Page 98 of Puck Lust

I keepmy eyes squeezed shut until the elevator stops at the parking garage level. The doors open and I walk into the desolate space, Carter’s words looping through my mind.

He’d never said he loved me before.

Of course, I’d hoped he did. Christ, at one point, I’d wanted to hear those words come from his mouth more than anything else. But now, after so much damage has been done, I can’t accept them.

The risk just isn’t worth it.

So it’ll be me, on my own, once again.

Just like it always was.

Life has shown me over and over again that I can’t count on anyone else for my happiness. And at this point, I have finally accepted it.

I have hockey. I mean, hopefully, I still have it.

Who knows what the press will do with the story I told today? They may crucify me for exposing my demons. My endorsers and fans may reject me, fire me, cancel me.

Bob and Coach Enver say the Raptors are on my side, butmoney talks, and if ticket sales plummet and the fans desert us, how long will they sing that tune?

I took a lot of risks today in coming clean about my story.

Maybe people will accept me, maybe they won’t.

I might get hurt again.

At least I’m free and I know I’ll find my path forward.

Just like I always have.

And now I need to help Jeremy and give him the chance to do the same.

I pull out my keys and run toward my car.

My GPS says the address is about fifteen minutes from the arena.

“I’m coming, Jer,” I mutter, shifting the car into Drive. “Hang tight, bud.”

It feels like hours have passed before I come to a dilapidated building in one of the more run-down neighborhoods in Oakland. It’s eerily quiet and still outside the building, and a cluster of guys, maybe high school aged, gathers at the top of the block, eyeing me as I get out of the car.

I have no faith the car will be here when I get out, but I’ll deal with that once I get Jeremy out of his apartment.

I give the guys at the corner a long look to show them I’m not rattled.

They don’t bother me. They just stare back as I dart into the building.

I pull open the door and the stench of rotting trash hits my nostrils, making my stomach roil. The stink hovers over me, consuming my senses like a toxic cloud. Loud music comes from a few of the units on the bottom floor. Jeremy’s apartment is 3C. I eye the elevator and shake my head. No fucking way do I get into that thing and risk getting trapped.

Instead, I run up the steps to the third floor and step into the hallway. Broken bottles and greasy brown bags linethe walls, the tattered tan carpet stained with dirt and grime. I try not to breathe in the stink, focused on the numbers on each door. I finally come to 3C and stop.

The door is cracked open and the sound of whimpering floats into the hall.

“Jeremy?” I call out.

The whimpers get louder, but no words are spoken.

I push open the door, the apartment dim. An ominous sensation slithers down my spine.

Shit, this isn’t good.

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