Shameless Puckboy (Puckboys Book 3)
Shameless Puckboy: Chapter 32

I SMACK Lane’s bare ass as I get out of bed. “Ugh. My unemployed boyfriend is so lazy. Shouldn’t you have been up before me to make my breakfast and kiss my cheek as you send me on my way to work?”

Lane rolls onto his back, and the glare he sends me almost has me running out the door. “This isn’t the fifties, and I ain’t your housewife.”

I wince. “Too soon to joke about the job thing?”

“Considering the phone call I got last night? Yes.”

Yeah, that was pretty bad. Seeing as Keerson had been doing Lane’s job the whole time Lane’s been with me, management decided Lane’s services were no longer needed to fulfill his two weeks. He still gets paid for them because they’re playing nice, but the dismissal was a kick in the guts for him.

Then Coach had the audacity to call me to come in today. He wants the team doctor to assess my readiness to go back on the ice earlier than originally planned because my stitches are out with my gash mostly healed, and we are dying out there. They need me.

But the vindictive side of me hopes I’m not cleared to play.

I’m anticipating a trade next season with everything I’ve put the team through this year, and it would be welcomed. The thing is, I can see Mick’s side of it all. Lane and I being together will be scandalous because of nasty shit that has happened in the past with other teams and allegations made. I’m surprised I haven’t been let out of my contract as well, but that’s what pisses me off. They’re only keeping me because they can’t go to the playoffs without me, and they view Lane as expendable.

We both fucked up, but he’s wearing the consequences.

Lane sits up and pulls the sheet over his lap but keeps his head low.

I hate seeing him so dejected. “Fuck San Jose.”

“You don’t mean that. They’ve been a good team to you.”

I check the time on my phone. I really need to go, but this is more important.

Shit. Something more important than hockey? Lane really has done the impossible.

I take a seat next to him on the mattress, but that might be a bad idea because he smells like expensive cologne and cheap sex. My perfect guy. It’s taking all of my willpower not to distract him away from his misery with more naked fun. But then I really will be late, and I’m in enough trouble as it is. Even if I’m as pissed at team management as they are with me.

I grip Lane’s hand. “You’ll find something else. At least they didn’t fire you?”

His brown eyes meet mine. “You think that’s going to stop the gossip? Everyone will know why I had to leave San Jose.”

“Will it be so terrible if you tell them you left for me? So we could date and be together ethically?”

“Everyone will still talk.”

I nudge him. “Everyone always talks. Look at all the gossip about me out there that’s not true.”

“Most of it is true,” he mutters.

“But thanks to you, they don’t know that. What’s true and what’s not? Oh no, no one knows what to believe anymore.”

“Lucky I was good at my job, then, huh?”

“Exactly. I have no doubt you’ll bounce back. Another team will take you, and then you can tell them to give me a contract where we have to stay together.” I think about that. “That’s actually not a bad idea, you know.”

“What?”

“Trying to get contracts with another team. Surely, if we are employed together with our relationship being out in the open, it takes away the ickiness of how we got together, doesn’t it?”

He hums. “Mm. Maybe.”

I wish there was a way I could fix this for him. “Ooh, I know. I could hire you to be my own personal carer. Who takes care of allllll of me.”

Rightfully so, he side-eyes me. “That sounds a lot like prostitution or sexual harassment from an employer, and we’re trying to avoid our relationship being labeled as problematic.”

“Well, I’m open to suggestions here.”

When he looks at me again, the sorrow in his eyes is evident. “I might have to get a job outside of hockey.”

I gasp. “You mean … you might have to switch to …” I pretend to gag. “Football? How would you even survive?”

Yay, I finally get a smile.

“I’d find a way to manage. Football players wear tighter pants. I can focus on that.”

I scowl, which makes him smile even wider.

I squeeze his leg. “I have to get to the arena. Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m fine. I promise.”

“Do me a favor?”

“If it’s cook dinner in an apron and heels, I’m going to have to go with no.”

“Damn. It wasn’t, but now it is. That visual …” My mouth hangs open, and I try not to drool.

He shoves me.

“Okay, no. It was to take today easy and don’t stress over finding a new job. Relax for once.”

Lane frowns. “How does one do that exactly?”

“Watch trashy reality TV?”

“Do I look like the type of person who watches that?”

“It could be cathartic for you.”

“How so?”

“How else does anyone feel better about the shit in their lives than seeing trash humans do trash things? No matter how down you are, at least you’re not them.”

He slumps. “I hate that you actually make sense.”

“Try it. For me.”

“I will. And don’t let them tell you you’re ready to go back on the ice. You’re still not completely healed.” His fingers brush over my cheek, just under my scar.

“I’ll see what they have to say first.”

“I hate to say it, but at this point, I don’t think they’ve got your best interests in mind. Only the playoffs. Your eye is more important than the stupid playoffs.”

“You bite your tongue. The playoffs are in the top three things in life.”

“What are the other two?”

“Sex.”

Lane glowers at me. “Should’ve guessed that one. And?”

I lean over and kiss his cheek. “You.”

“I come before the playoffs though, right?”

I hesitate until real doubt begins to cross his face, and then I can’t hold it back. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“The majority of your wound is healing well,” the team doctor says.

“So you’re clearing me to play?”

He hesitates. “I’m not going to lie. The area closest to your eye is still healing. I can butterfly tape it, but if you take a hard hit, there’s no way it’ll hold.”

“So you’re not clearing me to play.”

Dr. Denali, or Dr. D as we all call him, stands over me, his lips pursed. “Look, I’m going to level with you. Team management wants me to clear you, but I’m torn. Professionally speaking, you could get back out there with little risk, but there is a risk. The wrong hit, a stick getting under your visor, an elbow to the face during a fight … anything could make it worse. You’re on the border. I could let you play, or I could keep you on the IR list for another week to be sure, but by then—”

“The season will be over, and our chance at playoffs could be done if the team doesn’t pull their heads out of their asses and get a win.”

“Exactly.”

I so desperately want to get back out there, but at the same time, I’m a stubborn son of a bitch, and my loyalty to this team is practically nonexistent, even though Lane and I were the ones in the wrong initially. Yes, we crossed lines and put this club’s reputation in jeopardy, but now they’re dismissing Lane after all that he’s done for the team while also asking me to risk my career so we can maybe make the playoffs.

“If I’m not ready, I’m not ready. Team management will just have to deal with that.”

Dr. D nods. “Then it’s my stern professional opinion that getting back out on the ice at this point will risk your eye too much for me to sign off on it.”

“Thanks, Dr. D. I’ll let you deal with management over your decision.”

“Wow, Voyjik. You’re so generous,” he deadpans.

“Aren’t I? Everyone is lucky to have me in their life.”

“Everyone or just Lane?”

My amusement dies. “I’m guessing word has gotten out, then.”

“Oh yeah. Big-time. Everyone has heard about how Lane has been asked not to come back to work. Permanently.”

But … “Lane quit.”

“Officially, but everyone knows he’s already gone. What, he didn’t have to give notice?”

I try not to get angry. Management is doing what it can to save face. Still, when I head for the locker room to let the guys know I haven’t been cleared and tell them to kick ass, it’s obvious how far the chatter has spread.

All talk dies as I walk into the locker room.

My neck burns, and I pull at the collar of my San Jose T-shirt. I’m used to being the topic of discussion. I used to welcome it and crave it because I’ve always had that need for attention—good or bad. But this … I’ve finally found my boundaries.

And Lane is it. He means too much to me to play us down, and if I get into it here and now, I’m going to say some shit that will definitely get me fired.

Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, I make my way over to Aleks because out of everyone, he might be the only one who understands.

But when his first words out of his mouth are “You couldn’t help yourself, could you?” I can’t tell if he’s pissed or resigned to the fact I’m that much of a screwup.

The normal defenses of “It wasn’t my fault” or a half-hearted “Oops” don’t pass my lips.

“Yeah, we both know we fucked up, but it also wasn’t supposed to get as far as it did.” I glance around the locker room, and the others are doing that thing where they’re pretending they’re not listening but probably are.

“Now we’re stuck with Keerson, who doesn’t know hockey from his ass. It’s like he gets joy from sending the worst player of the game to the press conferences when they’re at their lowest. Like he feels we need to explain ourselves for why we individually did so terribly to the media. At least Lane cared about us and the team equally.”

I screw up my nose. “Yeah, I saw that interview of yours. Brutal, man.”

“Please tell me you’re coming back today?”

Okay then. If he is angry about the Lane situation, at least he’s not too angry.

I shake my head. “Nah. Doc says it’s too risky.”

“Fuck,” he snaps. “This team needs new talent. One guy being put on the IR list shouldn’t affect the scores this much.”

“Aww. It’s cute you think it’s all me, but even I’m not that conceited. It’s not my absence that is making the team suck. It’s a losing streak. All teams have them. Look at Vegas this season.”

Aleks winces.

“Exactly. They’re not even in with a shot of the playoffs. But we still are. The team only needs to win the next game, and our season isn’t done.”

“Sure. I’ll get right on that. As well as the game after that, and the one after that …”

I grip his shoulder. “I should get out of here before all the questions start. Have a good practice.”

“Really?” Aleks asks. “That’s all you’re going to give me? I have been so restrained here. I need details. Preferably all the dirty ones. But, like, big-picture stuff too.”

I laugh.

“Let’s just say Lane and I are in a relationship that neither of us saw coming, and not everyone is happy about it.” I lower my voice. “Mick told him to end it or lose his job. So Lane quit.”

Aleks looks shocked. “Well, shit. That’s …”

I wait for him to say something like that’s the stupidest thing Lane’s ever done, and I’d have to agree with him because the idea of a future with me still seems so out of the realm of possibilities. I’m not convinced I won’t fuck things up between us. But we chose each other, and I want to see it through to the end. Whatever that end may be.

In a dumpster fire of broken hearts? Possibly.

With matching rings and tuxes and spouting I love yous in front of everyone we know? Not likely.

Happiness? This is the one I’m rooting for. The one I want to strive for.

Even if I’m scared as all hell of screwing it all up.

“That’s what?” I ask Aleks. “Dumb? I know.”

“I was going to say it’s romantic, so no wonder I’m divorced.”

“Those things kind of contradict themselves.”

“Nah, I was thinking about Rebecca and how she hated that I was away so much. Giving it all up didn’t even occur to me to be an option.”

“The right person wouldn’t want you to give up your job for them.”

“Lane did though.”

I huff. “Oh, I fought him on it. I even tried to break up with him.”

Aleks smiles. “And he quit anyway. Rebecca did break up with me, and I let her walk.”

“See? Wrong person for you, then. You’ll find the right one.”

“Eventually. I have a lot of manwhoring to do first.”

“Well, with me being taken now, I pass the San Jose slutbag crown to you.” I mime taking a crown off my head and placing it on his.

“It’s an honor.” He puts his hand over his heart and says, “I solemnly swear to share my dick with every man, woman, enby, and any other gender who wants it.”

“Ah. The Hippocratic oath of manwhores.”

Coach walks in at that moment and locks glaring eyes with me.

“Oh shit, you’re in trouble,” Aleks says.

“Yep.”

“Shouldn’t you be at home resting seeing as you’re too injured to play?” Coach barks.

I mock salute him. “On my way now.” I turn to Aleks. “Good luck for the game tomorrow. We need the win.”

His eyes don’t fill me with confidence, but there’s nothing I can personally do now.

I’m going to go home to my man and worship his body again.

And again, and again, and again.

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