CHAPTER 11

PUSH

LANCE

I’m sitting in the airport, and I’m bored. I’ve done the Sudoku in the paper. It took me all of fifteen minutes, and it was supposed to be one of the hard ones.

If I hadn’t come across hockey, I probably would’ve gone into some kind of career where I could work with numbers all day. I love numbers. They make sense. They’re constant, and they don’t change. A formula is a formula.

People don’t work the same way. Emotions make them unpredictable. Like right now Miller is in a shit mood. He’s been texting Sunny every three minutes and researching signs of labor and statistics on first-time pregnancies. Baby Butterson should be hanging tight for a few more weeks, but apparently he’s getting antsy.

Miller puts his phone to his ear. “Hey, Sunny Sunshine, we’re gonna board the plane soon. I wanted to check on you one last time—yeah…yeah. I know. I get that. I don’t like that I’m not there right now.”

He drops his voice to a whisper, gets out of his seat, and wanders toward the windows, watching the planes as he runs his hand through his hair, making the short blond strands stand on end.

I don’t know whether to feel sorry for him or envious. I have no idea what it’s like to need someone like that. Well, I guess maybe I do. Although, with Tash it wasn’t about need; at least not in the same way I think it is with Miller and Sunny. It was more about want.

Sometimes I wonder if I only wanted her to myself because she’d never give me that. Which is fucked up. There are things about me that aren’t right, and I know it’s because of how things went down in my house as a kid.

My dad comes from money. Lots of money. So does my mum. It’s the reason I have the house I do. My hockey salary is great, but I already had lots of cash flow before I started earning my own. The weird thing about money is that people equate it with stability, but there was nothing stable about my childhood.

I remember the way my mum used to go after my dad. Sometimes I wonder if my propensity for aggression is hereditary, or maybe she conditioned it into me. She was a small woman, always watching what she ate, always taking some kind of class or drinking something that was supposed to help keep her thin or whatever. I’m pretty sure it was just booze, now that I think about it.

On the days she was really fired up, she’d go at my dad, who I’m built like. He’d laugh and let her have at him—slapping him, punching, kicking—and the more he laughed, the angrier she’d get until he’d pick her up and take her, screaming and flailing, out of the room.

If my brother and I were there, a nanny would take us away, so we wouldn’t witness it. The next morning my dad would be at the breakfast table with a smile on his face, usually accompanied by faint bruises and the occasional scratch. He never talked about it, just went on and pretended like it hadn’t happened.

I usually wouldn’t see my mother for a good twenty-four hours after that. And when I did, she’d be back to a version of normal, but far more subdued, almost vacant. She’d be physically present, but she wasn’t really in there, just a body going through the motions. Flowers would arrive. My dad would take her away for a little trip, and then things would calm down for a while.

But as I got older, the pattern started to change. The violence became more frequent. My dad traveled more. And when my brother died, everything fell apart. Eventually, when Mum’s mourning turned to anger, it found a new target. An easier target. Me.

I thought maybe it would stop when we moved to Chicago. It didn’t. It went on long enough that it changed the way I’m wired.

“Romance?” Fingers snap close to my face, and I jolt. “Your phone’s ringing.” Ballistic points to my hand.

I look down. Usually by this point Tash would’ve given up, but she’s still calling, still leaving messages for me. I’m actually impressed that I haven’t responded to her, even though I’ve read the messages.

“She’s kind of a stalker, yeah?” Randy asks.

I shrug.

“Why don’t you block her?”

“What’s the point? I’ve tried before. She always finds another way.”

Randy shakes his head. “Man, I don’t know how you deal with that all the time.”

“I’m used to it, I guess.” I pull up my contact list to see if there are more new texts to go with the voicemail she’s left. Of course there are. All I can see in the preview is a bunch of profanity. Three messages down are the texts from Poppy.

I looked her up on the internet after I left her place last night. I kinda fucked that whole thing up. Or my dick did. Everything was fine until she started touching my face. I don’t think anyone has put their hand on my face without the intention of causing me pain since I was ten.

I’m damn lucky she’s willing to massage me at all after that bullshit, even if I lost the home-care privileges. I should make a bunch of appointments at the clinic so I don’t have to worry about being on another waiting list, and it’ll probably win points with Smart.

I dial the clinic and talk to the receptionist. Unfortunately Poppy’s all booked up for two damn weeks, so I can’t get in right away when I’m back. Obviously Poppy’s in high demand, so I just book as many appointments as I can before we get called to board the plane. I don’t have my game schedule in front of me, so I take whatever she offers, hoping it won’t conflict with an away game.

I catch a nap on the flight to Philadelphia, and I get paired up with Rookie to share a hotel room since Miller and Randy always stay together when we’re at away games. Waters and Westinghouse do the same.

Once we’re settled in our room, we head down for food, and then we get some ice time. My back is definitely feeling better, thanks to Poppy. And the nagging headache I’ve had for the past few days seems to be gone, which leads me to believe she was right about the teeth grinding.

Later on, Rookie asks if I want to go to the bar, but I don’t know if I can go and not drink right now. I don’t want to screw myself for the game tomorrow, so instead of joining him, I turn on hockey highlights and fuck around on my phone.

I find a picture of Poppy on my camera roll. It doesn’t look like a selfie, not with the way she appears to be yelling at the photographer. I use it as the picture for her contact.

I kill time by screwing around on social media. Tash has tagged me in a bunch of posts, as she does. Mostly it’s just stupid ranty stuff and a few old pictures. I untag myself and look up Poppy. She has the usual accounts. Facebook, Twitter—she doesn’t post there much, Instagram, and Snapchat. I scroll through the pictures she’s posted on Insta, hitting the follow button, even though I probably shouldn’t.

There’s one of her at the beach with her friends. Poppy’s wearing a bikini, but it’s mostly hidden under one of those cover-up things. She’s wearing a wide-brim hat and big sunglasses. Her freckled cheeks are pink, and so are her shoulders. I bet she burns like crazy. I bet her skin is creamy white under that fabric.

Thanks to the European genes involved in my creation, I’ve at least got the ability to tan a little and not burn to a crisp. It’s mostly a freckle tan, but it’s something.

I pause and recognize that I’m internet-stalking my massage therapist. And I’m considering how I’d like her to be more than that, except I’m not sure that’s even possible since I screwed her friend last year. But that was a long time ago. Maybe it’s fine now. She keeps saying it’s fine, though it doesn’t seem that way. I don’t know the statute of limitations on screwing one chick before you can get down with one of her friends.

Well, if they’re bunnies it doesn’t matter, but Poppy isn’t a bunny.

I could ask Miller and Randy about it, but I get the feeling Miller would be pissed, so I decide to leave it alone for now.

The next morning we have a pre-game skate, followed by a team meal and a meeting. Once it’s over, we’ve got several hours before we have to suit up for the game. I want some down time with Miller and Randy before I get out there so I can mentally prepare. But Smart pulls me aside on the way out.

“I lined up a massage for you,” he says.

“What?” For a second I imagine that he flew Poppy out to treat me. Then I realize how fucking stupid that is. But it would be awesome if she could come work her magic on me before I hit the ice.

“I need you on point tonight, Romero. Butterson’s off his game.”

“He’s got a baby dropping soon; he’s distracted.”

“You don’t need to tell me. I know what the issue is. But I need you to be focused on the game, so I set up an appointment with one of the therapists here at the arena. It’s not negotiable.”

I can’t argue. He has a point. As much as Miller would like to be able to focus on the game, it’s got to be tough. Beyond that, maybe it’s not a bad idea to see whether my reaction to Poppy is isolated. Maybe it’s massages in general that actually work for me, not Poppy.

“Fine. When and where?”

“Now. Follow me.”

The massage therapist Smart hooks me up with is a woman in her thirties whose shoulders are nearly as broad as mine.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but she’s substantial.

It takes all of thirty seconds for me to come to the conclusion that my reaction to Poppy is completely unique. I try to relax; I really do. But these hands are so different. Having this woman touch me for an hour is a horrible kind of torture.

After the torture-massage, I head back to my room. I’m in a shitty mood, and I’m not excited to hang out with Rookie—not because I don’t like him, but because now that I’ve partied with him, he has the same expectations of me that everyone else does. And that’s my fault.

When I get there, I find him hanging out with a chick. She looks like she’s about ready to take her clothes off, and I’m not interested in dealing with that kind of bullshit. Especially in the middle of the afternoon.

“I just need to grab a couple of things, and I’ll leave you two to it.” I point across the room to my bag.

I don’t like that there’s some bunny I can’t keep an eye on in my room with my stuff, but I grab the most important things: identification, wallet, phone, and iPad. I stuff them in my duffle, which still has my workout gear in it, and throw it over my shoulder.

“Text me when you’re good,” I call as I close the door and walk down the hall, heading for one place I know no bunnies will be.

I send Randy a text to make sure he’s in his room. I get a reply as I knock on his door. It swings open a few seconds later.

He eyes the duffle as I drop it on the chair. “You get kicked out of your own room?”

“Rookie found himself a bunny.”

“The game isn’t even until tonight. Where the hell’d he find her?”

“Who knows? Maybe she’s a friend and not just a bunny. I didn’t stop to ask. I figured I’d let him expend some energy. He’s still got some time before we have to suit up for the game.”

“That’s a bad idea before a game.”

“He’ll have to figure that out on his own, ’cause I’m not having that conversation.”

“And if she’s there when you go back?”

“She’ll have to bail, or I’ll help her find the door.”

Randy cocks a brow. “You all right, man?”

“Yeah. Why?” I drop down on the couch and look around the room. “Where’s Miller?”

“On the balcony. He’s talking to Sunny.”

“Is everything okay there?”

“I don’t know. She’s having some cramps. She thinks it’s some kind of hiccups or something, and Miller wants her to call the midwife.”

I shake my head. “You know, a year ago if you’d told me he’d be talking babies, I woulda laughed.”

“A lot can change in a short span of time.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” I think about how things went down with Tash. How at the end of last summer it went from nothing to sex to me wanting just her to her not wanting the same. One minute we were whatever we were, and then we weren’t anything. “When you and Lily started hooking up, it was just for the fucking, right?”

Randy sits at the other end of the couch and runs his palm over his beard. “We were just—”

“—having fun. You used to say that a lot.”

Randy nods. “Yeah. I was a fucking idiot.”

“So it wasn’t just about the fun?”

“I mean, yeah, at first that was the whole point, but then things started to change.”

“Change how?”

“I wanted more.”

“I’m glad that worked out for you.” I mean it, though it might sound like I don’t.

Randy regards me for a few seconds, maybe judging my sincerity. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you keep letting Tash screw you over?”

I tap on the arm of the chair. “I’m not gonna let her do that anymore.”

“What happened this last time?”

“I had enough. Like, every fucking time she makes me believe it’s just gonna be me and her, and that we’re gonna work things out or whatever. But then there’s always someone else involved, and it’s never what I think it’s going to be.”

“That’s kinda your thing, though, right?”

It sucks that even one of my closest friends believes this about me. Although, I’ve never given him a reason to think otherwise, because then I’d have to explain more than I want to.

“Not like you think. And when Tash and I started hanging out, it wasn’t like that. Not at first. And it wasn’t supposed to be anything, but then suddenly it was.”

“When did it change?”

“I don’t know. I think maybe it was when you and Miller went to that camp up in Canada last summer that it started to be…something real, I guess. Or I thought it was real. Nothing really happened between us until just before Waters’ engagement party, though. Tash likes to play games.”

“Miller thought something was going on between you two before that.”

“Before the camp thing?”

“Yeah.” Randy tips back his water and takes a long drink. “Think back to the night you and that chick drew a dick on Miller’s forehead. You were weird about Tash even then.”

I give him a look. I know now that was also the night Poppy came to my house. Mostly I remember seeing the dick pictures on my social media feed the next day. They’d gone viral, and gotten Miller in a world of shit with Sunny.

“That chick you were with? She’s the friend of Poppy’s you fucked.”

I try again to piece together the events of that night, but last season I spent about as much time drunk as sober, and it only got worse as I got into things with Tash. “You’re sure about that?”

“Yeah. Poppy was the one who removed the dick from his forehead. You don’t remember that at all?”

I’d probably been focused on the fact that Tash was coming over and there were still bunnies in the house.

I pull up my Instagram, but then I remember I deleted all the pictures because of the shitstorm the dick on Miller’s forehead caused. Well, it wasn’t the dick so much as the presence of the girl in the bed with him. I get now why it wasn’t the best move on my part, but at the time I hadn’t thought past how funny it would be.

I flip to my photo stream and scroll back through the pictures until I get to the ones from last summer. It takes me a while to find the dick forehead pics, but when I finally do, I have a hazy recollection of the girl in them.

“I don’t think I screwed that chick.”

“Dude, you don’t even remember meeting Poppy that night. How can you be sure about anything?”

The not remembering Poppy bugs me a lot. I keep trying to find her in my memories, but she’s not there—not the way I want her to be. All I get is the swish of a long, strawberry blond ponytail and the urge to pull the end of it.

I close my eyes, trying to pull up other memories from the night, anything to make a connection between that girl in the picture and Poppy.

As I start talking about the little I recall, more memories trickle in until it becomes a flood. “I remember going upstairs and stopping in my room to grab that girl a shirt. I wanted to check on Miller since he hadn’t come outside.” It had been my excuse to go upstairs since it was late and we had the training session in the morning. I didn’t want bunnies in the house when Tash got there. She was pissy with us when she knew we’d been out partying. Me especially.

“That’s when you drew the dick on his face, right?”

“Yeah. Exactly. But I didn’t sleep with her after that. She had a freak out.”

“What do you mean?”

I remember tears. I have a weakness for girl tears. I don’t like it when women cry. My mum used to do it all the time. After she’d have one of her epic raging sessions on me, she’d feel bad. That didn’t stop it from happening again, though.

I sift back through my memory. The girl had been wrapped in a towel. I took her to my room. My phone had been sitting on my nightstand, lighting up with messages. It was Tash, reminding me she’d be there in the morning. I’d given the bunny a T-shirt while I messaged Tash back a thumbs up, because typing anything more required too much coordination. Then I realized it was after two in the morning, so she’d likely know we’d been out, anyway.

The girl had come up behind me and put her hands on me. It felt like spiders crawling on my skin, which wasn’t unusual. I’d grown accustomed to that sensation when any woman touched me, so I managed it for a few seconds before I grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the door instead of the bed.

I took her with me down the hall to Miller’s room, not because I was pawning her off on him, but because he’d been super drunk thanks to all the shots I’d fed him. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t face down in a pile of vomit.

“When I found Miller passed out, butt-ass naked and not responding other than grunts, the girl made a joke about drawing something on his face. She was wasted, falling all over the place, which should’ve been a solid tipoff that it wasn’t a great idea, but you know how it is.”

Randy gives me a short, curt nod. We’ve been drunk plenty of times together, and I’m sure he’s made some questionable choices in those uninhibited states. Nothing like the ones I make, but then he and I are a lot different.

“So I snapped a bunch of pictures of her posing with him, and I asked if it was okay if I posted a few of them, because they were funny. When my social media feeds started lighting up, she realized how bad it looked and how many people would see them.” She’d been wearing a shirt with nothing underneath—not that anyone could see that, but she was braless, and that much was clear.

“Ah, man.”

“Yeah. I mean, I should’ve known, especially with how much shit it created for Miller, but at first I couldn’t understand why she was so worked up. Anyway, it turns out she still lived with her parents, and the last thing I wanted was some father showing up at my front door with a shotgun, so I deleted them, but you know how things go viral.”

“Yup. I sure do.” Randy rolls his eyes.

“Anyway, this girl was all worried she’d be kicked out if her parents ever saw them. Then she really started to lose it and locked herself in my bathroom.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. I spent an hour trying to coax her out. She apologized and then wanted to fuck still, but I was tapping out, right? I felt bad though, so I wasn’t gonna kick her out. Besides, she was still drunk, so I let her get in my bed. I ended up sleeping on the floor because she kept trying to get on me. She knew a lot of my stats, where I grew up, when I moved to what team. It was a little creepy.”

“So she was, like, a super fan?”

“I guess? If I’d slept with her, it would’ve been a bad deal. She didn’t want me to tell anyone what did or didn’t happen.”

“You could’ve had a serious clinger if you’d jumped on that.”

“Right? So I guess that’s why Poppy thinks I fucked her friend.”

“Yep.” Randy seems mildly impressed with my recall.

“Do you think I should tell her it didn’t go down that way?”

“Why bother? I mean, it’s not like you’re going to see her again, right?”

“I have massages scheduled for when I get back.”

He looks stunned. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Well, I can’t go to the team massage therapist.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like how it feels.”

Randy stares at me. “I don’t get it. You mean she uses too much pressure? Just tell her to ease up, or take off your pussy panties.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what’s so special about Poppy, other than she’s hot?”

The sliding door opens, and I’m glad for the interruption. I don’t want to explain why I hate being touched. I’ve never really shared any of that with these guys. They know I had a brother and he died. That’s it. It’s not that I don’t trust them; it’s the possibility that they’ll look at me differently. Getting the beats I did from my mum was a special kind of humiliation, one I don’t like reliving if I can avoid it.

Miller comes inside and shakes off the cold, pausing when he sees me. “What’s up, Romance? You get sick of Rookie telling you how awesome you are already?”

“Rookie’s found himself an afternoon bunny.”

“You share your entire contact list with him or something?”

I laugh it off, but the comment stings. “He found her on his own. No help from me. How’s Sunny?”

“She’s calling the midwife, and she’ll get back to me. Hopefully soon.” He turns to Randy. “Lily’s at our place, and if things change at all, Sunny’s gonna call her mom.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I just want her to hold on until I get home.”

“She’ll have lots of support even if that’s not how it goes,” Randy assures him. “Why don’t we play some Xbox, or watch highlights?”

“Yeah. Good call.” Miller goes over to his bag and rummages around until he finds his gaming console, which always comes with us. We play for a while until I think it’s safe to go back to my room.

The bunny’s gone when I get there, which is good, because I didn’t want to deal with having to kick her out so I can get ready for the game. Before we head to the rink, I make the mistake of checking my phone. Tash has left more messages, which I stupidly check, so when I take the ice for my first shift I’m already amped up.

In the first period I get a penalty for checking. In the second period I get one for sticking, and in the third period McHugh, the forward for Philly, gets all up in my space and keeps pushing at me from behind. We’re up by two, and they’re getting desperate. My ribs are still sore from the fight last weekend, and that’s exactly where he keeps elbowing me.

After the sixth time, I lose my cool and say a bunch of shit to rile him up. It works. He shoves me from behind, so I turn around and get up in his face, looking for him to throw the first punch. He swings a right hook, which I deflect. Then I let him get in a few solid hits. I rip my helmet off and shove him back, so he goes for my face, his gloved fist slamming into my cheek.

The pain is almost a relief. I need it. I want it. I don’t know how to exist without it. I don’t brace for the next punch, letting it take me to the ice. I’m careful to keep my head up, though, which means I take the hit with my back. I don’t even have a chance to fight back before Miller and a couple of refs are between us.

Randy’s right there with him. “Romance, you gotta take it down. Come on, buddy.”

I swipe across my cheek and realize I’m bleeding again. I’m sent to the penalty box where I reflexively look around the stadium. I don’t find what I’m looking for—which is my mother, wearing her disapproval in apathy. All I see are Philly fans cheering in the stands.

Both teams are down a player now, Philly having started the fight even though I was the one to throw the words. McHugh is pissed about it, and the chippy play keeps up. Fortunately we end up winning the game, despite the penalties, so I don’t get the same level of flak that I might’ve had we lost.

I get held up on the way out of the locker room because Smart wants the team doctor to check me out, so everyone’s settled in at the bar by the time I arrive. The bunnies are everywhere, trying to get in my lap, touching me, looking for a hook up I’m not interested in. My split eyebrow reopened during the fight, and my head is throbbing. I practically have to shove my way into a seat at the team table. I end up next to Waters.

“You all right, man? You took a solid hit.” He glances pointedly at my eyebrow.

“I’m good. Nothing I can’t handle. That guy wouldn’t let up,” I reply.

“I get that. But beyond this—” He taps his own eyebrow. “—are you good? Things settled down for you?”

Sometimes, after I see Tash or she calls or whatever, I talk to Violet, Waters’ wife. She’s good at listening, even if I only tell her the surface stuff. Last summer I went to Waters’ cottage after an altercation with Tash, and like usual, Violet was good about talking me down.

Later Randy asked about my relationship with her, and told me to watch myself.

I might look at Violet like family, but she’s not, and I don’t want to mess things up—for myself or anyone else—so I’ve given myself space from them. I never want to get between the people who are there for me. It’s kinda like how I’m leaving things alone with Miller right now. I get that sometimes the things I do rub him the wrong way, and now isn’t the time to hash it out.

“Yeah, man. Like I said, I got it handled. I’m gonna get a beer.”

“Okay. You did good out there, Romero. I know you’re keeping an eye out for Miller, and the team appreciates it.”

The compliment means a lot and makes me uncomfortable at the same time. I stand as Alex gets pulled into a conversation with Westinghouse, and I flag down a passing waitress to order a pint of Guinness.

Rookie’s got girls looking for action again, and he’s a lot more interested than I am, so when he asks, I tell him it’s fine to take them up to the room. A little while later I see Randy and Miller heading up, so I ask if I can come with them.

Miller gives Randy a look. “You’re not taking a bunny off Rookie’s hands?”

“I’m tired. I just wanna sleep.”

“That’s a first,” Miller scoffs.

“Look, man, I know you’re stressed about Sunny and the baby and shit, but you think you can cut me a little slack here?”

Miller blinks a few times, jaw working as the hardness in his expression eases a little. He nods. “Yeah, man. Sorry. There’s a lot going on.”

“You wanna crash in our room?” Randy asks, breaking the tension.

“You cool with that?” I pull my phone out of my pocket and check my messages. There aren’t any new ones since Tash messaged me earlier, and I haven’t read them. Yet.

“Yeah, man. Of course. You sure you’re all right?” Randy asks.

“Yeah. Just one of those days.”

The whole scene is losing its appeal. It brings me more trouble than it’s worth these days, especially since the guys I’m tight with on the team are all committed to someone. I don’t know if it’s that or the crap with Tash, but if I’m going to feel alone—which I know I will—I’d rather actually be alone as well.