Page 101 of Zero Pucks

“Did he ask someone to take the C? Is that what changed your mind?”

He glanced over his shoulder to where Hugo was leaning on the wall, talking to Connor and pointing at something, and then he shook his head. “No. He ripped me a new asshole after Wednesday’s game.”

That had been a tough fucking loss, and it was mostly down to Boden refusing to follow Hugo’s plays. But no one was on his side, and he was iced out afterward. It hurt me to watch it and not defend him, but he had brought it upon himself.

He’d stayed after and slammed his bedroom door when he came home, but the next morning, he was…nicer. A little. And today, he’d run practice the way he was supposed to—using Hugo’s plays.

“I fucking hate admitting this, but he was right. I’m better than this,” Boden said. “I don’t have to like the fucker, but I’m not going to turn my back on what’s important to me just because I’m pissed off at my father.”

Ah, and there it was. It always came back to his fucking dad. I was just glad the guy never came to visit. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to restrain myself from knocking out one of his veneers.

“Sorry for being a shit.”

“Ah, ya fucker.” I slid up against his side and wrapped my arm around his neck, knocking his bucket off so I could rub my knuckles over his hair. “You know you’re the platonic love of my life, and I’ll always forgive you.”

“Fuck off!”

I gave his cheek a smacking kiss. “Nope. And we should celebrate! Tonight, I—oh. Uh. Wait.”

He lifted a brow at me as he righted his hair and shoved his helmet back on his head. “Would that get in the way of your plans?”

“He’s got a heart boner tonight,” Ford said, skidding to a halt and snowing Boden’s sled. “He and Deo are celebrating something.”

We weren’t celebrating. Not…exactly. Amedeo’s flight left that morning at nine, but he wasn’t on the plane. Instead, he was in an apartment complex office, signing a lease. His sister agreed to cover his rent back in California while he figured out what it was going to take to break his lease there, and he decided to spend his working hours going between his job and looking for open positions in town.

The last text I’d gotten from him was that he had three interviews lined up this week.

I wanted to cry. I was a little afraid to believe this was going to be real, but hope was no longer such a terrifying concept.

There was also something else, something I wasn’t ready to talk about. I’d sent a text to Killian the night before, officially withdrawing from the wedding party, and he’d sent one back. A single word. Two letters.

Killian: OK.

And that was it. He’d made it obvious he didn’t want me there. I mean, why would he? What good would a reminder of what I’d become do for him on his wedding day? He felt guilt when he looked at me and probably shame. And self-righteousness because he’d tried to warn me the night of the accident that I was going to fuck up my life.

But what hurt was that he didn’t know how much better I had it now. How loved I was now. I was happy. I had family who gave a shit about me as a person and not for what I could be. I had people who believed in me. Who didn’t see me as a walking fuckup.

I had a partner who was in love with me. He’d said it with words and actions. And Amedeo loved me as I was. I wasn’t a meal ticket. I wasn’t a bridge to fame or notoriety.

I was just…Tucker. The guy with no legs and one eye, who coached blind hockey and sometimes got goals on his sled team.

And Deo wanted that. Deo wasintoit.

The weird little fucker.

God, I loved him so much.

So tonight was important. We were taking a step, and as much as I was proud of Boden, celebrating him would have to wait.

“We’re not going to toast to me getting my head on straight,” Boden said after a long beat. “I just want to know you’ll keep calling me out when I get…you know. The way I get.”

Ford pressed his hand to his chest. “I will always be here to kick your ass back to reality.”

Boden elbowed him, so Ford lunged, and I slid backward as quickly as I could to let them have at it. I caught Hugo’s eye, and he smiled at me, letting them go on a bit longer.

He blew his whistle when there was officially blood on the ice, and practice came to an end.

I didn’t talk much in the locker room after. I showered, scrubbing my pits, behind my ears, and the spot behind my balls that got a little funky with jock sweat. I used a spritz of cologne and flipped off everyone who made noises at me.

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