Page 41 of Puck You Very Much

“My childhood?” he repeated woodenly, and this time when he took a step toward her, it wasn’t to arouse her. He wanted to scare her because she had no right to know what she claimed to know. And this time she backed away, hitting the wall behind her. This time, she held her breath. He spoke again. “What do you know about my childhood?”

Nobody knew anything about it. Not Matt, not the rest of the team, not even the women he slept with. Because his childhood didn’t define him. His parents had no power to define who he was today. Sure, his personality consisted of all the anger and disappointment of that time, as well as a mosaic of love for his sister, the good times with Jack, the bad times without Jack, hockey, and hard-fought moments of happiness. But the knowledge of it belonged to him. His past was his!

Hadn’t he made that unmistakably clear to her?

Was she really looking at him as if she could understand what his problem was? As if it would be easy to forgive Jack if he just made a little effort?

Fuck no.

Lucy had no right to know anything about his past. Or even just think she knew something. She had no idea.

“I don’t know anything about your childhood, Dax,” she said, and he hated how soft her voice was. How big her eyes were. How gentle her touch was as she carefully placed her fingers on his arm.

“You seem to know something,” he snapped. “About my childhood and about me and Jack. About whether or not he deserves my anger!”

She took a deep breath and nodded shortly. “He told me, okay? That your childhood was terrible and that he deserved the anger. That’s it.”

No, that wasn’t it. It was too much.

“How nice of him,” Dax snapped. “How nice that he decided what you should know and what you shouldn’t. What did he say? Did he tell you my father was addicted to gambling and that we regularly had to drag him home from the casino in the middle of the night? Jack seventeen, me fourteen? Did he tell you that our mother was the most loving and kind person, but did nothing but work her tail off and then felt the need to introduce one idiotic rule after another at home just to feel like she was teaching us something? Neglecting the one thing she should have done, leave her damn husband? Did he perhaps tell you that she was still the sweetest, kindest person…yet he didn’t even feel the need to come to her funeral?”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. I…” She swallowed and took a shaky breath. “Dax, I didn’t know that…”

He placed both hands on the wall on either side of her head and she immediately fell silent. “That’s exactly how it is. You didn’t know, you don’t know. Now listen carefully to me, Lucy,” he whispered, his voice threateningly soft, his head so close to hers their noses almost touched. “It doesn’t matter what Jack told you, what he’s going to tell you, or what you think you believe. You know nothing about me. Nothing about Jack. Nothing about our relationship. And you’ve gone too damn far. Questioning Jack. Installing a tracker on my phone. The next time you pull shit like that, you’ll regret it.”

She swallowed again and took a shaky breath. “Dax, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t question him,” she said, the words tumbling awkwardly from her lips. “I didn’t know any of that. I didn’t want to go behind your back…”

“And yet you did,” he cut her off, pushing off the wall, putting distance between them that he desperately needed in order to think more clearly. He needed to avoid looking into her big eyes and feeling like an asshole for yelling at her. “You know everyone talks about me behind my back,” he remarked, laughing mirthlessly. “The whole fucking country, the coaches, the team—and I thought you were the only one brave enough to tell me to my face what you think and what bothers you. But apparently, I was wrong. You’re no better than the others.”

He could see that the blow hit her. He knew it by the way she lowered her arms, the way she blinked several times, opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

He didn’t want to hear what she had to say, didn’t want to know if she was going to apologize or call him an asshole, so he didn’t give her the chance.

“Now go get your damn jacket,” he muttered. “We’re leaving.”

It was a miracle that Lucy actually did what he told her—a miracle he didn’t know if he liked.

She turned her back on him, hurried into the bar. The door slammed shut with a thud.

His shoulders slumped and he pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes.

Shit.

He paced restlessly, sucking the cold air deep into his lungs and expelling it through his nose.

His heartbeat echoed in his ears, his hands shook, and his lips tingled. Nothing in his body, in his head, or in his life was still in its proper place. The whole day, the last hour…everything was a mess.

He wanted Lucy and, at the same time, never wanted to see her again. He wanted to scream at her and, at the same time, apologize for his harsh words. He wanted to punch Jack and then ask him what had happened. Why had he disappeared from one night to the next? Why hadn’t he come to the funeral? Why hadn’t he made contact for so long? He wanted to shake his sister and hug her at the same time. He wanted to thank her for not giving up on him yet, even though he had given her every reason to. He wanted to tell Lucy more, wanted her to understand why the topic was too much, why he reacted the way he did—and, at the same time, he wanted to retract his words. Every single one.

Because she hadn’t known. She’d known nothing about what he had just reproachfully thrown at her. He had seen it in her eyes, in her shocked expression. But now she knew.

He almost started laughing. It was ridiculous. Lucy had discovered more about him in a few weeks than his entire team had in six years. What’s more, he had practically told her of his own free will!

He narrowed his eyes, tilted his head back, and when he opened them again he had at least pulled himself together enough to wonder what the hell was keeping Lucy.

He stared at the entrance, tapped his fingers against his leg—and finally lost his patience. He pushed open the door to the Snow Hut with his fist and stood rooted in place.

Was she fucking serious?

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