Page 22 of Suck My Puck

I know this is the nature of sports. And the nature of sports media and social media. People love you when you’re playing well, but the minute you falter, they turn on you so hard and so fast.

It’s all part of playing pro sports. I should just let it roll off my back.

But I can’t. Because deep down, it kills me to know that so many people think so little of me. And it confirms my biggest insecurity: That I’m not good enough. That I don’t belong here.

I swallow through the ache in my throat and down another shot.

“Don’t pay attention to that shit,” Del says. “You know the person who made that meme is probably some loser living in his grandma’s basement.”

“Yeah. Dude probably couldn’t hold a hockey stick to save his life,” Theo says.

“He’d never say that shit to your face,” Xander says. “All those keyboard warriors say the meanest crap, but deep down they’re cowards.”

I try to smile. “You guys are probably right.”

Ingrid aims a hopeful smile at me. “You’re still getting plenty of support from the team’s female fans. Look.”

She shows me her phone again and I scan some of the comments.

I don’t care how he plays. He’s hot.

I heard he has a dick piercing. That’s all I care about. SEXY!

Still my favorite hockey eye candy #hotgoalie

Those guys are just jealous haters #hotgoalie

I force another laugh. I guess it’s nice that some people think I’m attractive, but that doesn’t take away from how much it hurts to know that so many fans think I suck.

I stand up, needing a second to myself. “I gotta piss.”

I make my way to the men’s room on the other side of the bar. As good as it feels to have my teammates and friends defend me, I still feel like shit. Like I’m not goodenough. Like I’m on the verge of losing everything that matters to me.

I do my business, wash up, and make my way through the crowded space back to my table. As I turn the corner around the bar, I bump into someone.

“Crap, sorry…”

I look down and see Bella glaring at me. “Watch it.”

“Sorry. It’s just a little crowded in here right now.”

She rolls her eyes. “Do you always mutter ‘sorry’ like you don’t even mean it when you apologize?”

I stare at her, thrown off by her hard tone. “What’s your problem?”

She wipes down the counter along the edge of the bar, then stacks a bunch of stray coasters. “I’m just not a fan of being smacked into by a guy almost twice my size.”

For a second, I just stand there and look at her, processing her hard tone.

I don’t get why she’s so upset at me. Things between us were fine yesterday until the sex toy incident. And even then, she didn’t seem mad. Mostly embarrassed and flustered.

“Wait, are you mad at me?” I ask.

She stacks a bunch of empty glasses and hands them to the bartender on the other side of the bar.

“Nope. I’m super, duper happy. I’ve never been happier in my life than standing right here talking to you in this crowded bar that smells like piss and smoke and beer.”

She makes a disgusted sound before walking to another table and clearing it.

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