Page 53 of Pucked Up

Though he was hiding his regret well.

“Breakfast?”

“I need to leave.”

Something flashed across his face. Irritation? His eyes darted down to my spastic legs, which were held in place by my orthotics, but not well. “Can you drive like that?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I use my hands.” I tried to flex my fingers, but they were stuck in claw mode. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He lifted a brow at me.

“Yeah, whatever. Have fun gawking at the freak on the couch who can’t even?—”

“Excuse me.” His tone was sharp and most definitely irritated now. “Don’t put words on my lips.”

“In your mouth,” I corrected sharply, and the look he gave me most definitely made my cock perk up. Now it wanted to have fun? I swore to God I wasn’t going to touch it for a whole week. See how it liked betraying me after that. “That’s how the saying goes.”

“Meaning is the same,” he said, waving his hand at me. “I have never thought of you as a freak, and you know it.”

I did, but I really needed a reason to hate him right then. “Did you drug my drink?”

Now he looked pissed. “That’s not funny even as a joke.”

“Does it look like I’m joking!” Oh my God, why was I like this? Why was I saying all this shit? It was like vicious word vomit dribbling all down my front.Stop it, Boden.

Hugo crossed the room, sat his gorgeous ass on the edge of the coffee table, then took me by the jaw. My body didn’t still, but everything else seemed to. “You had nothing to drink, and I’m not a monster. I don’t know why you think it soothes you to make me upset because you and I both know it doesn’t work.”

I swallowed heavily and bit back a cruel retort.

“I think maybe you need a few days to think about that,” he said, then let me go entirely.

I fought the urge to lunge at him, to throw myself into his arms and beg him to fuck me and edge me until I was so, so incredibly sorry. But I could tell by the look on his face he wasn’t going to give me that. He wasn’t going to give me anything.

“Do you need assistance to your car?”

“No.” I looked over and saw my crutches were exactly where he’d left them: perfectly within reach. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t watch me. I’m…not at my best today.” I took a breath and forced out the words I deeply meant but very much didn’t want to say. “I’m sorry. What I said—I know you didn’t. I know you wouldn’t.”

His face softened, and he nodded, but he didn’t take back what he said. Yeah, he was going to punish me. And I was going to feel it. He turned and left the room, and I could hear him scraping something into the trash.

Holy fucking hell, he had made me breakfast, and I’d just… Oh, no one could hate me more than I hated myself right then.

I managed to climb to my feet, and the walk tothe car was painful. It took several moments of sitting behind the wheel with the angry sun directly in my eyes to get my hands relaxed enough to drive, and then I made my way home.

God, I couldn’t do this anymore. Any of it. I was living a life of compromise and taking my anger out on a man who didn’t deserve it. I had to do something drastic. I needed to blow it all up.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, I had an email composed in my head, letting everyone at my office know that I wouldn’t be in for a few days. I mentally composed texts to all my friends, begging them to leave me alone while I wallowed in my own self-imposed isolation.

Then I went inside, sent none of them, had a long piss and a big glass of water with all my meds, and collapsed on my bed. I was comfortable on the outside, but inside, it was like I was made of a thousand tiny blades piercing just beneath my skin.

I had been such a fucking monster, and for what reason? Because I was embarrassed that I’d slept in his arms all night and liked it? That I wanted to wake up to turkey bacon and whatever else he’d chosen to make me?

Hugo probably wasn’t hurt the way I thought he was hurting. I couldn’t possibly have that much power over him. But the thought that I might have—that I could have actually wounded him—chased me into a long, restless sleep that stretched on and on. In that moment, I didn’t care what I lost: friends, job, hockey.

All of it seemed so pointless and trivial. After a single day, I swore I heard my phone buzzing, and my email pinging, and my doorbell ringing. But I pulled the blanket over my head and continued to rot.

And I would have no regrets.

CHAPTER

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