Page 37 of Pucking Rebound

Couldn’t.

Almost at Wade’s, I steer my truck around the corner and along the avenue, annoyed that the lights don’t change to red so I can spend more time with Lola.

Stealing another look, a small tug pulls at my heart. After I woke up with her body glued to mine, my fingers suddenly itched to pick up a palette knife and throw paint onto a stretched canvas; my brain electrified with ideas.

Buzzing with creativity, a whole new collection of abstract winter cityscapes appeared in my mind in golds and greens with hints of yellows and blues. I’ve had creative visions before but nothing as clear or as vivid as the ones I had this morning.

It’s almost as if Lola unlocked something within me that’s been hiding away for way too long.

“Wade doesn’t get much downtime. Do you?” she asks out of the blue, unaware of the effect she’s had on my creativity.

“It’s rammed until off season,” I admit. “The only reason I had time to spare last night was because my physio appointment was canceled. My therapist was sick.” A phantom pain shoots through my knee. “I’ll suffer the consequences of that after tonight’s game against the Ducks.” The last game we played with them, we lost, it was a complete washout.

“Don’t let them kick your ass this time.” She places her hand on her heart. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that when I can’t even skate.”

“You can’t skate?” I exclaim, completely shocked by this revelation. Having skated from the age of four, my brain can’t comprehend how she’s never had lessons. My skates are like an extension of me. I can’t do what I’m great at without them.

“I fell on the ice and broke my wrist when I was younger and never tried it again.” She shudders as if the memory of her breaking a bone feels like it’s happening again. “The thought of sliding around the ice on two razor blades scares me.”

The idea of not being able to skate scares me more. It’s unimaginable.

“You should face your fear. It’s the only way you’ll get over it.” I consider what I’m going to say next. “I could teach you.”

Scrunching her nose, I already know her answer.

“You’d rather build a snowman than let me teach you. Am I right?”

“It’s like you’re inside my head, Jordy Miller.”

For the umpteenth time today, her phone rings and she lets out a long, exasperated sigh. Shifting in her seat, she reaches down and pulls her phone out of her purse.

“Is that him again?” I ask, fucking annoyed at her bastard ex for calling her from multiple different numbers which began over an hour ago.

“It’s another different number.” Sounding shocked, her voice hitches up a couple of octaves. “How many burner phones did he buy? What an asshole.”

After the fifth call from an unknown number, I googled how much a burner phone was and discovered they’re as cheap as ten dollars which can only mean Graham is determined to speak to Lola, and spending money Lola said he didn’t have.

His harassing behavior irks me, and if it continues, I’ve told Lola to report it to the police, or even better, file a restraining order against him before I pay him a visit myself and teach him a lesson in remorse with my fists.

I can’t do that because I’d lose my position on the team, but the satisfaction I would get while doing it would more than make up for it. I’m kidding myself. It wouldn’t and would make my life hell. Graham isn’t worth it.

Lola declines the call, killing the ring, and then taps her screen a few times, which I assume is her blocking yet another number, before she lets out a worried sigh. “I wish he’d leave me alone. I need space.” Throwing her phone back into her purse, she adjusts the air conditioning, turning it down which means she must be too hot again.

Tapping her foot as if she’s nervous, she asks, “Is it wrong of me to not feel bad for removing my name from the rental agreement on the apartment and leaving Graham to make the payments?”

“It’s not wrong of you, Lola.” It’s fucking karma. The dickhead doesn’t deserve an explanation or another dollar from her.

“I feel bad for him. Financially, he’s not in a great place,” she admits.

“You’re too nice.” I continue driving along the avenue, going slower than usual, drawing out our time together. “Graham is a grown-ass man. He needs to learn to stand on his own two feet.”

“He does.” She stalls as if gathering her thoughts then swings back to being annoyed with him. “Fuck him to hell.”

“If you so much as think aboutfuckinghim, you come find me. It seems like I haven’t fully fucked him out of your system.”

She chuckles. “Maybe I need another night.”

“Lola,” I warn, not meaning it because there is nothing more I want than to spend another night with her.

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