Page 91 of Puck to the Heart
“You can’t be fucking serious. You incompetent little shitstain! You got mefired. For what? What did it get you?”
“I didn’t think they’dfireyou. I thought you’d come to me for help.”
If the box hadn’t been in my hands, I might have throttled him. “Thank you for telling me. This has been…enlightening.”
“If I talk to Dr. Hurst, I bet they’ll let you come back!”
I didn’t think there was enough money in the world to make me go back to work with him, but I enjoyed the moment anyway. “You’ll tell them you fucked it up on purpose?”
“What?” His forehead wrinkled in confusion as he ran a hand over his sandy hair. “No. I’d tell them you said you were sorry, and you’d work really hard to make things right.”
“Fuck you very much,Sweetcheeks.” He didn’t get it, and he never would. “I’m good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a hockey game to get to.”
* * *
Before the game began,I waded through throngs of people heading toward concessions. Any other time, I would’ve hated the closeness, all the assaulting sounds and scents, but single-minded focus helped drown it out.
Usually, when Polly sat in the stands rather than a box she preferred to arrive early, and sure enough, there she sat in her Knights emblazoned navy pea coat. A single blue beacon amongst the empty stadium seating waiting to fill. Something clenched in my gut as I grew nearer, my breaths catching between my ribs.
It wasn’t just Ash whom I left; I left Polly too, my friend and semi-surrogate grandmother. The warm smile on Polly’s face when she turned and found me eased some of the tension.
“I’m sorry I left,” I blurted by way of greeting.
“Nonsense, darling girl. I understand. You don’t get to be my age without gaining some perspective. And some people would do anything for those they love. Parents or otherwise.” The manicured white arch of her brow ticked upward ever so slightly.
“I know I shouldn’t have left things the way I did.”
“But you came back.”
* * *
The game passedin agonizing slowness. Every sound hit my ears, and every roar of the crowd raised the tiny hairs all over my body. It was constant torture, but I couldn’t bear to leave. Ihadto stay. If I left, I wouldn’t have the courage to seek him out at home. The arena was neutral space, and I wouldn’t have to endure being in his home and having to leave.
During my absence, I realized how much I loved being there. Loved the garden and the library, and the mirrors in the gym. Even waking up to Polly’s coffee and pastries in the morning. (Although I was grateful Polly’s room was far away from Ash’s.)
I wanted to tell him from the moment I realized weeks ago how much I loved him, even if I didn’t know how to say it. But I didn’t want to cheapen it by telling him from across the country. It needed to be in person. It needed to be more than a declaration. Proving it, showing up for him. He needed support, encouragement. Someone who believed in him. And if I was going to crack my chest open and bare everything to him, to let him in, it needed to be in person.
Even if I wasn’t certainhewanted to hear it.
A passfrom Allen slammed off the boards, heading straight toward me at chest height. Batting it toward Goldstein, I was unable to avoid ramming into the Krakens’ right wing.
Both of us slammed to the ice in a tangle of limbs, but I managed to roll over, using the momentum to get back to my feet.
The other guy did not.
Oh, fuck.
Flashbacks to my second season, and the real reason they called me Asher the Basher.
And the real reason why I hated it so much.
You shouldn’t be able to hear the sound of a body crashing on ice in a stadium filled with thousands of screaming people. But the dull thud echoed through me as he went down, his limp form sliding across the ice.
He didn’t get up, and someone skating backward fell and landed on his back as he slid. The angle was all wrong.
An ominous hush fell over the crowd as the whistle blew.
And it took every ounce of concentration I had not to vomit on the ice.
