Page 24 of Pucked Up

I envisioned sitting in my office and, you know, guiding kids toward their successful futures. Instead, it was convincing students that no, you can’t actually drop your class two days before the midterm and not take an Incomplete, and that yes, you actuallydoneed some sort of mathematics course in order to graduate with a STEM associate’s.

The rest was paperwork and doing my best to keep up with the ever-shifting requirements for various degrees. Not exactly what I planned to do with my life, but there was a point, six months beforeI was set to walk the stage for my master’s, that I realized I wasn’t going to fulfill any of my big dreams.

I’d taken the whole Paralympic ban in stride, especially with Tucker and Ford in my ears telling me that it wasn’t a big deal, that I could come back from it. But as a few years passed and no offers were coming in—not even for the goddamn minor league—I realized this might be it.

I had to do something with my life. I couldn’t live off the good graces of my parents while waiting for one of them, or my granddad, to croak and leave me their minuscule fortune.

Grad school had been a way of appeasing my mother. I didn’t think I needed to do anything with a psychology degree. I didn’t want to be any kind of therapist. My own problems were bad enough, and frankly, I had very little patience for people.

Tucker and Ford thought my career path was hilarious—and maybe it was. I didn’t think any student had ever left my office feeling particularly inspired. Occasionally, they used a grumpy selfie of mine as a meme in our group chats: Boden’s Disapproval and shit like that.

I didn’t mind.

But days like today were tough. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to give a shit about who was doing what and when and why. I couldn’t care less about the budget for the next year or what department was getting absorbed into the other.

And I certainly didn’t give a shit about the stack of notes that Jake handed me after the meeting.

“You really should learn, like, ASL or something,” he said. “Then you could have an interpreter.”

I actually did know a decent amount of LSQ—Quebecois sign language, which was damn close to ASL. I wasn’t fluent, but I was conversational. But that was beside the point.

“If I did that, I’d have to pay attention,” I told him, dropping the notes on my lap before digging into my wallet. I passed him a twenty, and he grinned, shoving it into his pocket. “Promise me you’re not going to buy drugs.”

“Dude, if you think I’m getting through the rest of this day without at least a gummy bear, you’re out of your mind.”

I grinned at him and wished I could join him, but those days were over for me. Not to mention that weed and my brain didn’t get along. I’d tried it a few times with Ford—he had his medical card, so he got the good, strong shit, and that was when I learned that I didn’t calm down at all.

I calmed up. Right to the fucking heavens. The first night he’d given me half a gummy bear, he had to sit on me until I fell asleep.

The second time, he shoved me into a warm shower and made me sit there until every inch of my skin was wrinkled. I wasn’t looking for a repeat, especially at my office. And especially not on a day I had to go meet with Hugo alone for the first time since the hotel.

“You have appointments today?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not here. I have to see about some hockey bullshit in…” I grabbed my phone out of the little pocket hanging off my chair and grimaced. “Half an hour. Fuck, I’m going to be late.”

Hugo was not going to be happy about that, and as much as I wanted to pretend like I didn’t care, I couldn’t. I had zero chill about this. Not only did I have to eat about six pounds of crow in order to admit that the guys were right and Hugo was good at his job, but I also had to deal with the fact that the night that had literally rocked my world was nothing to him.

It was less than nothing.

It wasn’t even a memory.

Bile rose into my throat, and I cleared it away. “Catch you later?”

He gave me a salute and wandered off as I headed toward my car. I was pretty sure a couple of people called my name as I dropped from the curb onto the asphalt, but I didn’t bother looking back. I didn’t want to get waylaid bythisbullshit job I wanted to quit on my way to theotherbullshit I kind of wanted to quit.

What I wanted was to roll into Hugo’s office and find him on his knees, an apology falling from his lips as he begged me to forgive him for being such an asshole.

And yes, I was well aware thatIwas technically the asshole in this situation, but a little prostratingwould go a long way to me forgiving him for blocking out what we’d had together. That felt like the bigger crime to me than my bad attitude on the ice.

Something that felt a little too close to guilt plagued me on the drive over to the rink. When I pulled in, I recognized his fuck-ass pearl Range Rover in the back lot and swore quietly to myself. I’d been hoping he wanted to forget all about this little meeting. I wanted to be not worth his time.

But I also wanted to be entirely worth it too.

I hated the feeling of being split in half, and he seemed to be the source of every moment I’d felt it this decade.

Pulling up beside his car, I hesitated. I was already late, so what was a few more minutes? Maybe he’d give up on me, and we could call it a day. Let him take away the fucking C. Let him take my entire team. It wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t change who I was or what my life was going to end up looking like.

I stared at my phone, then snatched it from the holder and sent a text to Jonah.

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