Page 9 of The Ex Puck Bunny
This time Derek grunts. “Forget the three musketeers. You, Trey, and I were the three miscreants. She picked the wrong one.”
“I was the good one.”
“Says the guy who recently came back after suspension. What was that about, anyway?”
I won’t talk about it. I didn’t admit or deny the accusations. Not to mention, I didn’t fail any drug or doping tests. Even though there’s a formal procedure for misbehavior, my former general manager decided to make an example of me. I took the hit like a man.
Nostrils flaring, I reply, “For the record, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“That’s what they always say.” Derek’s otherfist tightens.
“If you’re wondering, it doesn’t have anything to do with a woman.” Well, except for my ex’s brutal betrayal.
“Yet Badaszek took a chance on you.”
“Still can’t figure out why,” I murmur.
“Don’t be modest. You’re a team’s secret weapon.”
He refers to my role as an enforcer, in certain circles it’s also known as the “Goon.” This means that aside from my regular duties as a defenseman, I also hit the ice—and other players—when necessary. As it is, I went from a game opener to third string. The Knights have a reputation for relatively clean play, so I’m not sure what Coach Badaszek has in mind.
I’m on the schedule for a meeting with him tomorrow and I haven’t yet decided if I want to prove that he made the right one or give him an excuse to get rid of me so I don’t have to survive Cobbiton for the second time in my life.
After devouring our plate of nachos, Heidi comps the meal. I leave double the tip. She doesn’t so much as say thank you. Then again, neither does her brother.
He follows me back to my new house because I need some muscle to help move the few pieces of furniture I brought from Pittsburg.
He gets out of his truck and gapes, “Seriously? A McMansion, Grady? I thought you were suspended without pay.”
I’ve lived modestly since signing with the NHL and invested wisely. During my hiatus, I learned how to day trade. This part of Cobbiton is a newer development with several home models. I bought the biggest one on Cornflower Cul-de-sac. There are twelve sections, all with corn-related names like everywhere else in Corn Town. When I found out I was moving back, I bought the place out of spite and because I wasn’t going to return the same broken kid—literally from a broken home. The roof leaked. The windows frosted in the winter and we used the oven for heat.
Impressed, Derek says, “I missed my calling in the NHL.”
“Your service is far more admirable, bro.”
He joined the army after high school because it’s what the Rice men do. Even though I’m not an official family member, I had all the forms filled out, but a hockey opportunity came up before I submitted them.
After we move my bureau around an awkward bend in the stairs, I pass Derek a soda and crack one for myself. We tap cans and I lead him to the back patio.
“I’m getting a pool and hot tub installed out here. Next time we play a home game with the Lions, you, me, and Trey will have to hang,” I say, echoing my comment from earlier.
My childhood wasn’t always bad. I had two best friends. Derek and I stayed in touch. As we always said,Trey is going to Trey. He went off and did his own thing. But it would be good to catch up off the ice.
“Are you serious right now?” Derek growls.
“Whoa, don’t Hulk out or anything. What’s the problem?”
He studies me for a long moment and then says, “Heidi and Trey got married. They had a kid. He ditched her.”
The words tumble slowly toward me and then hit home all at once. My mouth opens and closes.
As if anticipating what I’m trying to say, Derek says, “Yes. Trey Dillard.”
I squint as if that’ll help me better understand.
“I’m somewhat shocked you didn’t know.”
“I was on the other side of the country, dealing with my own stuff.” Namely my ex Alivia—like Olivia, but with anAinstead of anO.
