Page 70 of Zero Pucks

I felt Amedeo relax in my hold. Not a lot, but enough. “It’s good to see you too. I should go though. Let you get to your meeting.”

Shaking my head, I reached for his chin and turned it back toward me again, kissing him short but fiercely. “Eleven thirty?”

“I can do that. That gives me enough time to run to the store and put stuff away before I have to be back. Where should I meet you?”

“At the curb out front,” I told him, then kissed him a third and final time. “See you then?”

“I’ll be there.”

I let him go reluctantly, listening to his feet shuffle on the floor and then as he stammered a goodbye to Ford before hurrying off.

Ford laughed, and he hip-checked me. “Want a guide?”

It was easier than trying to navigate with my cane. I used it so infrequently I wasn’t the best, and I didn’t feel like getting lost for half an hour and pissing Bodie off even more. I folded it, shoved it into my pocket, then took his arm.

“So. You and Bodie talk last night?”

Ford sighed as he led the way toward the side door. “If you want to call it that.”

“Was he pissed I didn’t come home?”

“He was pissed about everything. But he thought you were at my place. I’m guessing you were with the hubby.”

My cheeks flamed when Ford called him that. I hated how much I wanted that to be real because that was fucking nuts. I didn’t know him—at least, not the way a man should know his husband. Though knowing exactly what his dick felt like in my hand and what noises he made when he was really turned on had to mean something.

“I crashed at his. I wasn’t in the mood for Bodie’s crap.” Squeezing Ford’s arm, I tugged him to a halt. “Look, I’m here for asking Hugo how he got this job and why he was picked over someone else who probably should have gotten the job, but I can’t deny he’s good at what he does.”

Ford was quiet for a long moment. “I know some things.”

“Like?”

He groaned. “He grew up with two disabled parents. His dad’s a little person, and his mom has spina bifida. So does his brother. And he’s got a ton of experience with hockey, though he kept that one pretty close to the chest. He doesn’t get us, but he gets us, you know?”

“Bodie isn’t going to like that.”

“No. He’s not. I’m not convinced he didn’t know that already though. He has a giant baseball-bat-sized stick up his ass, and I don’t think it’s really about Hugo being our coach. But he’s determined, bud, and I think it’s going to be a problem.”

I groaned. “Look, if this was the para-pro team or the league, I’d be on his side. But this is fucking beer hockey, bro. It’s not that deep.” I knew as soon as I said it, I was wrong. For Bodie, it was that deep. Anytime ice, sticks, and a puck were involved, it was that deep. He had scars the size of Canada, and no amount of sympathy would ever let us fully understand what he dealt with.

“Tuck, you know it’s more than that for him.”

“I know. But I don’t want this, babe. I don’t want it to be miserable here because he can’t self-regulate.”

“We need to talk to him,” Ford said. “Outside of this meeting. This is just going to be him ranting and raving about how we have to follow his orders, not Hugo’s. Just grin and bear it, okay? Then we’ll have?—”

“An intervention?” I suggested.

“I mean, if you want him to put snakes in your bed, sure. Call it that.”

I laughed and urged him forward. “A chat, then. A nice, long, get your head out of your ass chat.”

“Whatever you say.” He put his hand over mine, squeezed me tight, then led the way into the locker room.

* * *

It was as bad as I’d feared. I couldn’t see Boden, but I could hear the tap of his crutch tips and the clink of the arm cuffs as he paced slowly in front of everyone. No one was brave enough to say anything. I could hear wheelchair wheels squeaking on the polished floors and the shuffling of people on benches uncomfortably trying to handle his rant.

“I’m not saying we need to commit mutiny,” Boden concluded his long speech about what a terrible coach Hugo was and how we all needed to rebel, “but we are not going to take this on the chin. Do I make myself clear?”

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