Page 74 of Your Pucking Mom

The warm-ups before the game were my favorite part because, half the time, the team would goof around as they made sure all their gear worked.

This night was different. I was looking for someone else. My eyes couldn’t tear away from the guy wearing the C on the front of his jersey. He was skating next to a guy with Popov on the back of his jersey, and I was pretty sure it was his friend I had met at family day.

They were messing around on the ice when suddenly Ledger dropped to his knees to…

“Oh my God,” I whispered, but a small groan came out with it.

“What’s the matter?” my mother asked.

Shit. “Nothing. I got a…cramp in my knee.” I adjusted my leg to support my lie. She rolled her eyes and looked back to the ice.

My eyes were glued to Ledger humping the ice. It was a stretching technique to open your hip flexors, but it was absolutely…erotic. I imagined how his hips thrust into me the night before. The way his body molded into mine. The way he pawed me as if he couldn’t get enough.

I shifted again when I realized I was getting wholly turned on from imagining riding Ledger. The way he called me his dirty little secret last night.Fuck.But more importantly, the way he never made me feel anything but safe. That feeling—the connection—was what made me so much more attracted to him.

Popov skated over to where Ledger was stretching, and I squinted to get a better view. To my surprise, Popov passed the puck through Ledger’s legs. Ledger glanced over his shoulder, and I imagined him shouting “What the heck?” I couldn’t see Popov’s expression, but whatever Ledger had said seemed to spur him on because he passed the puck through Ledger’s legs faster.

Ledger continued humping the ice—a.k.a. his stretching routine—while Popov playfully slapped Ledger’s calves with his stick. Ledger was clearly annoyed but continued his routine, seemingly unaffected by him. It was likely not the first time the two had played around like this, and it was so entertaining to watch. Eventually, Ledger stood, and Popov draped his arm around him as they skated off the ice together. A smile spread across my face. It was a rare moment of lightheartedness from Ledger. Seeing him like this was…heartwarming.

“I can’t see anything from up here,” my mom complained, pulling me back to reality. I had momentarily forgotten where I was looking, and a wave of guilt washed over me for not paying attention.

“Well, all you need to do is keep an eye on the jersey with the big H on it, Mom.” I settled back into my seat.

As I tried to focus on the warm-up winding down before me, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being torn between watching my son and watching Ledger.

I’d put dating on hold for years, believing that my full attention needed to be on Austin. Yet something about Ledger drew me in. Perhaps it was his presence, or maybe it was this stage of my life when I finally allowed myself to have something I truly wanted.

Not like Ledger and I were actually dating, because we couldn’t. We were just friends in public, and in private, committed to being together. It was hard to deny the magnetic pull he had on me. Even in the midst of this crowded stadium, I couldn’t stop myself from stealing glances at him.

It was a constant battle within myself, trying to balance the responsibilities of motherhood with the desires of my own heart. As I sat there, caught between these two worlds, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was possible to have both—to be there for my son while allowing myself to pursue something with Ledger…even if it was in secret.

38

ledger

Where was she? As I sat in the penalty box for the second time tonight, with the clock ticking down in the second period, I scanned the seats where she should have been. However, they remained conspicuously empty.

I didn’t know what was wrong, but my head just wasn’t in the game. She was drooling over me as I walked past her for the ridiculous thing we had to do for the social media intern. She was here, so why wasn’t she watching the game?

Did she hate me all of a sudden or regret what we did? So many thoughts swirled in my mind, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Why did I fucking care?

I smacked my hockey stick on the ice. To any of the fans behind me, I was a pissed-off hockey player, but I was obsessing over something beyond hockey, which freaked me the fuck out. My entire life had been consumed by this sport since I was a kid. My parents pushed this career on me, and I’d wanted to make them proud. I had no personality traits other than being a hockey player. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was see Auburn’s curly blonde hair wave in the wind.

Fuck.I just wanted her near me so I could smell her faint floral smell or the hint of coffee from her work. Hockey was once my life, but I wanted so much more.

She had to be here. If for anything, she was here for the child…er, Austin. She would be here for him, which had my mind spiraling even more, thinking something must’ve happened to her. I had thirty seconds left in the box, and we were playing the Colorado Cats. Kanis, the captain on their team, was pissing me the fuck off, checking me too many times and purposely stopping my stick. My gloves had come off twice, sending me into this box more than I’d wanted. From the other side of the rink, Coach glared at me, telling me he was damn well more than pissed.

The box opened, and I stayed on the ice until the buzzer stopped, making us two down at the end of the second period. The moment I stepped off the rink, Coach’s glare bore into the back of my head until we wobbled off the ice.

“What the fuck was that, Cole?” he shouted.

The locker room exuded a palpable tension thick enough to cut with a skate blade. The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat, adrenaline, and the lingering disappointment of a game slipping away. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the forest-green walls, adding to the somber atmosphere.

Coach stood at the center, his figure rigid, his eyes ablaze with frustration. Dressed impeccably in his suit, he seemed like a statue of authority, but the subtle tremor in his hands betrayed the underlying tension. Each player took their seat on the worn benches.

As Coach’s voice boomed across the room, it reverberated against the walls, punctuating the silence with sharp intensity. His words cut through the heavy air, slicing through the veil of disappointment that hung over us.

“You all are a fucking disappointment. None of you have your head in the fucking game.” Coach’s tone was unwavering and ice cold.

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