Page 70 of Thoroughly Pucked

“I want to grow up to be a ghost in a ghost town,” the kid declares.

“Or maybe a person who visits ghost towns, Travis,” the mom offers as she lowers the phone.

“Nope. I’m going to be a ghost. I’ll be one forHalloween,” he says, then heads for the steps. But he smacks his forehead. “I forgot my candy.”

A whirling dervish of energy, Travis spins back around, races into the store to grab his nearly forgotten sugary goods, then with half a Nerds Rope in his hand, he barrels out of the shop seconds later right as we reach the steps.

The tornado of a child scurries past us, flying toward the stairs.

But he trips on his laces. He tumbles face-first toward the step when a big hand reaches out to grab his arm, the other grabbing the railing hard so they don’t topple down together.

I gasp.

A second later, Dev lets go of the railing, sets that hand on the kid’s shoulder, then yanks him upright.

I breathe again as the goalie places the kid safely on his feet.

“Did he just…?” I can’t even finish the sentence my heart’s beating so fast.

“He sure did,” Ledger says, awed, too, as the mom rushes to her son.

As she flings her arms around Travis, she thanks Dev profusely. “I’m so grateful. I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” she says, words coming in a rush.

The kid turns around, squeezing the Nerds Rope. “And my candy’s safe as well.”

“Travis, thank the nice man,” the mom says.

“Thank you, nice man,” Travis says, and after a few more thank-yous, she turns around to go, her arm draped around her kid.

The hair on my arms is still standing on end when Dev turns and meets my gaze at last.

I’d expected ano big dealsmile, or aright place, right timequip. Instead, he’s shaking out his left hand and grimacing.

32

I SEE PLAYS

Dev

I’d like to find the person who invented splinters and give them a piece of my mind.

“What the—” I bite off the rest of my words as I jerk my gaze away from Aubrey’s careful, methodical work on my hand.

I can’t even look. That makes it hurt even worse.

We’re at the car in the mining town parking lot, the driver’s side door open. I’m side-saddling the seat, and she’s bent over my hand like a good nurse, working out all the evil pieces of wood from my palm. Before she began, she swiped my palm with an antibacterial wipe from her bag, then cleaned the tweezers too. Even though it’s afternoon, Ledger’s holding his phone, the flashlight on, to help Aubrey see every single awful piece of it.

“You’re doing great,” Aubrey coaches me as she plucks the tweezer at a two-by-four in my palm.

I clench my jaw as she fishes it out, then unleash a long, “Fuuuuck. Did it go all the way through?”

Ledger tries but fails to stifle a laugh. “Let me get this straight. You can handle a puck to, I dunno, pretty much any portion of your body, but not a couple splinters?”

Looking up, I hiss at him. “Dude, there are not a couple splinters in my hand. There are ten thousand.”

Ledger arches a dubious brow my way as Aubrey soldiers on. “Math is still hard for you.”

“I hope you get a splinter in your—ah fuck,” I howl as Aubrey hunts for a jagged plank. “Ahhh! I think that one’s lodged in my love line. I’ll never be able to have kids now.”

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