Page 72 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Twenty-Two
Maddox
What sucks is that since the morning after the best sex—no, make thatlovemaking—I ever had, we ended up going our separate ways, physically, metaphorically and especially emotionally. And the emotional separation is what’s killing me most because I’m a stupid bastard and I knew Harper was all wrong for me. BecauseI knew she was too right.
Fuck, this is so messed up, but I knew better than to let her get to me. I spent years not letting any woman near me, keeping them at arm’s length, and it was so easy. I knew to stay away from the serious ones, knew I needed to stay true to my bachelorhood because the last thing I ever wanted to do is this.
To break a woman’s heart—and not to mention mine—when they find out I’m like kryptonite to family life, damaged goods, and not to be counted on as baby daddy material. It’s the kiss of death to a serious relationship. Even when a woman pretends it doesn’t matter it matters, and I know it. Knew it all along.
So I’m doing my part. After the week-long road trip, I’ve done my best to give her space. But it’s killing me that the only time I’ve seen her is after the last two games with other people around. The only bright spot in the past two weeks was meeting her mother and brother and having dinner with them at the townhouse.
That felt more right than it should have. Both her mom and Charlie wereTeamTogether, all happy to hear about the cooking lessons, though I doubt they have any inkling of the real problem between me and Harper. Which is that I’m damaged goods and Harper can do a helluva lot better than me. I wonder what advice Mrs. St. John would have for Harper if she knew I couldn’t have kids, that I have a heart condition that could easily kill me before fifty?
Fuck, this sucks. I gaze out the front window of the townhouse trying to concentrate on the here and how. But my chest is wound so tight I can’t think straight. Because if I could, maybe I’d think of a solution, a way to not break Harper’s heart while I try to do the right fucking thing.
The most messed-up part is that she doesn’t know what the right thing is and I do. Talk about role reversal. It’s early afternoon and the Tuesday evening game isn’t for hours yet.
But fuck it. I decide to walk to the Garden. I need to clear my head and the cold will help. My shot has been off in the last five games and not only did I not score, but I got only one assist. This is what they call a fucking bona fide scoring slump.
It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to understand why I’m in a slump. But personal issues are no excuse, even if it does feel like my already fragile heart is cracking. I need to get my head into the game today and then I’ll deal with my feelings for Harper.
Maybe I should have let her go when she asked me if she should leave.
* * *
The locker room buzzes around me and my heart hammers like crazy. Everyone’s feeling the importance of this game. A win could put us back into first place in the division and set us up for home ice for the playoffs. The guys are ratcheting up the tension, banging sticks, shouting shit, and generally honing their killer instincts.
Finn walks by where I’m sitting, fully geared up, and bangs my shin with his stick.
“Today is the day you’re going for another hat trick, Madman.” He grins like a shark. I force an answering grin, but it feels far from lethal, except maybe to me. I take a deep breath to get control of my breathing, roll my shoulders, and try to shake off the tightness in my chest.
I don’t join in the melee of bloodthirsty talk because it would be a waste of my limited energy. I don’t know where it’s gone, but I need a quick jolt. One of the rookies has a few bottles of quick energy shots so I ask him for one and he tosses me a bottle. I pop the shot down. It’s made mostly of caffeine, according to the ingredients, like having a cup of coffee only super concentrated. I hope to hell it’s as quick as advertised. The team moves to the door and I go with them, trying not to let on that I’m not feeling on top of the world. I’m determined to shake off my nerves or whatever’s bothering me.
It’s probably my conscience bothering me about Harper. Or maybe my need to have her, to know she’s there and she’s mine even beyond the season. Shit.
“You good?” Finn says, looking at me like he knows I’m not.
“Better than fucking good.” I force whatever energy I have into the words.Fake it till you make it.
Out on the ice, the rush of cool air gives me a boost, or maybe it’s the energy shot kicking in. By the time we get through warm-ups, the team intro, the anthem, and the puck drop, I feel better, more energized. If my heart is still fluttering in my chest like a bat flapping its wings, while I sit here on the bench waiting for my line call, I figure it’s my stupidity over Harper catching up to me.
I should be thanking the puck gods that she hasn’t run the other way and I should be holding on to her tight before she does. To hell with trying to do the right thing. If she’s okay with damaged goods, who am I to argue?
That logic has more holes than a hockey net, but I’m reaching the limits of my ability to stay rational and hold off the devil on my left shoulder telling me to grab Harper and hang on for all I’m worth. I’m slipping because I want her so bad, because I need her. Because I have fucking feelings for here.Fuck.
I’ve fucking fallen. Hard. Because if I didn’t care about her so much this wouldn’t be a problem, would it?I’m so fucking stupid.
I turn around to see if I can spot her in the stands, but Coach calls for my line, so I hop over the boards onto the ice and skate straight for the puck at full tilt. It’s just inside the blue line and I know I can beat everyone to it.
The roar of the crowd seems louder than it was, louder than it should be. When I reach the puck, I see it on the ice, see my stick touch it, but the hammering in my chest distracts me. Then I don’t see anything at all.
When I open my eyes and find myself down on the ice, I try to sit up, but the world spins and blurs. Fuck.
My heart pounds and I can’t see straight. Dizziness strikes me and confuses me. The lights spin. Someone heaves me up from the ice. I know it’s Finn because he’s wearing a goalie helmet. When I try to stand my legs shake like I’ve never been on the ice before. My muscles don’t work, like all the strength is gone out of them. Someone else takes my other arm and they help me toward the boards like I’m an old man. I look up at the stands. I look for her, for Harper.
My chest squeezes tight and this time I know what the cause of my problem is for certain, and it has nothing to do with any physical damage.
