Page 6 of For Puck's Sake

With an audible grunt from the force of my hug, her grip mimics my own. I don’t know where the tears come from, but they fall slowly down my cheeks as I hold on to her for dear life. Maybe it’s the time apart or the distance I’ve put between us by not keeping in touch. Or maybe it’s all the things I’ve been through without her there to hold my hand and guide me through it. I missed her. Red, or Regina to her family, is a few years older than me but with our parents being close friends and both of us being only children, our friendship blossomed easily. We spent years being each other’s only companion despite our age difference. I followed her around like a shadow, if she did anything, then I attempted it as well. It seems we both disappointed our parents in the end though. Instead of going to Stanford Law, Red opted to take her trust fund and open Solo Red’s. Let’s just say, like my own parents, they live up on the hill and haven’t seen their daughter in years. She’s been disowned for not being who or what they wanted her to be. But it’s their loss, Red is a pillar of the Lark Bay community, and if they’d get their heads out of their asses, they would be proud of the woman she’s become. My parents aren’t any different. I haven’t been publicly disowned by my mother and father, but it’s only a matter of time. Fame be damned, my only redeeming quality was my engagement to Ridley. I guess my mother thought being a kept woman was better than being a starving artist.Yes, I’ve heard those words fall from her lips too many times to count. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall of the grand parlor when they got the news of our breakup. She probably clutched her oversized pearls and cried into her Chanel handkerchief. News of my return will reach their ears eventually, and a confrontation will be inevitable, and you know what? I’ll welcome it. It’s about time the line in the sand was drawn. Either they love me for who I am and what I’ve become, or they can burn my face from the family tree.

“Good to see you, Red.” I pull back and smile through watery eyes. “You know I’m only a stalker for you. I see your routine hasn’t changed.” I tap my temple with a teasing grin. I step back, giving her a quick once over. She rocks her baggy jeans, Solo Red’s t-shirt with tennis shoes instead of boots. Her hair is braided back in intricate cornrows, chunky brown and black beads hang from the ends, her deep brown eyes and smooth brown skin make Red appear timeless. Though it’s been years, she hasn’t aged a bit. Maybe she is a vampire, I think to myself with a chuckle.

“Something funny?” She cocks her brow with her signature don’t fuck with me smirk on her face. But I know she wants to laugh right along with me.

“You sure you’re not a vampire, Red? I mean, you haven’t changed a bit,” I say as I lean into the jeep and pull Bessie from the passenger seat. I don’t go anywhere without my guitar and while I’m here I may as well reacquaint myself with the stage.

Red scoffs. “I was going to say the same thing about you. Your locs are longer, skin is flawless, you’ve lost too much weight, but other than that, you look good, kiddo.” She smiles softly, and my heart hurts for all the time we’ve spent apart. “I know you’re not here for long, but I’m glad you’re back. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. You know I am ready to drop all the gossip at your feet.”

I pull my guitar strap over my head and settle Bessie on my back. I grab my keys, lock my jeep and follow Red as she goes back inside. “I’ll need a drink or two, but yeah, we definitely need to catch up,” I finally reply as I step through the familiar doors of Solo Red’s and all the stress of the past few weeks is washed away.

“I’ve got nothing but time, Brea. Tell me everything,” Red says as she pulls down a bottle of tequila and slams it on the bar. Her morning tasks suddenly forgotten as she grabs two shot glasses and fills them both.

I cock my brow and tilt my head. “It’s like that. Tequila? Really, Red? Damn.” I walk over tentatively and remove Bessie, placing her across two stools next to me.

“You wouldn’t believe the shit that’s happened since you left. But first, I think you need to drop all your baggage at my feet, starting with Ridley.” She taps the bar with the finger as if daring me to tell her I don’t want to talk about it. But maybe I did.

I shrug. I won’t deny her this. “Okay,” I say, scooping up the shot glass and knocking it back with a hiss. Well, I guess it’s five o’clock somewhere in the world, no time like the present. Fuck it. Tequila for breakfast it is.

THREE

RIDLEY

Baby Sis: Where are you?

Me: Coffee o’clock, Lia. Indulging myself in the offseason. Why?

Baby Sis: Code Red, Rid. I think you need to pull over for this.

Ipanic. Looking around at the cars on either side of me I dictate another message to my phone as I try to pull over somewhere. A Code Red is not to be taken lightly. It is essentially the bat signal, letting me know some kind of crazy fuckery is afoot.

Me: Please tell me you’re not pregnant. (smiley face emoji)

I am joking, attempting to make light of the impending drama I have a creeping feeling is about to land in my lap, but when Lia doesn’t reply right away—well, shit. I find an opening, the perfect parking spot a few blocks away from myfavorite coffee shop and park my Aston Martin DB11 next to the curb. The Lazy Brew isn’t far from my penthouse but walking there during the peak summer season will get me hounded in the streets by fans. Since our Stanley Cup win, I’ve spent most of my time out of the public eye. Seattle seems to still be in celebratory mode, and if any one of us is spotted, the entire city wants to know. I’ve been sequestered in my penthouse, with the occasional dinner at my sister’s place.

With my newfound determination to reclaim what was once mine, I’ve been celibate for months. Not a puck bunny in sight. I’ve stayed out of the press because when I get my chance to be in Brea’s presence, I want there to be nothing standing in the way of making amends. I want her to see the man I was before, not the fuckboy I became. I ripped my own heart from my chest in order to protect myself from the pain caused when she walked away from us. In hindsight, I didn’t fight hard enough to keep her, fool me. But I will fight for us now. It’s been months since Lia’s birthday and the opportunity hasn’t presented itself yet. The small glimpse of her during the Stanley Cup Final didn’t give me any chance to talk to her. Brea had abandoned her seat next to Lia before the confetti cannons had erupted in celebration. She stayed for me, I knew it, and the tiny gesture gave me the one thing I thought I would never truly feel again: hope. With hope, there’s possibility, a chance, and I’ve held on to it like it’s my lifeline. I guess in a way it is.

Baby Sis: No . . . What? Never mind. This isn’t about me at all. You know what, I will send you the link. Rid, this is bad, really bad.

Me: Okay . . .

I hang my head, wanting to bang it against the steering wheel, but stop myself and the unnecessary pain it will cause. Ineed a clear head, not a self-induced concussion. Well, hell. Here we go. I climb out of my car, lock it and make it to the sidewalk just in time for my phone to chime with another incoming message from Lia. I stare at the link for a moment, my thumb hovering over the screen. I immediately begin to rack my brain for anything recently that would constitute as bad, but I’ve not been out in months. I’ve been Motherfucking Teresa. Deciding to snatch the band-aid off, I press the link. A podcast audio clip pops up on the screen and a very familiar, very annoying voice filters through the phone.

Podcast recording:

“It’s your girl coming at you from my new podcast. Hockey HomegurlHattie on Ice. By the way, a big thank you to all my bunnies for all your support. They tried to silence your girl but now I am the master of this ship, bringing you the gossip on all things hockey on my own terms. So, let’s jump right into the hottest news of the summer. It seems your favorite hockey couple we love to hate is getting married. That’s right, Tor Bailey is marrying Jaz, wait, excuse me, Alexis Rhodes. #sticktoonename. No news on when the upcoming nuptials will take place, but you know I will keep my ears to the streets. It’s officially wave goodbye to the captain of the Vipers, ladies, he is off the market. I’m sure this isn’t the last we’ll hear from the couple, and I’ll be here to give you all the tea.

In other news, I’m literally screaming into my pillow, bunnies. It seems our other favorite Viper, Forward, fuckboy and hottest hottie of them all is having a baby folks. Stop the press. Don’t go past Go bunnies. #sayitaintso. I know what you are thinking. #WHAT? #WTF? Well, my sources say that Ridley Masters is going to be a daddy. Apparently, one of his many one-night stands has come forward with the news. No comment fromRidley Masters as of yet, and my source hasn’t given me the name of the woman in question. We all know that Ridley hasn’t been seen out in months. Is this because he’s been in a secret relationship with this mystery woman? Has he broken her heart and now she’s coming forward with a bun in the oven? Inquiring minds want to know, bunnies. This is breaking news, juicy, juicy, five alarm fire gossip and I am here for this story, honeys. When I know more, you will know more. Opening up the phone lines now, tell me what you think.

I click out of the podcast, my teeth clenched so tight I might break a molar. “What the fuck?” I mutter, looking down at the screen, my eyes narrowing, waiting for the joke to land. A baby? No way. It’s not possible. This is the first time I’ve heard this. I look around, completely dumbfounded. No wonder Lia said this was a Code Red. No, this is an absolute fucking Freddy Krueger type nightmare. A pinch me, douse me in cold water, I want to wake up before I die kind of nightmare. What the hell is happening right now? I run my hands over my head, turning in frustration and trying not to scare anyone passing by me on the sidewalk. I’m confused. I’m fucking pissed. My mind works overtime as I try to remember the last time I had a woman in my bed. I keep my dick wrapped tight. I don’t fuck bare. I’m not an idiot. I’ve been with one woman and one woman only that way, and she— I almost throw my phone but think better of it as soon as it starts ringing in my hands. Brea, no, no, no.

“Hello!” I answer abruptly, not caring who I offend as I practically yell the word.

“Ridley, it’s Hazel. I just listened to the podcast. Your face is all over social media, you’re trending for fuck’s sake, and not in a good way. This is an absolute shit show. I thought things had calmed down on your end. I’m in the middle of a major endorsement deal on your behalf. You don’t need the bad pressright now.” She tsks in disapproval, her thick New York accent is more pronounced, and I can almost see the cigarette hanging from her lips as she blows out a breath. Hazel has been my agent since before my parents died. She knew my father, in fact, they went to college together. She is the closest thing to family Lia and I have left. The sound of disappointment and shock in her voice makes this news finally register. This is not a joke. Someone out there is claiming to be carrying my child.

I reach up with one hand, crushing my phone with the other, grabbing my hair and tugging hard to keep myself from freaking out. The last thing I need is for someone to catch me on camera having a meltdown. I take a deep breath, my heart pounds as if I’ve been sprinting down the ice for hours without reprieve. I suddenly feel dizzy, out of control as panic threatens to overwhelm me. I close my eyes, and Brea instantly comes to mind. Her bright smile as she sits on the balcony of our penthouse, Bessie in hand as the rain falls, the gentle strumming of her guitar as she hums the melody she’s creating. Those memories, though heartbreaking now, always brought me comfort and calm. I cling to the image for dear life as I try to regain control of my rapidly beating heart.

“Hazel. I don’t know what’s happening. I have no idea who this woman is. There’s been a mistake, obviously. There has to be. I haven’t been out in months. I’ve been focused on hockey, on . . .” I don’t want to mention I’ve been focused on getting Brea back, on trying to get back to the man I once was. Hazel knows all about the fallout of our engagement, she witnessed it right along with everyone else close to me, my tattered pieces, my grief. I didn’t want her to know why I was behaving the way I was. The hope I’d been clinging to suddenly turns to ash, floating away aimlessly on the wind. Now, with this news, Brea won’t even look at me. Hell, even if it’s not true, this is the typeof thing that will remind her of my past transgressions since our breakup. This is my fault.

---