Page 27 of Your Pucking Mom

I wanted to tell him I felt safe with him, to show I didn’t feel trapped, but I couldn’t. So I nodded, opened the door, and walked down the hallway.

As I reached the elevator, I stole one last glance back. There he stood, his long black hair cascading around his shoulders, framing a face shadowed by a thick, unkempt beard. Despite his height, he seemed to shrink under the weight of his sadness, barely fitting into the doorframe, like his emotions were spilling over. His slouched posture and downcast eyes pulled at my heart, making me wonder if I was wrong to leave him behind.

Stepping into the elevator, a heavy weight of responsibility settled over me. I couldn’t afford to linger in uncertainty, not when my son needed me. With firm resolve, I pressed the button for Austin’s floor, leaving behind the man whose mysterious presence had stirred something deep within me.

I refused to be branded a failure, to be cast as a villain in my own story by the judgment of others. I vowed to carve my own path.

14

ledger

I had never carried a heavier weight on my shoulders or deeper anger. My career had been solid—I was a good skater, a great offensive player, and a damn good fighter. I loved hockey, but after what Coach interrupted, I wanted to hand in my resignation.

I was nearly ready to quit when the beautiful, curly-haired goddess walked out of my apartment for good. The universe had brought her to my doorstep three times, but our luck had finally run out. It was over before it started.

“Fuck” echoed through the empty apartment as the door slammed shut. Dealing with whatever Coach was calling about at nine at night was unavoidable. A glance at the spot in the living room where Auburn had given the best blow job of my life brought a sharp reminder that it was over—time just wasn’t on our side. She had to take care of her relative, who needed round-the-clock care, and I had the hockey team, which was similarly demanding, especially since I was the captain.

Grabbing my wallet and keys, I hurried out, not wanting to linger where her scent still permeated the air. I headed down the hall to where Coach lived.

* * *

“We should never have recruited an eighteen-year-old.” Coach was pacing in his corner apartment, which was much more modern than mine. He had left all the original stylings, and it was white, cold, and sterile.

Coach was in his early forties and single by choice, or so he said. He was a huge superstar fifteen years ago in the Canadian Hockey League, but got injured early and decided to spend the rest of his time coaching. He’d been with the Ravens for quite some time, which was rare in hockey.

He was usually put together, especially in his designer suits at the games, but tonight, he looked out of place in his gray sweats and black hoodie. His blond hair was cropped short. He was clean-shaven and had dark blue eyes that seemed fearful.

“I had no intention of leaving this damn house tonight, and I had to beg the cops not to arrest Hart.”

“What’d he do?” I asked, settling into one of the uncomfortable barstools without a back at the counter. “Why the fuck did you buy these? We’re big men, and my ass barely fits on the seat.”

Coach chuckled before cracking open a beer, then handing me one.

“He went out with some of the guys. They tried to use a fake ID and got caught.”

“And instead of cutting the ID, the bar called the cops?” It seemed extreme to call the police right away. Normally, you’d cut up the card and tell the kid to go suck it somewhere else.

“They recognized Dirks as a player, and it was a stick-it-to-the-man kind of moment.”

“Fuck,” I said, taking a long pull at the beer. “So what’s the plan?”

Coach stepped out from behind the counter and stood directly in front of me. This was not good. “Whatever you’re about to ask, it’s major, isn’t it?”

I didn’t need to hear his request to know my answer was an unequivocal no. His eyes widened with a desperate puppy-dog look. “No.”

The stool clattered behind me as I stood and moved toward the windows overlooking the lake.

“No,” I repeated.

“Listen…” Coach came up from behind me as I looked out into the night sky. “I told them I didn’t want the liability of someone like Hart on our team, but everyone seemed to think it would be good for the team and the media.”

“Media?” I asked, turning around to face him.

Coach rubbed his temples, then gestured for us to move to the couch. I took a seat, expecting to sink into it, but instead, it forced me to sit upright.

“How the fuck do you sit on this?” I asked, scooting forward so I could somehow get comfortable on this stiff piece of shit.

“It’s not for sitting.”

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