Page 50 of Mr. Broody

“No. Not at all,” I deadpan.

“Then what?” Conor looks at Rowan and points at him. “You’re the only one attached. Fix it.”

“Fix it? You’re the one who wanted to hash this out. I knew he wasn’t ready.” Rowan picks up his phone.

“The man isn’t even close to ready,” Tweetie says. “This convo is premature.”

“We’re not talking about your ejaculation, Tweetie,” Conor says.

“What are you, twelve years old with jokes like that?” Tweetie punches him in the arm.

“We can’t wait until we start losing because you’re thinking about her in the middle of a game,” Conor says, continuing to press the issue.

He has no idea I’ve played more games with Jade in my head than not.

“I’m fine. She’s been back for what, three weeks, and I’ve played fine. Better than fine.”

“Yeah, for sure…” Rowan’s gaze diverts to his phone.

“I mean, there was that play in the second period today…” Tweetie shakes his head.

When I lost the puck? Hello, it’s fucking hockey. The point of the game is for the other team to try to get the puck.

“And that easy shot you missed in the first.” Conor cringes.

“But you do you,” Rowan says with a shrug. “They’re probably just flukes, right?”

“Are you guys fucking kidding me?” My voice rises. “Do you want me to talk about that shit slapshot you made in the third, Tweetie, or the fact you acted like I wasn’t open in the second?” I stare at Rowan. “Or you do realize we were tied until the third because you let the puck get past your stick and let the defender get it, right?” I shift my gaze to Conor. “But let’s just point fingers at my mistakes.”

“Do the math, Daddy. We each had one and you had two.”

I narrow my eyes at Tweetie. “Screw all of you.”

“We’re just saying you can’t ignore this. She’s here, and she’s very much in your world. She’s your kid’s teacher, for fuck’s sake. Deal with it. Fight for her, fuck her, or cut her loose. But this whole Romeo and Juliet bullshit is exactly that—bullshit.” Conor crosses his arms and stares at me.

Surprisingly, he has a point. I’m sitting in limbo, and nothing gets done if you’re just standing on the ice.

“I just said something good, didn’t I?” Conor leans over, looking surprised at himself. “Oh shit, look the lightbulb is on.” He points at my head. “Fuck, I should be a marriage counselor.”

Tweetie chuckles.

“Let’s not quit hockey just yet,” Rowan says, putting his phone back down. “Is he right?”

I shrug.

“Daddy, what the fuck? Give credit where credit is due.” Conor holds out his arms.

“Pinkie, shut the fuck up,” one of our teammates says from the row behind us.

“Fine. Yeah, you have me thinking,” I grumble.

Conor leans over and pats my leg. “You have my number. Day or… well, I’m here for you during the day anytime you need me.” He winks and sits back in his seat as if he just performed a fifteen-hour brain surgery.

Rowan’s eyes don’t leave the side of my head.

This isn’t easy because the biggest question is where does Jade fit into my new life? I need to stop living in the past and decide whether I can chance Bodhi’s and my future.

If it was just me, I’d run off this plane and drive to her house, use the key to her childhood home, and sneak up to her bedroom, begging her to give us another try, but it’s not only me. I have to make sure not to forget that.

---