Page 32 of Pucked Up

This time, he answered me with a single nod, then turned his chair, and without another word, he was gone.

My office felt quiet and cold. I had my computer screen open, a list of PPHL teams laid out all nice and neat. I knew most of their GMs—at least, the ones that were still around from the time Reid had been playing.

I told Boden he had a lot to prove to me before he left, but in truth, he was ready now. I knew for a fact that the reason he was so angry was thathe was suffocating here. He deserved more. He deserved better. He was destined for the professional world, and the longer he rotted on this ice, the harder it would be for him to accept his place when he finally received an offer.

His old coach had done him so fucking dirty.

Clicking over to my email, I had two drafts, each with links to Boden’s tape. Losing him would hurt. Portland and Orlando were so fucking far there was no way I’d ever see him again. But sacrificing this—whatever it was between us—would be worth it for him.

And I still had a Hail Mary in my pocket. Hitting Send, I grabbed my phone off the desk, then sat back and scrolled to the very end of my contacts. Vincent was the onlyVin the batch.

The line rang for a while, and since I had no idea if Boston was playing tonight, there was a good chance he wasn’t going to pick up.

“Hugo?”

I hadn’t heard Vincent’s voice in years. The last time was two weeks after Reid’s funeral. He was in Montreal, and I was cleaning out our apartment. There was a bottle of scotch involved and a couple of bad decisions. When I woke up in the morning, my boxers around my ankles and a smear of dried come on my torso, he was gone.

He hadn’t called again, and I was grateful for it. Back then, it still felt like cheating.

“How are you?”

“I’m good.” His voice was that same honey-thick,low rumble that I’d liked so much. Reid had liked him too. “But I’m going to assume this isn’t a friendlyhow are youcall after all this time.”

I flushed, but I wasn’t going to rehash old times. “I have a player I’d like you to take a look at. I saw you just lost someone to…where was it?”

“Fucking Seattle,” he spat.

I laughed. “Right. Would you be willing to look at some tape?”

“Who is it?”

“Boden Morin.”

“Morin? Not?—”

“Arnaud’s son. Ouais.”

He swore under his breath, then let out a heavy sigh. “If you think he’s worth it, I suppose I can. Are any other teams courting him?”

“Portland and Orlando,” I lied. But it was only a temporary lie. Once they saw the tape, I knew offers would be coming in.

“And you know him…?”

“I’m currently his coach. He’s playing on a CL team right now.”

“You’re coaching community league?”

I didn’t want to get into that either. “I know he’s got a bit of a reputation, but he’s worth the risk.”

“He hasn’t had any upsets since Beijing, has he? And that was the only incident,” Vincent said slowly. “Yeah, alright. You have my email?”

“Yes. I appreciate this.” That was a lie. I didn’t appreciate it. I wasn’t ready to lose him, even if therewas nothing real between us, and even if it was only a few hours away in Boston.

“Anytime. You know that. And hey, it was good to hear from you. Will you be at the benefit in Montreal?”

The benefit? Oh merde. The benefit for Reid. The one they threw every year. The one I’d been avoiding for the last decade.

I winced. “Ah. Well…”

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