Page 113 of Your Pucking Mom

“You need to come back in for physical therapy,” Jessa, my usual therapist, told me as she examined the knee. “It doesn’t seem like you’ve reinjured anything, but I think the ligament got too tight and that’s what’s causing you to feel the shooting pain.” I narrowed my eyes.

“I never said I had shooting pain,” I clarified, not wanting to risk being pulled off the ice. It was still too early for that.

“Can he still skate?” Coach chimed in from the corner where he was standing with his arms crossed.

“Yes. He should be fine as long as he agrees to start PT again.”

I sighed. “I never missed an appointment until last week.” I didn’t feel like arguing with anyone. I just wanted to get the conversation with Coach over with, knowing it was coming.

“Great. Can we clear the room so Cole and I can talk?” Coach asked, and everyone nodded, grabbed their medical equipment, and left.

Coach was intimidating. He was in a pair of jeans, a Ravens shirt, and his longer hair was disheveled. He had large bags under his eyes. I empathized with him, because I knew, like myself, hockey was his life. There was nothing else. But this team and his ass were on the line as much as any of ours were.

“I’m fucking sorry?—”

Coach held up a hand, silencing me. “Hart. Get your ass in here.”

Austin came in without his skates on. He took off most of his hockey gear. He was in his sweater and some sweatpants, and his hair was a curly mess.

“Sit the fuck down,” Coach barked, and pointed at the bench across from me. “What was that?”

Austin looked at me for guidance on where to begin, but truthfully, I was as lost as he was.

“I—” Coach held up his hand again.

“No.” He shook his head. “You know what? I don’t give a fuck. You two sit here and figure this out. If either of you are still on about this at the game this weekend, then…” He pointed at Austin.

“You’re done. Not a single team will want you again because of the fucking drama that ensues. You think another team will fly your mother around with you? You’re lucky you are here, Hart.”

Austin hung his head low. He closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his temple. I felt bad for him. For his first professional season, he had gotten in trouble twice. He was focused on the game, no longer partying with the guys, and working on getting better. I didn’t want him in trouble.

“And you,” Coach shouted, moving his finger over toward me. “I’ll pull you for the rest of the season. This is your last season, and you’ll spend it sitting on the Goddamn bench.”

My movements mirrored Austin’s, filled with shame. It never should have come to this. Our personal issues should’ve never spilled over onto the ice.

But I would not apologize for being in love with Auburn. Not at that moment. Not ever. She deserved someone who loved her wholly.

“Deal with it,” Coach barked, then walked out of the locker room—more like stomped.

The locker room was silent, the air heavy with tension, almost worse than when Austin had walked in on me and his mom naked in her apartment.

I took a deep breath, figuring it was because of me we were here, so I should probably be the first one to talk. “I should’ve told you about your mom.”

Austin’s head snapped up at my words. “You’re damn right you should’ve,” he retorted, his tone laced with anger.

I sighed heavily. “I first saw her coming out of our apartment in August. She was on the ground, crying, and I couldn’t walk by. It wasn’t until family day that I realized who she was.”

“But you guys still continued…whatever this was,” Austin spat, his voice dripping with accusation.

“No, not exactly. Your mom made it clear she wanted nothing to do with me, more than a few times. I was the one who kept pursuing her,” I explained, my frustration mounting.

“She’s my…mom,” Austin shot back, his bright-blue eyes, the ones that matched his mom’s, piercing into mine. “If you think this is the first time something like this has happened, you’re wrong. I’m used to guys hitting on my mom because of how young she looks, but this is different.”

“I understand that. But she’s also a grown woman capable of making her own decisions, Austin,” I countered, my tone firm yet tinged with sadness. “When was the last time she dated someone?”

Austin huffed out a laugh. “My mom doesn’t date.”

“Exactly.” I threw my hands in the air. “That’s my point, Austin. Your mom moved out here to help you pursue your career. Your mom begged her boss to schedule her so that she could fly with you, so you didn’t get fired. She’s your mom, and she’s sacrificed so much…for you.”

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