Page 45 of Pucked Up

I sent a quick text in reply, letting him know I wasfree. I’d been meaning to call, and I liked Journey alright. He was a little odd, but that wasn’t unusual in this sport. And frankly, going on a little lunch outing was a lot better than rotting in my armchair.

When that was done, I opened the first email, and my heart immediately leapt into my throat. It was from the GM of the Gators. My eyes scanned the text twice because the first time, I’d skimmed until the words “make an offer” popped up. Then, “attached you’ll see…” I was too much of a fucking coward to open it, and frankly, it was for Boden to see. Not me.

The second email was the same. Portland loved him and wanted to be aggressive. Boden deserved it—the salary, the position, teams fighting for him. This should have happened years ago.

The third was the email I’d wanted to see most.

Hugo- just typing a quick note to say that I’ve watched the tape and have shown it around. We have a very strong offer and I’d like to make it soon. I’d prefer to do it in person, however. Do you think he’d be open to meeting with me? Pass along my number, and thanks again for this. You always did have a keen eye. Heard you were coming to the benefit after all. Call me? I really want to grab lunch. -Vin

That was something I could work with. Boston was two hours away. Even if Boden and I never becameanything more than two ships passing in the night, at least I’d catch a glimpse of him sometimes. It wouldn’t be enough, but at least it would be something.

A harness gave a little jingle under the table, startling me. I’d almost forgotten the animal was there. Ben reached beneath and gave his guide dog a little scritch as Journey drummed his fingers on the table. There had been silence for a while now, and it was starting to get awkward.

It would have been easier if I’d known these men well, but I didn’t. Ben was the coach for the Fury, and Journey was my team’s co-owner. We’d spoken a handful of times, but nothing more than a few sentences.

This was a whole lunch, and it was painful. And reminded me how damn lonely I was.

I didn’t have friends here. I had acquaintances, and almost all of them were related to either the community leagues or the PPHL. It was a world I thought I’d escaped once, but the longer I lived, the more obvious it became that I was trapped.

Ben turned his gaze toward me. I had no idea how much he could see behind his very thick lenses, but I knew better than to ask. “So.”

“Can I take your order?”

All three of us jumped at the sound of the server’s voice, and then Journey burst into laughter and clapped his hands before rubbing them together. “I don’t even think we glanced at the menu. We’re having the world’s most awkward business lunch.”

Ben sighed. “Don’t be a dick, man.”

Journey held up his hands. “Promise, sweetheart. I’m not trying to.”

“Add in misogyny for spice,” Ben said and smiled up at the server, who looked like she wanted to bolt. “How about that artichoke dip y’all have for an appetizer while I wrangle these dipshits into something like men with manners.”

I flushed. I wasn’t normally like this. Apart from being dragged into accepting the invite to Reid’s benefit dinner, everything in my life was normal. Mostly. Well, there was Boden, but that wasn’t throwing me off.

It couldn’t be.

That was…different.

“I’m sorry,” I said after the woman walked off.

Journey lifted a brow at me as Ben grinned and said, “You can unclench. We’re not here to give you shit.”

That hadn’t been on my list of considerations, but maybe it should have been. “I appreciate that.”

Journey laughed again. “Why don’t we just put it all out on the table.”

“Don’t,” Ben warned.

“The both of us got a call from…” Journey frowned. “What’s that fucker’s name? Edwin?”

My face paled. “Ah.”

Ben’s expression said he was resigned to his fate. “He seemed a little concerned you were going to back out at the last minute. To be quite frank, neither of us really understands why he’s so insistent you show up, of all people. I mean, it’s not that the community league members are any less worthy of recognition, but?—”

I sometimes forgot how few people knew about my marriage. Half the people at Reid’s funeral thought we were best friends and roommates. It had been funny, even when it really wasn’t.

“Reid Martin is my husband,” I said, then cleared my throat. “Former husband, I suppose. I never know the right way to describe what he is—was—to me.”

The silence was pointed. Journey looked like he wanted to bolt, and Ben looked like he wanted to cry.

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