was waiting for Anastasia too.

Where was she? I’d driven thirty over the speed limit to make it here before her, so I could ensure she got inside safely. But she should have been here by now.

I hadn’t seen any sign of a coat at the game. She was probably freezing to death, and once again, I hadn’t thought ahead to make sure she was warm.

In the midst of my mental collapse, the clattering of footsteps finally spilled through the air. Anastasia appeared from around the corner, doing a full out sprint as she raced toward the shelter doors, still clad in the jersey she’d been wearing at the game. There was a slight limp to her gait, and I knew that she would pay for the run tomorrow. From what I’d seen, she never took a day off from dancing.

The security guard opened the door, saying something to her that I couldn’t hear, and a second later she disappeared from sight.

Self-disgust hit me hard.

I was a failure. Completely unworthy of my baby girl.

Fuck.

I’d messed up this whole night.

I needed to do better than this. I wouldn’t fail her like this again.

Hovering in my hiding spot, I stared at the doors, like she was going to appear again and I’d have the chance to make up for the clusterfuck of a night I’d just let happen.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty.

A nearby neon sign flickered weakly, casting erratic shadows on the brick wall beside me.

Creeaaaak...

An older woman suddenly appeared on the sidewalk, wheeling herself toward the shelter, a creak filling the air with every turn of the wheel. She approached the ramp and slowly made her way up to the shelter’s front door. I watched as she paused for a moment, leaning forward and staring inside. Finally, she banged on the door with her fist, over and over again until I’m sure her knuckles were aching.

No one answered.

Something in my heart tightened, the sight of the closed doors and her bowed, defeated shoulders hitting all of my triggers. I emerged from where I’d been hiding, my footsteps echoing in the quiet night.

“I don’t have any money, and my vagina has dust in it and will eat your dick if you come anywhere near it,” the woman croaked, turning to glare at me as I approached. One of her eyes was clouded and most likely useless to her, and her white hair was snarled and stringy.

“I’m not going to hurt you, ma’am,” I said softly, holding up my hands in front of me as I cautiously approached. “But they’re not going to open the doors for you. Haven has a strict curfew. No matter what.”

Her shoulders slumped, and any hope leaked out of her. I reached into my pocket, glad I’d at least had the foresight to grab my wallet before I left the locker room. The arena wouldn’t have been open by the time I’d returned. My fingers were trembling slightly from my emotions running ragged through me. I counted out two hundred dollars.

“Here,” I said, pressing the bills into her hand. “Find a hotel room for the night. There should be a Motel 6 around the corner that will let that money stretch.”

---