Page 61 of Pucked Up

“Nice of you, but I know that’s bullshit. I know my two dickhead, so-called friends had a whole-ass lunch meeting with you to warn you off me.”

My face heated. At the time, it seemed rational. Now, I realized it was probably painful for him to know he was the cautionary tale.

“It’s strange when the people who love us most hurt us most.”

He lifted his head, then snorted. “Yeah. I mean, not in my experience. I’ve met some real shitheads since going pro and…yeah. I can take my friends being cruelly honest about my personality over that.”

I wanted to ask, but it wasn’t my place. “Why don’t you get some sleep. We have a long journey.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I stared, and although he couldn’t see me, he burst into laughter like he knew what my expression was. “Tell me you’ve been called that before.”

“Not in the way you’ve implied.”

“Missed opportunity. I like you, Hubert.”

“Hugo,” I corrected.

He grinned. “I know. G’night.”

Before long, the train lurched into motion, and he’d slumped over, immediately snoring.

By the time we were well into the journey and I’d had a breakfast and two coffees, Micah finally wokeup. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever been like that. Had I ever been so relaxed or trusting that I could knock out in a train car with a stranger and then wake up like I’d never been asleep at all?

Micah went from snoring to standing and stretching like a cat, not the least bit sluggish. God, there was no way I had ever been that young and spry.

“Still here?” he asked.

“Right across from you.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen, which read out the time. “Fuck. I was kind of hoping I’d slept through the whole trip.”

“Sorry to disappoint. I promise I’m not the worst company.”

His expression fell. “Shit, no. It’s not you. I know I’m a dick, but I swear I’m not that guy.” He sagged back into his seat and rubbed at his eyelids. “I’m not a fan of, you know, all this.”

“Trains?”

He snorted a laugh. “Benefits. Jonah—you know my brother, right?”

“Mm. He coaches the peewee league at the rink.”

Micah barked a laugh. “Yeah. Fucker didn’t quit his job even after going pro. Not that the PPHL pays well. But he can afford to quit.”

“Maybe he enjoys it.”

Micah scoffed. “More like our parents are…” He trailed off. “Never mind. Anyway, I didn’t even want to do this PPHL shit, you know? Hockey was just a way to be busy and keep our mom from being up our asses twenty-four seven. She’s that mom who made us her whole personality. God, I’m trauma dumping all over you. I’m gonna shut up now.”

I studied him for a moment and felt the weight of my own trauma sitting in my chest. “My husband died.”

“Wait. Like…now? Just now?”

“Several years ago,” I corrected. “He was in the NHL when we met. I was surprised he even looked twice at me. I was this awkward person—not fashionable, not striking. But he loved me.”

“Oh,” Micah said softly.

“He was hit by a car.”

“Fuck, that’s my worst fear. That is not how I want to go.”

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