Page 127 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
Because I’m a weak-ass prick who couldn’t do the right thing.
“Oh come on, you can’t honestly tell me that none of you have tapped that? She’s fucking banging.”
I’m moving before I’ve considered the consequences.
Monroe’s back collides with the wall. He’s already shed his pads, and the force of the hit knocks the air from his lungs. My forearm presses against his throat as I pin him with a dark look.
“The fuck did you just say?”
He attempts to swallow before his lips part, his eyes wide and shocked.
“Well?” I prompt.
“I-I’m s-sorry,” he forces out. “I-I didn’t?—”
“Leave it, Big D,” Linc says, attempting to drag me back.
I give Monroe another warning glare before taking a step back. As I do, the dressing room door swings open and Coach stands there, his eyes scanning the room as he assesses the mood.
“Well,” he starts as he walks deeper into the room. He eyes Monroe standing flat against the wall with his chest heavingbefore giving each of us an accusatory look. “That wasn’t great.”
I shake my head as I rip my pads off before dropping my ass to my stall, while Coach points out our failures on the ice tonight.
By the time he’s done, all I want to do is go home, kiss my girl good night, and crawl into bed. But it’s not going to happen yet.
I made Coach a promise, and I fully intend to follow through. Turning up for a few drinks for team bonding is easy. Even if it does very little to soothe the guilt over breaking another more serious promise I once made him.
The mood in the friends and family suite isn’t all that much better than in the dressing room, but at least most of them have had a few drinks to take the edge off the loss.
I scan the room, looking for the one person who can brighten my mood no matter what, but then I remember that it’s Sunday night and Mom has already taken her home.
With Sutton not here, I quickly find myself searching for someone else.
I shouldn’t. I should forget about her. But I can’t.
There is so much I want to say to her, but most importantly, I need to apologize.
Honestly, I don’t even know where to start when it comes to trying to explain the other night. I’m just hoping that a simple, “I’m sorry,” will be enough.
It fucking won’t. Nowhere close. But what else am I meant to say?
I can hardly tell her the truth.
Shaking my head, I make my way through the crowd, still searching for her.
But she’s not here.
My heart slams against my ribs as disappointment rocks through me.
I just needed to see her.
With my chest tight and my muscles heavy, I make my way to an empty table at the back of the room. I nod at a few people who attempt to interact, hoping that my expression will be enough to scare them away.
They all watched me play tonight. They know that I’m in a bad place.
Fuck. I knew it long before I stepped onto the ice.
I couldn’t get out of my own head, and I knew it was going to affect my game.
