PUCKED

by Helena Hunting

  This is what I need; more people to tell me how badly I’ve screwed this up and what to do to fix it. “You think I should send her flowers?”

  “No, Alex. I don’t think you should send her flowers.” She uses the tone reserved for mothers who want to make you feel like a complete dumbass.

  “But then what—”

  “You’re a smart boy—” She stops herself. “Some of the time. I’m sure you’ll figure it out—otherwise you don’t deserve to be with my daughter.” A dial tone follows. Violet’s mom has hung up on me.

  I call Darren. He’s the only other person I can think of who might be willing to help. Unfortunately, he doesn’t pick up, and it’s clear he’s still not talking to me off the ice.

  I try one last person: my father. His ability to help is questionable.

  “Hey, Alex.”

  I make small talk for a minute or two until I can’t stand the awkward chit-chat. “I screwed up with Violet.”

  “I know. So does most of North America as well as other hockey-watching countries.”

  “You’ve messed up with mom, right?” She can be a bit of a Fruit Loop. I’m positive my father’s been in the dog house plenty of times.

  “Of course.” My father sighs. “I have the benefit of keeping my private life private. That isn’t the case with you and Violet, is it?”

  “No. It’s not. I shouldn’t have followed Dick’s advice.”

  “No, Alex, you shouldn’t have.”

  “I fired him.”

  “It’s about fucking time.” My dad exhales into the receiver with a whoosh. There’s a good chance he’s doing research. “I know it was hard when you started playing professional hockey. I understand you want to be the best, and you want to prove you are. You don’t need the endorsements to do that.”

  “I just wanted this, you know?”

  “But at what cost, Alex? You don’t need validation. You’re team captain. You make more money a year than I will in a lifetime. What you need to do is be an older brother your sister can look up to, not one she has to defend because you’ve earned a shitty reputation over old rumors. And you need someone like Violet to keep your head on straight. Stop worrying about what other people think and do what’s best for you.”

  “Violet is what’s best for me.”

  “Then fight for her.”

  “She won’t talk to me.”

  “And you’re going to let that stop you? Since when do you give up that easily?”

  He has a point. “I don’t.” I can find a way to get Violet’s attention. I shouldn’t let anything stand in my way. Especially not an endorsement. No matter how much I want it, it’s not worth losing Violet.

  “Good. I hope you figure this out, son. I really like Violet. She’s good for you.”

  “Let’s hope I can convince her I’m good for her, too.”

  “You’ve got the art of persuasion on your side.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’m going to need it.”

  I have to come up with something better than flowers or candy to fix this. I have to show her unequivocally that I need her far more than any endorsement.

  I stew for several hours, trying to come up with a creative way to get Violet to hear me out. If she won’t answer my phone calls, there’s one option that worked in the past. Hunting her down is the best chance I have.

  I change out of my sweats into dress pants and a button-down shirt. I should look presentable. I can’t do anything about my nose. The white bandage and splint cover the worst of the swelling and bruising.

  The playoff beard has to stay, even if it makes me look less presentable. It’s a tradition I won’t mess with. The only way I’ll get back on the team’s good side is by playing well. Game four of the series is tomorrow night, and we’re up two-one. Shaving my beard could jinx the game. I concede by cleaning it up around the edges so I only look partly shitty.

  I figure stopping at her house is my best first shot. Flowers aren’t going to be enough this time. I need something better. I stop by the coffee shop we went to on our first date. They have one of those caramel crunch cakes, but slices are missing. A piece isn’t enough; it has to be the whole thing. I still get her one of those green seaweed-looking drinks she likes, though.

  An ice cream store down the street is still open. Girls like ice cream when boyfriends mess up, based on my experience with Sunny, and Violet likes cake, so it seems like a logical choice.

  I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants after I park in Violet’s driveway behind her beat up SUV. A few media assholes tag along behind me, as seems to be the way of things these days. They stay on the sidewalk, keeping a respectable distance while they shout questions.

  Sidney intercepts me before I get more than five feet from my car. We’re the same height, but right now, I feel small.

  “Hello, Mr. Butterson. How are you this evening?” I check to make sure he doesn’t have a baseball bat hidden behind his back.

  I’ve hurt Violet, which means he’s suffering in some way because of what I’ve done. It makes sense he’d be protective of Violet under these circumstances. I know what it’s like living with a scorned woman. If Sunny or my mother was miserable, everyone else in the house had to be, too.

  “Alex.” He steps in front of the gate, blocking the way to the pool house.

  “I was wondering if Violet’s home.”

  “Yeah, she’s home. She’s busy packing.”

  “Packing?” I scan the pool house.

  “She’s moving. She wants her own place.” He says it as if it’s my fault. Maybe it is.

  “Is she staying in the city?”

  “If Violet wants you to know where she’s moving, I’m sure she’ll get in touch.”

  He’s not going to make this easy. “Do you think I could speak with her?”

  “Violet made it pretty clear she doesn’t want to see you right now. In fact, she’s said she never wants to see you again. Can’t really say as I blame her, either.” His lip twitches, his disdain for me obvious.

  I have a sinking feeling once Violet makes up her mind about something, she doesn’t usually go back on it.

  “I understand. Could you give these to her then?” I hold out the takeout cup and the box. “This needs to go in the freezer; it’s an ice cream cake.”

  Sidney takes them from me with a frown and waits for me to get in my car. He’s still standing in the middle of the driveway as I pull away, barely avoiding running over the paps who never seem to let up. That definitely didn’t go as planned.

  The next night I have a game, so there’s no time to follow up with Violet. I don’t hear anything the next day, or the one after that. I resort to emailing her. It bounces back. The message should be clear by now, but I’m not ready to give up, so I stop by her work. I make it past security only to find Violet is in a meeting.

  Charlene comes down the hall, her smile far from friendly. She slips her arm through mine and walks me down the hall to the elevator.

  “I want a chance to explain.”

  “Explain what, exactly, Alex?” She props a fist on her hip. “That you invited her to move in with you one night and the next you’re pulling this just friends bullshit on national TV? It’s been almost a week, and now you have the audacity to show up here as if she’s going to want to talk to you? What kind of head games are you playing?”

  I should have acted sooner. “My agent wanted me to keep things on the down low. There’s an endorsement campaign—”

  “That’s supposed to make it better?” She punches the elevator button, eyeing me with contempt. “You need to leave Violet alone. She’s had enough of the media sniffing around without you showing up to make it worse for her. Next time I see you here, I’m going to puncture your testicles with my stilettos.”

  “Charlene—”

  She flips me the bird. As she clips down the hall, I check out her shoes. I don’t want them anywhere near my balls.

  I go back and try to see Violet again a few days
later, despite the threat. The media is up my ass, following me to the doors, hounding me with questions I refuse to answer—because I have none. Those weenie dudes who work with her are as bad as Charlene, and I can’t get within fifty feet of Violet. I even try stopping by her house again, media constantly in tow. Her SUV isn’t in the driveway, and no one answers the door.

  Violet isn’t with Sidney and Skye in the prime seats at the next few home playoff games, and Butterson is tight-lipped. I put my energy into practice and games because there’s no other option. We make it to the third round, and I want to share my excitement with Violet, but it’s been more than two weeks and she isn’t talking to me, so I can’t.

  Tired of the media constantly dogging me, I tell my new agent, Janette, I need an image overhaul to dispel the rumors about my “heartbreaker” ways. She’s in agreement, so she sets up a TV interview with one of the big entertainment syndicates. This interview is about my personal life, not my hockey career. It won’t go live for several days, which gives me time to work on Violet, not that I’ve gotten anywhere in the weeks since my epic fuck up.

  On the day of the interview, I discover Violet is moving to her new apartment on the weekend. Charlene passes the information through Darren. Media snapshots of Butterson loading a moving truck act as additional proof.

  Darren has almost forgiven me, thankfully. He’s not mad about being punched; it’s the stupid endorsement he’s not quite willing to let go of yet. He does divulge the proximity of Violet’s new apartment, giving me a general location to work from.

  Desperate for any kind of contact, I check her Facebook profile. She’s blocked me there, too, so I try Butterson’s page. New pics of him with Violet toasting beers and packing boxes highlight his Facebook profile. In the background, the stuffed beaver I gave her hangs from a ceiling fan with a makeshift noose tied around his neck. Angry at myself and my situation, I tear into a bag of Cheetos and inhale the entire thing while I wait for Janette to pick me up for the interview. She won’t let me go on my own, concerned I’m going to self-sabotage. By the time she arrives I’ve eaten my way through the whole bag, and I’ve used my shirt as a napkin. It’s in this state that I open the door.

  Janette’s smile slides off her face. “You’re supposed to be ready to leave.”

  “I should fix my hair?” I run a hand through it. If feels greasy.

  She pushes past me, her heels clicking on the tile floor, and heads for the stairs.

  “Where are you going?”

  She stops halfway up and motions to the ceiling. “I assume your bedroom is this way.”

  “Uhhh . . . yeah?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You can’t go to an interview like this.”

  I glance at my stained shirt. She has a point. My bedroom’s a mess. I haven’t let my housekeeper in to clean since the last time Violet stayed over.

  Janette makes a face at the sight, or possibly the smell. It’s ripe in here. “Why are boys so disgusting? Get in the shower.” When I don’t move right away, she prods me toward the bathroom. “I’m interested in getting you your girl back so you don’t screw up the playoffs and ruin all your endorsement opportunities. You need to look and smell less pathetic.”

  “I don’t care about the endorsement opportunities.”

  “That’s fine. You don’t have to. However, it’s my job to care about them, so get your ass in there.”

  I shower while she scours my closet for appropriate attire. Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and ready to head to the news studio.

  She inspects me as she would a side of beef.

  “Don’t look at my beard. It’s playoffs.” I stroke it affectionately.

  “You look like a homeless man in expensive clothes. It should work in our favor.” Janette ushers me out the door. She hands me a folder once we’re in the car, heading to the studio. “These are the questions they’re going to ask. You will not be evasive.”

  I leaf through the sheet of questions. “These are pretty personal.”

  “That’s the point, Alex. You’ve spent the last seven years acting like a womanizing asshole in the eyes of the media for no good reason I can see. You want Violet back in your life?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  “More than you want the endorsements?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you need to show her you’re not a total dick. To do that, you have to be honest for once.”

  I nod and review the questions. I’ve barely finished reading them when she grabs the sheet from my hand, balls it up, and tosses it on the floor by her feet.

  “What are you doing? I haven’t memorized them yet.”

  “I don’t want you to memorize them, and I don’t want stock answers. You need to speak from the heart. How do you feel about Violet?”

  “I love her.”

  “Then make sure she knows it by the time you’ve finished this interview. Oh, and there will be a print version coming out next week with the interview as well. We want to cover all the bases.” She pats my cheek. I hope I don’t fuck this up, too.

  We avoid the reporters lining the street outside the studio. Never in my life has the media paid so much attention to me as they have in the weeks since messing up with Violet. No one cares about the playoffs or how close we are to the Stanley Cup. All the media wants to hear about is why I broke Violet’s heart on national TV, because clearly we were in a relationship.

  Janette accompanies me to the green room. She shoos away the makeup people. “You look like hell, I want to keep it that way.”

  I assume she knows what she’s doing, so I don’t argue.

  “How do you feel?” Janette adjusts the collar of my shirt and tries to smooth my hair.

  “Like I’m going to puke.”

  She puts her hands on my shoulders. “You can do this, Alex. Just be honest. You’re an absolute doll. Show the drama-loving public you’re not a jerk.”

  “Okay.” She pats me on the back and sends me out into the jaws of the interview shark, Angelica Chase.

  The questions start out easy enough. They’re pretty standard and revolve around the playoffs and the potential to compete for the Stanley Cup. I give the humble answers I’m used to providing.

  Eventually Angelica, moves on to questions surrounding my fight with Butterson and the rumors that he’s dating my sister. They’re meant to provoke, as Sunny and Butterson have made no attempt to hide their relationship. I know she’s going to bring up Violet next; it’s always the perfect segue.

  “Over the past several months you’ve been seen with your teammate, Buck Butterson’s stepsister. Recently you intimated you were just friends. Your comment seemed to incite animosity between you and Buck. Would you care to discuss some of the rumors floating around about you?”

  I look to Janette, standing in the wings. She nods, and I take a deep breath, ready to spill it.

  “Violet and I have never been just friends.”

  “Mmm.” She nods her agreement. “Media coverage certainly suggests there’s more going on between you than friendship. So you lied in your previous interview?”

  I wipe my damp palms on my thighs. This is it. I need to come clean if I have a hope in hell of winning Violet back. “I did. It was a terrible mistake. It cost me my relationship with Violet.”

  “And why would you lie about your relationship?”

  “Because I’m an asshole.” Janette gives me her death stare from the wings. I’m not doing well so far. “Sorry. I mean a jerk.”

  “It’s fine, we can cut that out.” Angelica relaxes in her chair. “Would you care to elaborate?”

  “I’m not used to being forthcoming in interviews, not where my personal life is concerned.”

  “You’ve certainly never seemed to mind the media attention before.”

  I nod. This honesty thing isn’t as simple as I thought it would be. “I’ve always assumed publicity, no matter what form it comes in, is positive, even if it makes me look like a player an
d a jerk. Recently, I allowed some endorsement opportunities to cloud my judgement.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.” Angelica slow blinks. “You’re saying you lied in order to secure an endorsement?”

  I reach for the glass on the table and take a long drink, working to formulate a response that isn’t going to dig me into a deeper hole.

  “We all have goals. There were questions about whether or not I’d be able to handle the demands of NHL hockey when I was drafted. I had to prove myself as a valuable player. I didn’t get this far without working for it, so when the endorsement I’ve been striving for became a possibility, I listened to some bad advice without considering how it would affect the people I care about.”

  “Are you referring to Beautiful People’s Bachelor of the Year shortlist? Word has it you’re expected to be in the top ten. Are there others?”

  “I can’t talk about them. They’re hardly worth it if it means I lose the person I love, though, are they?” I look at Janette in the wings, concerned I’ve said the wrong thing. She smiles encouragingly, so I focus my attention on Angelica.

  “So you’re saying you love her? Violet Hall? Buck Butterson’s sister?”

  “Yeah. I’m in love with Violet.”

  She leans forward, lowering her voice, “Does she know that?”

  “She does now.”

  Angelica grins and settles back in her chair. “I assume your relationship with Violet has created tension between you and your teammates.”

  “We’re all trying to stay focused on the playoffs and the game, but yeah, it’s been difficult. I’m not proud of how I managed the situation, and this may be my only chance to tell Violet how I feel.”

  Angelica folds her hands under her chin. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she won’t talk to me.”

  “I see. This puts you in quite the quandary, doesn’t it?”

  “It does.”

  “What’s so special about Violet that she’s made you want to change?”

  I frown, unsure what she means. “Change?”