Page 71 of Pucked Up

The fact that I was about to get a PPHL contract—several, according to him—in my goddamn email inbox should have been the greatest day of my life. It was everything I’d been working toward, but thanks to my dipshit dick and even dipshittier heart, I was sitting on the bathroom floor debating if I wanted tocry more or throw up the meager dinner I’d managed to choke down.

Luckily, before I could lose it entirely, the hotel room door opened and shut. I’d almost forgotten I’d sent Ford an SOS text with a jumbled explanation of what I’d done.

I couldn’t quite remember, but it was something about me fucking up and ruining Hugo and being the worst man on Earth. It was obvious it was bad by the look on Ford’s face as he dropped his crutches against the bathroom counter and hopped over, sinking down beside me.

He had me in his arms in seconds, and I shoved my face into his chest, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. Fuck, he smelled like Micah. That motherfucker.Hestarted all this.

Except, well. He hadn’t. He was just a symbol of what an absolutely shit-ass friend I’d been.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a terrible friend lately.”

“Bode—” His voice rumbled against my ear as I pressed it against his chest.

“Please don’t try to make me feel better. I am such a fuckup, and I deserve this.”

He eased me back against my will and forced me to look at him. “That is your dickhead dad talking, okay?”

“No. He’s just?—”

“This is a symptom of the way he’s made you feel your entire life. I don’t know what happened, but?—”

“Hugo told me he liked me.Likedme liked me.”

“Okay…”

“And I kicked him out.”

Ford let out a heavy sigh, then swiped his hands over my face to clear up all the horrible eye leakage. “You had every right to kick him out.”

I sniffed and swiped my sleeve under my nose. Disgusting. I was so snotty. This was why I never fucking cried. Taking a breath, I focused on the muscles of my mouth because everything felt tight and spastic, and I needed him to understand my words. “His husband is Reid Martin.”

Ford didn’t look surprised. “Yeah.”

“Did you know this whole time?”

“Micah just told me,” he said, and that made me feel better, but only for a second.

“How the fuck long did Micah know?”

“I think Hugo probably told him on the train. They hadn’t met before that.” Ford leaned to the side, snagged a washcloth from the low shelf under the sink, and wiped my face a little more. I wanted to help, but my hands were curled into tight fists, and it was going to take a long sleep and probably a massage to calm my body down. “They’re not fucking.”

“I know. I keep assuming the worst of Micah, and he didn’t deserve that.”

Ford shrugged. “He hasn’t gone out of his way to change his reputation.”

That was true, but maybe there was a reason for it. Maybe it was some kind of defense. Either way, I needed to talk to my friend. Not tonight. Tonight wasfor wallowing and figuring out where the fuck I should go from here, but soon.

“Bodie?” I looked up at Ford again. “Do you like him too?”

I wanted to play the fool—to act like I didn’t know what Ford was talking about, but I was done lying to him and to myself. “I don’t want to. He’s not the man I was supposed to be with.”

“Is…that a thing? I mean, do you have a list somewhere that we’re all on with the people we’re supposed to be with?”

Rolling my eyes, I eased away from him and let my head thud gently back against the cabinet. “No. But I had a plan. You know the plan.”

“Yes, the shit-ass, you’re going to dive into the PPHL and be some perpetual bachelor married to your lucky puck plan.”

“That’s…” Not too far off. Shit. “It just wasn’t supposed to behim, okay?”

---