Prince Pucking Charming

by Quinn, Jillian

  Lila bites her cheek. “How am I going to survive this?”

  How do I make this better for her? Words mean nothing. I can say I’m sorry all I want, but it doesn’t change the fact she is the highlight of the Internet. Our articles are trending on Google, which means it won’t be long until Max reads them. She’ll see the videos and hate me, too.

  “We’ll do it together,” I promise.

  My cell phone cuts through the silence. The damn thing hasn’t stopped ringing since I hung up with Austin. Lila glances over at it, and her nostrils flare. She has every right to be angry.

  “Answer it,” she growls.

  “The only person I want to talk to is standing in front of me.”

  She shakes her head, and her hair falls in front of her eyes. I let the phone ring again, not giving a shit about the calls and texts rolling in, one after another. What’s the point? I bet it’s my dad or Kat or even my coach calling to yell at me. That’s all they ever do anymore. I guess I deserve it.

  Thankfully, Austin hit me up first. He softened the blow. Much like Lila, Austin has a way of calming me down.

  Lila’s cell phone rings next, and the room fills with a familiar ringtone we both recognize.

  “Shit,” she mutters. “It’s Max. What am I supposed to tell her?”

  I have no idea what to say. What would I tell my child if I were in her position?

  Without waiting for my response, she answers the call. “Hey, baby.” She sighs. “Max, I know. You can’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”

  Lila wraps a silky robe around her naked body and ties the belt around her waist. She swats a fallen tear from her cheek. I wish I knew the right thing to say to make her feel better.

  She turns her back to me, and for the first time since we started dating, she gives me the cold shoulder. Lila walks out of the bedroom, and chills roll down my spine. I slump to the mattress, knowing I have to give her space. I need plenty of it when I’m in rage mode. Everyone knows to let me seethe on my own.

  My cell phone rings again, and this time, I pick it up.

  “Tom,” I say to the general manager of my team.

  “My office,” he yells. “Now! And bring Dr. Devine with you.”

  “Don’t take this out on her,” I plead. “This is my fault.”

  “I’m sure it is. I warned you. I told you this was your last shot.”

  “Do whatever you want to me. Don’t take this out on Lila.”

  “Save it, Duke,” he snaps. “You have one hour. Get your ass over here.”

  I throw the phone against the wall, and it breaks into pieces that scatter across the room. Fuck. I haven’t lost my anger like this in months. As I collect the remnants of the phone, Lila enters the bedroom.

  “What have you done, Duke?”

  She rushes into the room and lifts a picture frame from the floor. I didn’t even notice it fell. Lila clutches it against her chest and cries.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She stares down at the picture in the broken frame. “Why do you have to act like this?”

  “You tell me, Doc. You’re the expert.”

  Her bottom lip quivers, and when she looks up at me, her mouth twists into disgust. “Get out! Just go! I need to be alone.”

  “You’re mad about a picture frame?”

  “Yes, you idiot!” She shows me the broken glass that has a picture of her with her mom inside it. “This is the last picture we took together. Just go, Duke. I can’t do this right now. I thought you were getting better. I thought I was helping you.”

  “You were… You are… Lila, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to throw my phone. I just got so—”

  “Angry,” she finishes. “Yeah, so much for your anger management working.”

  “It is working,” I challenge. “People don’t change overnight.”

  She bends down to gather the remaining pieces of glass. “Why do you have to break everything?”

  “I’ll buy you another frame.”

  She snorts. “This frame can’t be replaced.”

  “I’m sorry, Lila.” I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “I fuck everything up.”

  “That does seem to be your forte,” she says with an attitude.

  I won’t argue with her, not when I know she’s right about everything.

  “We have to leave soon. Tom called. He wants to see both of us in his office in an hour.”

  She pushes herself up from the floor with a groan and then slams the bathroom door behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Delilah

  We drive to the Capital One Arena in silence. Duke seemed to take the hint that I don’t want to talk after I slammed the bathroom door. This is the first time I’ve shut him out. But after hearing the pain in Max’s voice, I can’t think straight. She was so upset about the horrible things people are saying about me.

  I knew my relationship with Duke could end badly for me. I knew it was unethical to date a patient, and I did it anyway. I set a bad example for my daughter.

  A local radio host mentions Duke. I turn up the volume, and Duke turns it down from his steering wheel. Our eyes meet, and I glare at him. I don’t hate him. In fact, I think I love him. Unfortunately, I’ve learned over the years that love hurts. It especially hurts to love Duke Baldwin. My heart aches when I look into his sad, blue eyes. I know he’s sorry, even though this is not all his fault. We both entered into this relationship, understanding the possibilities. I, more than him, knew the risks we were taking.

  “I want to hear it,” I say.

  “No, you don’t,” Duke growls. “Trust me. It’s never good.”

  Once we’re inside the building, we’re ushered to Tom’s office. He sits behind a long mahogany desk, his jaw set like stone. Tom throws out his hand, motioning for us to sit. My legs tremble as I enter the room with Duke. I consider grabbing his arm to keep me from crashing to the floor and stop myself. I’ve gone through worse in my life. From my mother’s death to the end of my marriage, I have endured plenty of pain over the years. But this feels different. Everything with Duke is different from before.

  “Care to explain the nature of your relationship?” Tom crosses his arms over his chest, his lip curved up into a snarl. “I’ve read dozens of articles today, but I’d rather get the story from both of you.”

  “This is my fault,” Duke says.

  “No, it’s mine,” I interject. “I should have put an end to it.”

  Duke looks at me, his eyes wide and glassy, like a little boy who just found out there’s no Santa. “Lila, c’mon…”

  “Duke, no. Don’t try to defend me. I’m your doctor, and as my patient, I had a responsibility to you.”

  “You did,” Tom says in a firm tone, “and as of today, you no longer work for the team. Your actions have violated the ethics clause in your contract.”

  I bite back the wave of nausea sweeping over me, and the tears that I’m desperately fighting to keep at bay.

  “Tom, don’t do this to her,” Duke growls. “It’s my fault. I pushed things too far. Blame me. Trade me. But don’t take Lila’s job away from her.”

  Tom folds his hands on his desk, studying Duke’s face with an unreadable expression. “You have a habit of screwing things up, Baldwin. You had a good thing going here. This little arrangement your dad suggested was your last chance. I warned you what would happen if you screwed this up.”

  “Can you afford to lose me?” Duke glares across the desk at him. “Can the team? They’ve been playing like shit since my suspension.”

  “We’ll make the playoffs,” he challenges.

  “We will,” Duke agrees, pressing his palms to his thighs as he leans forward, his eyes fixed on the team manager. “But they won’t get far without me. You need me. The team needs me.”

  “Your attitude has been a problem for years,” he says with a nasty look crossing his face. “I don’t want to see you go. But don’t you dare fucking tell me what this
team needs.” His voice raises several octaves, sending a shiver down my arms.

  I grip Duke’s arm, though his biceps are far too thick for me to wrap my fingers around. Duke’s head snaps in my direction. When our eyes meet, I issue a silent warning. He can fly off the handle and prove he’s the same person, or he can make a choice and show Tom that he’s changed. I yelled at him earlier, because I was upset about my family heirloom.

  I was angry that he broke his phone, falling back into his old ways. It only made me feel worse. Like nothing I’ve said or done over the past few months has helped him. But deep down inside, I know I have gotten through to him.

  But what happens to Duke when I’m not around? Will he go back to his old ways? I don’t want to think about the impact it will have on his life, on both of our lives.

  “You have three weeks left on your suspension,” Tom says to Duke. “Coach Marshall wants you back on the ice with the team for practice.”

  Duke grins like a fool. Men like him always win.

  As I expected, Duke gets a slap on the wrist, while I lose everything. It’s a lot easier to be mad at someone else when you’re the one to blame. I’m an adult. I knew what I was doing was wrong, and I did it anyway. So, now I have to suffer the consequences.

  “Would you excuse us, Dr. Devine?” Tom tips his head toward the door.

  Ashamed, I can’t even look Tom in the eye.

  Duke touches my arm. “Wait for me, okay?”

  I nod, because how else will I get home? He drove me here.

  When I was in college, I was already married to Ted. I never did a walk of shame out of the dorms or a frat house. Hell, I never even did anything slutty. And as I leave Tom’s office, I imagine the gut-wrenching, soul-crushing feeling I’m experiencing now would have come pretty close.

  * * *

  An hour later, I climb into Duke’s SUV, and for the first time, he doesn’t slap my ass to help me into my seat. Not that I want him to touch me right now. We have a lot to talk about, a lot for me to think about. Duke slides into his seat and turns on the engine. He stares out the window with a blank expression on his face. Since we walked into Tom’s office, Duke looks like he’s aged five years.

  “We’re breaking up, aren’t we?” Duke’s deep voice cuts the silence.

  “For now,” I say, my voice trembling. “I need to think about everything. About how much I screwed up.”

  Duke leans back in his seat and shoves his hands through his hair with a frustrated groan. “I wish I could say that I regret pushing you to date me. I wish I could say that I would take it all back. But I meant what I said earlier. I love you, Lila. I’ve never been in love with a woman before. And I don’t know what to do or say that will make this better. I wish I had the answers. I wish I could do something that doesn’t make me feel so useless. But please… I need you.” A single tear falls from his eye when he locks on to me. “I can’t lose you.”

  “Don’t make this any harder, Duke.” I wipe the tears falling from my eyes away. “Give me some time to think. I just lost my job, and I’m sick to my stomach over it. I want to crawl under a rock and hide.” I cover my face with my hands. “I still have to pick up Max from her dad’s house and explain to her why her mom is all over the Internet. Why her mom is in pictures and videos on every major social media platform and news outlet. She was crying when I talked to her. She doesn’t understand why everyone is trashing me.”

  Duke grabs my wrist, and when he kisses my hand, his tears wet my skin. “I’m sorry, Lila,” he whispers. “I’m sorry…”

  There’s nothing else to say, no way for either of us to make this right.

  “Can you take me home?” I say after a long silence passes between us. “Max is expecting me, and I have a lot of explaining to do.”

  Duke drops my hand and wipes the corner of his eye. He blows out a deep breath and moves the shifter into drive. I study every one of his features, committing Duke to memory, because I want to remember him, unsure if we still have a future.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Duke

  Two weeks have passed since I last spoke to Lila. She hasn’t made any contact, and as promised, I have kept my distance. Every two seconds, I consider texting or calling her. For most of my waking hours, I think about her. I wonder what she’s doing, how’s she coping without me. I wonder what Max is up to and how she’s playing.

  Several times, I drove to the rink and considered breaking Lila’s no-contact rules. I would do anything to be near Lila for a second. Anything to see her one more time. Anything to hang out with Mad Max. I miss that kid. If it hadn’t been for Max, I never would have opened with Lila. Max struck a chord with me, reminding me of Kat and what my life was once like. Their absence in my life is like a knife to the chest.

  With each week that passes, I feel the rage brewing at the surface. Lila is the cure to my anger addiction, the only person who makes me feel normal. Without her in my life, I feel myself slowly falling into old patterns. I broke another cell phone last week, which makes the one in my hand the twelfth phone I've owned in one year.

  I can’t function without her. The only thing that keeps me going is the little bit of time I spend with my team. I was allowed to practice with the team on Monday. It felt good to get back on the ice with my guys. They’re the only good thing I have left, or at least that’s how it feels. For years, I was afraid of love because I was afraid to lose it. Now that I have, I can see why my dad fell apart. I understand how he felt, even though I would never turn my back on my children. At least now it makes sense to me.

  I flip through Twitter—because I’m a masochist. I have hundreds of notifications and more messages than I can count. I skip the direct messages. They’re usually from women who want to fuck, crazy fanboys, or haters. I hate social media. We’re not required to have social media accounts, but my publicist did encourage it. She said it was good for my image to maintain contact with fans. Easy for her to say. She’s not the one getting messages with attachments of dicks, tits, and all sorts of fucked up shit.

  What the hell is wrong with people? If you wouldn’t send this shit to your friend, then you shouldn’t send it to a complete stranger. Everyone acts like they know me because they watch me on television. No one knows me, not like Lila does. Fuck, I miss her so damn much.

  Fire courses through my veins as I scroll through the tweets about Lila. I’m thankful she only has a Facebook account filled with pictures of Max. If she saw any of these tweets, it would devastate her. I know it would because it’s killing me. My heart pounds at an insane rate, my pulse so quick my head spins. I blow out a deep breath. I would love for these assholes to say this shit to my face. I’d put them six feet under.

  People are still talking about us, even though we’re not together. I thought this would blow over by now. The Caps are used to scandals. Alex Parker’s trade a few years ago was the talk of the town. It took a while for our team to rebound after he left. Losing one of our best defensemen was hard on all of us. The sex tape he unintentionally made with the team owner’s granddaughter was dubbed Puck of Shame by the media. It will take years for both of them to live that video down.

  But what surprises me most about my situation is that people in this city still care that I was with my therapist. This is D.C. They have enough shit to gossip about. Like politicians caught in the act with hookers and government officials taking bribes. So, why is my relationship with Lila still the topic of conversation among the locals?

  I type a few nasty responses back to some asshole on Twitter. He’s a fucking Flyers fan, go figure. Their fans still haven’t let me forget about smashing in Dean’s face. Will I ever get some distance from the mistakes of my past? Every time I open an app on my phone, I’m greeted with another reminder of all of the shit I fucked up.

  I love interacting with fans, but this dude is a fucking jerk off. He knows exactly how to get under my skin. Someone used the pictures of Lila and me to turn them into GIFs. There are hund
reds of animated images of me online. I’m used to hockey fans recirculating my fights and knockouts on social media. The YouTube videos of my fight with Dean have been watched over five million times.

  But Lila didn’t sign up for this.

  She didn’t ask for this unwanted fame.

  Marcel knocks on my bedroom door and then pokes his head inside. “Everything okay in here?”

  “Just dealing with these assholes on Twitter,” I say through gritted teeth, squeezing the phone until it makes my hand hurt. “They won’t give up.”

  He strolls into my room and plops down on the bed with me.

  I hand him my phone. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

  Marcel sighs and gives the phone back to me. “No, she doesn’t. But you can’t stop it. You can’t throw money at this.”

  “These people need to get a life.” As if programmed into my muscle memory, I raise my arm to throw the phone, and Marcel grabs my wrist.

  “Don’t do it, Duke.”

  I take a deep breath and lower my arm. “Thanks.”

  He taps me on the back. “You’ll get her back,” he says after a long pause. “She’s probably just waiting it out.”

  “Yeah. But I need to fix this now. I don’t want to sit on my ass, waiting for something to happen.”

  “Then, take action,” he challenges. “Go get your girl back.”

  “She lost her contract with the team because of me. I can’t get it back for her. I’ve already tried.”

  “Maybe you need to go above Tom’s head.”

  “No way. I need someone with connections.”

  “Your dad has plenty,” he points out.

  I shake my head. “He doesn’t have enough.”