Page 39 of All Your Pucking Secrets

“Don’t you give me that look,” she snaps, and then she does something I never saw coming. She plants her hands on my chest and shoves with all her might.

I don’t budge. As someone who’s spent years getting knocked around on the ice—and at home—it takes more than a ninety-pound woman to move me. She growls in the back of her throat and tries again. I fall back a step because that seems to be what she wants. My back hits the car as she advances.

“Why are you here?”

The absolute bewilderment in her voice stuns me. How can she not know?

“For you,” I tell her. “I want you back. I’ve always wanted you, but I screwed up.”

“Lies.” The gold flecks in her eyes flare. “What kind of twisted game are you playing?”

“No games.” I place my palms against the panel of the car door, so she knows I have no intention of pushing her back. “I missed you. I want you in my life.”

The words aren’t enough. They never are, but I don’t know how to do better. I’m a hockey player, not a poet.

“You are my life,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. “As if I could ever believe that. Our whole relationship was a setup. A scam.”

“It wasn’t.” And I hate that I made her doubt us. “Just please hear me out.”

Another flash of gold in her eyes. So beautiful. Far more precious than money, or the fame and recognition my father craved.

“I don’t think so.”

My desperation growing, I glance over her shoulder at the Mental Wellbeing Clinic.

“Would your therapist say you should listen to me?” I ask.

She exhales through her teeth, visibly fighting the urge to take a swing at me. “I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks is best for me,” she growls. “It’s my decision.”

“But what if I could help with—”

She laughs bitterly and turns away, running her hand through her hair.

“I don’t need your help,” she says tiredly. “I’m managing just fine on my own. Last time you and your hockey buddies messed with me, I spent the following year self-medicating with alcohol to numb myself, and though I’m recovering, I still can’t stand men touching me.”

I wince, suddenly glad she’s looking away. There’s no way I could meet her gaze right now.

She chokes back tears. “Does it make you happy to know I haven’t had sex since the rape?”

The bottom drops out of my stomach. I always thought I’d be glad to discover she hadn’t created new memories with someone else, but this isn’t how I wanted it to be.

She spins toward me, her eyes wild. “They all claimed I made it up, even after he was locked away. I guess I really went the whole hog, huh? It takes a lot of dedication to give up sex for years just to sell a lie.”

I drop to my knees, barely noticing the pain as my kneecaps hit the pavement. Her anguish is like a stake through my heart. I drop my eyes to the ground as guilt swamps me.

Guilt for what my so-called friends did to her.

Guilt for what I did to her.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is thick with emotion. “I believe you. I did then, and I do now.”

She scoffs. “Then why didn’t you do something about it?”

She pushes past me, and I let her. She unlocks the car door, gets inside, and starts the engine. I scramble out of the way as she backs out of the parking spot and drives away, leaving me to fall apart on my own.

I guess that’s karma.

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