Page 114 of Revenge Puck

“Fine,” he says, and I show myself out, hoping I haven’t just made a huge mistake for everyone.

40

Elle

I’m sweeping up hair between clients, replaying my last conversation with Preston, when a blond man bursts through the front door like he’s being chased by the hounds of hell.

Ah, guess the team’s plane is about to leave and he thinks he’s so important I’ll make customers wait to cut his hair.

“Christian,” I say in surprise while I continue my sweeping. “What are you doing here? I don’t have time to fit you in today.”

“Do you know too?” he asks.

I look up to find his eyes glistening, his posture like that of a man who has been run over by a Mack truck. His face is bruised and battered, distracting me. It’s the first time I’ve seen it since the fight with Preston on the ice. Too busy cataloguing his injuries, it takes me longer than it should to grasp the meaning of his question until he repeats it.

“Just tell me the truth. Do you know about him, Elle?” This time, the question is asked through gritted teeth.

Him. Oh crap.

“I…I…we should talk somewhere else,” I quickly suggest. There are two clients in the waiting room, so we can’t go back there. The little old ladies are the worst gossipers around town. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Richards,” I yell to my client before I head outside and around the side of the building with Christian right behind me.

“Christian, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t tell you. I promised Preston and Maya,” I tell him softly. “I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything else; he just throws his arms around me and doesn’t let go. I can barely breath he’s gripping me so tight. I’m about to push him away when his shoulders begin to shake.

The man may be a prick, but I let him cry on me and even return his hug, patting him on his back to try to console him.

Eventually, he asks without releasing me, “What the fuck am I going to do?”

“Try to be a good father?”

I feel his head shake from side to side. “What if I can’t…if they never tell him…”

“What do you mean?”

Releasing me, Christian paces away, his back to me as he lifts the bottom front of his tee up to wipe his face. Without facing me, he says, “Preston suggested I meet him tomorrow, as Preston’s friend…”

“Oh,” I say in understanding. Playing it cautious rather than throwing the truth at a sweet four-year-old boy in case Christian flakes, stops coming around or whatever else he could do to screw up his chance to be a father. “Maybe that’s best for everyone.”

“It’s not best for me!” he huffs.

“Sure, it is. There will be less pressure on you to be…anything except for a cool new hockey player friend when you meet him.”

A scoff with his back still to me says Christian disagrees.

“I heard Finley ask Maya about you during game four.”

Now he spins around to face me, the red around his eyes the only proof he’s been crying. “He asked about me?”

“Yes.”

“Why? What did he say?”

“Oh, well, he asked how you were so much faster than all the other players.”

“Yeah?” a smile spreads across his face, as if proud that his son was impressed with his skills.

“He beat half the Warhawks on a hockey video game the night of Preston’s party.”

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