Page 35 of Pucking Never

“Have a seat,” he says before turning and busying himself with the drinks. I slowly sink onto the bed, wringing his jersey nervously in my hands. He still hasn’t taken it back.

He finishes pouring our drinks, turns, and hands me a glass of amber liquid. I sniff at it and wince at the strong smell. Whiskey, I think. This isn’t my usual drink, but I’m nervous enough to make an exception this time. It’s hard to say for certain why I’m nervous, but I feel strangely shy. It’s not like we’ve never been alone before, or seen each other naked, for that matter. Still, something feels different. More… intimate. We know each other now. There are no more fake personas or promises of never seeing each other again. Everything that has happened, and everything that might happen, can’t just be chalked up to a week of fun. This is also the first time I’ve actively sought him out, as me instead of my Miami alter ego. That’s a big step. One I don’t know if I’m ready for.

Releasing a deep breath, I take a drink and savor the burn as it slides down my throat. Jensen sits on the bed next to me and reaches over to touch the jersey I’m still clutching. “I wish you’d keep it,” he says. “Seeing you wearing it during the game… well, it’s what got me out of my funk after the fight.”

Well, shit. Why’d he have to go and say a thing like that? Now I feel guilty for trying to return it. Still, I’m not sure I can keep it right now. It feels too significant. Wearing it feels too much like we’re in a real relationship, and we’re not there yet. I don’t know what we are, exactly, but we’re not in jersey-wearing territory and I don’t want to put any more pressure on us than there already is. I sigh, rubbing the smooth material between my fingers.

“It’s not because it’s yours,” I confess. “It’s just… hockey.”

Though I know that’s not really an explanation, that’s the best lie I can come up with in the moment.

“You hate hockey that much, huh?” He chuckles softly and takes a drink.

“Too many bad experiences,” I mumble.

“Like what? I mean I get some of Carson’s friends were jerks, but that was highschool.”

I consider how much to tell him. There’s something in me that wants to tell him the truth. To unburden myself at long last. Releasing a long breath, I say, “I had a friend who was really hurt by one of Carson’s teammates. He ruined her life.”

Jensen furrows his brow. “Ruined her life? How’d he do that?”

“He got her pregnant,” I whisper. “Convinced her he loved her and would be there for her, but then abandoned her for a fancy school in Canada just so he could play more competitive hockey.”

Jensen is quiet for several moments and I glance up at him, a little worried how he’ll respond. Will he shrug it off like it’s not a big deal? Tell me I’m overreacting?

Instead, he gives me a sympathetic look and nods. “That really sucks. I’m sorry for your friend. Is she okay now?”

I shrug. “I don’t actually know. She transferred schools herself after he left. The other kids made life unbearable for her. We lost contact after she moved. She said she was going to keep the baby, but I’m not sure if she did. She was gone before anyone else even knew she was pregnant.”

The memories of Stacey and how painful those last couple of months were before she left come flooding back to me. Jensen's face is filled with genuine sympathy. "That's tough. And, unfortunately, I can't say it surprises me."

His words hang in the air between us for a moment. I take another sip of my drink, hoping the liquor will chase away the bitterness that follows Stacey's story.

"What do you mean?" I ask, setting my glass down on the small bedside table and turning to look at him.

He shrugs and looks down at his drink. "I've seen some teammates who messed up relationships and careers over hockey. The sport tends to attract a lot of arrogant assholes who think they're above everyone else."

"So you’re not one of them?" I try to keep my voice neutral but there’s an edge in my tone, one that echoes years of pain and disappointment.

A wry smile appears on Jensen's face as he meets my gaze. "I'd like to think I’m not."

There's sincerity in his eyes that gives me pause. For a moment, I let myself believe him, allow myself to sink a little bit deeper into this unpredictable world. But then, I remember Stacey — a bright, bubbly girl full of dreams and laughter — and how she had been reduced to nothing more than a shell of her former self.

I don’t want to end up like that. I don’t want to lose myself, whether it’s in my brother’s shadow or in an ill-fated romance with a man I can’t be certain won’t hurt me.

Jensen reaches out a hand and gently cups the side of my face.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I’m not that kind of guy. I swear. I wouldn’t ever hurt you like that.”

His words are soft, reassuring, but they echo against the walls of my heart, fighting to find a way in. I look into his eyes and a part of me wants to believe him and to trust him. But another part of me — the side that's seen too much hurt, too much pain — can't let go of my fear.

“Words are easy to say,” I whisper back. “Actions matter more.”

He lets go of my face but doesn’t pull his hand away completely. Instead, he moves it down to hold mine. His thumb moves back and forth over the back of my hand in a soothing motion.

“I know,” he says earnestly. “And I promise you, I’ll show you through my actions. I’m nothing like those guys.”

I take a deep breath and extract my hand from his gentle grip.

---