Page 6 of Puck Your Charity

Nobody says a word for a long minute. They don't coddle me. They don't pat my shoulder and tell me everything is okay. But they also don't yell. They refuse to berate me for acting like a coward and abandoning a ten-year-old boy on his Make-A-Wish day.

They know me. They know my anger covers up the cracks in my foundation.

Lawrence signals the waitress and orders a round of beers for the three of them. He leans back against the leather cushion.

Lawrence fixes a steady look on me. "You bolted pretty fast, man. Left us to handle the photos alone."

My grip on the glass tightens. "I know."

Malcolm crosses his arms over his chest. His dark eyes study my face. "You turned the color of concrete. I thought you planned to puke on the kid's shoes."

A flinch escapes me.

Taking another drink of whiskey, the words finally spill out. "I couldn't breathe. The second I stepped over the threshold, the smell hit me. The bleach. The rubbing alcohol. The sound of the machines."

Finn rests his forearms on the table. His auburn hair looks messy from running his hands through it. "You hate hospitals. We know that. But you usually manage to grit your teeth and suffer through the visits."

"This one felt different." I stare at the melting ice in my glass. "The kid... he looked just like her. He had the same pale skin. The same bags under his eyes. It dragged me right back to that chair next to her bed. I heard the monitor flatline."

A thick silence falls over the table. None of them push for more details. They know about Loren. They know a childhood tragedy broke me before I ever laced up a pair of skates.

Lawrence sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "I get it, Victor. I really do. But you acted like a massive prick in the hallway beforehand."

"I know." My teeth grind together.

Malcolm raises an eyebrow. "You complained about visiting a dying kid because it cut into your relaxation time."

"I used it as an excuse." I drag a hand down my face. "I tried to talk my way out of going in there. I wanted management to cancel the visit. I panicked."

Finn accepts a bottle of beer from the waitress. "That nurse with Make-A-Wish heard every word."

"Olive." I speak her name into the loud club. It feels strange on my tongue.

Leaning my head back against the booth, I stare at the dark ceiling. "She looked at me like I belonged in the gutter. Her smile stopped short of her eyes. She wanted to punch me in the throat."

Malcolm chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. "She definitely wanted to murder you. She has a fierce protective streak. I respect that."

Dropping my gaze back to my glass, the guilt gnaws at me. "I can't get her out of my head. I try to block out the memory of the hospital, but all I see is her face. Her judgment stings. It burns right through me."

Finn peels the label off his beer bottle. "She stepped up when you bolted. She told the kid you forgot something in the car to save face. She covered for you."

The information makes my chest ache even more. She despised me, but she still protected the kid from feeling abandoned. She sacrificed her own righteous anger to keep Sam happy.

Downing the rest of my whiskey, the glass hits the table with a loud thud.

I look at my packmates. "I’m a broken mess."

Lawrence clinks his bottle against my empty glass. "We know. But you score a lot of goals, so we keep you around."

The tension in my shoulders drops a fraction. They accept my flaws. They offer no judgment. But the grace they give me does nothing to erase the look of total disgust in Olive's brown eyes.

The waitress clears my empty glass and sets a fresh whiskey on the table. The music shifts to a faster, louder beat. The crowd on the dance floor below surges.

I take a sip of my new drink. I prepare to steer the conversation toward tomorrow's practice schedule. I need a distraction. I need to focus on hockey and ignore the mess inside my head.

Before I speak, the velvet curtain parts.

Four Omega women slip past the bouncer. They wear tight dresses, towering heels, and flawless, intricate makeup. They carry the predatory, eager energy of fans who spotted a VIP table and decided to shoot their shot.