Page 83 of Dirty As Puck
I scoff. “For charity.”
His eyes widen. “Oh, fuck.”
I nod. “Yeah. See, it’s bad. I’m not being cryptic.”
Now Tommy is pinching his eyebrows.Welcome to the club.
“You need to get your money back.”
I laugh. “Fuck the money, man.”
“Are you serious right now?” He steps closer, firm but steady. “You have worked your ass for that money. If you don’t get the girl then at least get your money back.”
I turn to him, almost laughing again.
He smiles at me. “Think of all the kids you could help with that money? Fuck this half-brother of yours. I’ll fuck him up.”
I laugh now.
“You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. I’ll do it for two-mill.”
My smile dies down when the reality of the situation hits. I continue to stare out the window as Tommy goes on about how he’s going to do it then his phone rings.
“Shit, this is work,” he says. “Give me a second.”
He answers the phone, and he starts huffing. When he gets off, he says, “I have to go. I’m sorry. It’s the restaurant.”
I nod. “No worries, brother. Go take care of it. I’ll be here.”
He pats my back. “Think about what I said.”
I nod. “Nobody would ever know, right?”
He smiles. “Now you’re getting it. Answer your phone when I call.”
I nod again and then he’s out the door.
The silence hits and my emotions are a storm, and I don’t know which way to turn first. I’m too angry and heartbroken, yet I long for her. The feelings are all tangled up, and I have no map to navigate out.
I sit in the press box, my legs dangling over the edge, staring down at the ice like I’m watching someone else’s life.
The bright lights and screams of the crowd should excite me, should make my blood pump, but all I feel is emptiness. Coach’s words echo in my head, “You’re not in a good headspace, Kai. You’re on the bench for this game.”
On the ice, the team moves without me, struggling to keep pace. Pucks fly past the goal that should have been mine. Plays break down where I would have been directing, correcting, leading. Every failed pass, every missed opportunity feels like a punch to my face. I know they notice my absence. I can feel it in the gaps, the hesitation, the miscommunication.
I glance toward the media section. Her seat is empty. Rochelle’s seat. The space feels like a hole in my heart that needs to befilled. I want to see her, hear her voice, maybe even fight with her, but it’s gone. Her absence is loud and real.
The stadium announcer continues to speak, listing stats, but my mind keeps circling. My mistakes, my meltdown, Derek’s manipulations, the photos, the betrayal I thought I understood.
I feel useless like a liability. The team suffers without me, and I can’t do a thing to fix it. The guilt sits heavy on my chest, pressing me into the cold plastic seat.
On the monitors, the media coverage scrolls across the bottom of the screen. Headlines scream about my “distraction,” my “poor judgment,” my “scandal” affecting the team’s playoff chances.
Every word pierces like a knife, confirming that my private chaos is now completely public. I can’t escape it. Even here, above the rink, I’m trapped.
I try to focus, to find a reason to care about the game, but it’s impossible. Hockey has been my life and my escape, but none of it matters if everything I hold dear can be shattered in a single morning.
My heart aches.
