Sin Shot

by Raine Miller

  Because I won’t make it out the other side in one piece if I do.

  Twenty-Six

  This is No Fairy Tale

  Pam

  As soon as he leaves, I fall to the floor in a sobbing heap. That is one of the worst things I have ever had to do. Telling him to go. Telling him it’s not real love. I hurt him. I hurt my Georg and sent him away.

  But I had to do it. Everything I said about my student loans and paying my mortgage—all of that was true and real, and I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t want someone else to take care of me. I have to establish myself on my own terms. I don’t know another way to be.

  I’m so angry at myself. For allowing myself to cross a professional boundary. For losing myself in this man. I’ve never let things go so far before. Why did I do it this time?

  Because this time was different.

  This time you fell in love.

  I tearfully gather up the pink and purple bouquet now scattered on my steps and bring them inside to the sink. I arrange the unbroken stems in a vase, through a veritable river of tears, while reliving the words from Georg that hurt the most: I can take care of you, and we can even get married if you wanted. He can’t have possibly meant it that way. There’s just no way Georg Kolochev wants to marry me or anyone else, even if he did offer it as a solution in a moment of rejection. I saw the hurt in his eyes. I put it there.

  Much later, after my tears have stopped, and when I’m utterly exhausted from the emotional roller coaster I’ve been stuck on, I still can’t sleep. Instead I lie awake for what feels like hours.

  Staring up at the ceiling in the dark.

  Clinging to the idea that pushing away the man I love…was the right thing to do. Clinging to the lie that someday I’ll find love again.

  The following day I let Bud know that my relationship with Georg is officially over.

  “This really is for the best,” Bud says. “Staff and player relationships very rarely end well. There are reasons for our policies.”

  I bite my tongue to keep from asking why Evan and Holly were allowed to move forward with their relationship. It doesn’t matter. I’ve ended things with Georg, so it just doesn’t matter anymore.

  Dale and I start planning some conditioning clinics for the players in preparation for our expected trip to the cup series. The coaching staff wants the whole team to be as fit and strong as possible.

  I go to lunch with Dale so we can do some planning. After we order our food, he blows his straw wrapper into my lap from across the table.

  “What are you, ten?”

  “I’m flirting.” He grins widely, his attentions doing absolutely nothing to lighten my mood.

  “I’m not dating people at work. Focus on the task at hand.”

  “I’ll wear you down one of these days,” he promises.

  “Yes, just the way I want to get a date. By wearing me down.” I roll my eyes. “You need to mature your methods of wooing women, dude.”

  He chuckles at this and switches the subject back to our strength and conditioning clinics. He is fun to collaborate with, no doubt. We work really well together, and while he’s attractive, he just isn’t my type.

  The worst strike against Dale is that he isn’t Georg.

  No other man is Georg.

  Later in the week, I watch an away game on television with Scarlett. Holly is back to work, and back to traveling with the team to manage their social media from the ground. She wears the baby in a little carrier the whole time, and it’s super cute. The press loves her as much as they love Evan, and every chance they get they put the camera on Evan’s little family in the stands. It makes me so happy for my friend. She looks so confident and happy.

  But it makes me sad for myself. Because she got her fairy-tale ending and I got told, under no uncertain terms, that I would no longer have a job if I continued a relationship with Georg.

  The team is playing well. Georg is being uncharacteristically aggressive on the ice, but it’s working, and in the third period, the Crush is winning by two goals.

  “He doesn’t look very happy out there,” Scarlett comments as she picks her way through a bowl of popcorn.

  “I wouldn’t know,” I say sourly.

  “Why not?” she asks, concerned. I’ve forgotten that we haven’t talked about any of this. I’ve only talked about it with Holly. “I thought things were progressing with you two.”

  “I was told by management that it was Georg or my job.”

  “Oh no.” Her mouth goes wide. “But Holly and Evan—“

  “I know,” I say, putting my hand up. “They don’t view Georg as a settling-down guy. They view me as some dumb woman who fell into the trap of a playboy…blah, blah, blah. It’s ridiculous, but there you have it.”

  “Well that really sucks. If it were me, I’d quit. I’d quit and go get a job somewhere else and keep seeing him. I mean, you’re a physical therapist. And a damn good one. You can get a job anywhere.”

  “But I really want to work in sports. And I love hockey. And I love this team.”

  “And you love Georg.” Scarlett gives me a look that dares me to challenge her assessment. “This is Vegas. There are all kinds of performers—dancers and acrobats and gymnasts—and they get hurt. And there’s arena football and soccer, too. There is plenty to do if you want to treat athletes. It doesn’t have to be here.”

  “I can’t believe you’re telling me to quit my job.”

  “And I can’t believe you’re letting a great guy go just because of a job. A job is a job, Pam. It pays the bills. And yes, it’s good if you enjoy it, but you can enjoy working somewhere else. But there is only one Georg Kolochev.” She shakes her head at me slowly. “If you love him and he loves you then it’s just stupid that you’re not together.”

  “You make it all sound so simple.”

  “I know it’s not simple,” she says sharply. “I’m not naïve. But I lost someone I cared about and while we didn’t have a perfect relationship, it still hurt like hell when he died. And I don’t know if I’ll ever fall in love again. So, all I’m saying is that it’s worth it to hold on to it when you find it.”

  “I pushed him away, though. I hurt him and I told him I didn’t need him. He probably hates me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you,” Scarlett says. “Look at him. He’s hurt. He’s angry. But you don’t feel that way unless there’s love there, too.”

  “Maybe so, but I can’t just be like, oh, I’ll quit my job. Take me back. And what’s more, I don’t want to quit my job. I want both. Why is that too much to ask?”

  “I don’t think it is,” Scarlett says with a soft shake of her head. “And if anyone is sassy enough to make that happen, it’s you.”

  I hug her and thank her for the support, but it’s really so much more than that. Scarlett has given me a thread of hope. It might be a very thin thread, but it’s there.

  I think about what Scarlett said for a couple of days.

  And then it comes to me when I’m lying in my bed at night wide awake and miserable, missing the man I love because I sent him away. I sent away a beautiful man who loves me.

  Dumb.

  So very dumb.

  I have absolutely no excuse for doing it either, other than the heavy anchor of fear that’s trying to drag me to the bottom. I let my fear win the day I told Georg we had to break up. But I’m done with fear ruling my life’s decisions.

  I am so done with that. Fear ruled my life for two incredibly unspeakable years. It eroded my confidence. It destroyed my innocence. It nearly destroyed me. But I don’t have to let fear rule my life now. What was absent in those years was love. Unconditional, patient, unselfish love. “If you love him and he loves you, then it’s just stupid that you’re not together.”

  I’m done being stupid. It’s time to get my fight on.

  And I know exactly what I must do.

  Twenty-Seven

  Some Bunny Loves You

  Georg

  The Cu
p.

  We have home advantage to start out the series, but the DC team is on fire this season. They’re having the season we had last year and it’s only Vegas luck that has us squaring up against them for this final playoff series.

  In games one and two, we played well, winning both games in the desert at the best-of-seven cup series. In the games directly after Pamela threw us away, I played like a rookie. Tight, aggressive, total chip on my shoulder. I didn’t play badly, but I definitely wasn’t a star. It says a lot that it was hotheaded Tyler and hotheaded Mikhail who pulled me aside and told me I was going to get injured again if I didn’t get my head in the right place.

  Evan told me not to squander the good deal Scott worked out for me by getting injured again. Another concussion could be a career-ender, and that seemed like a big waste to him.

  They’re right, of course, but I’m having a hard time channeling my anger over this fucked-up situation with Pam. I started down the hallway one day, determined to get her back, to make her listen to me—but I stopped myself before I got to the door of the therapy room. Instead, I drove all the way out to visit Ned at his rehab facility. Poor old Ned. He’d lost weight and looked good, wide-eyed. But he said it’s been a hard road, finding sobriety and rebuilding his relationship with his family.

  The visit helped me focus on my own sobriety, my own career goals…even if that meant I must do it without Pam. Her choice not to be with me is something beyond my control. My career and my life choices are within my control. I feel like fucking shit on the inside, but I can still do my job and do it well, and that’s something.

  So, when I went back out on that ice, I was a machine. Or, even better, part of a very well-oiled machine. Because Viktor, Tyler, and I have really meshed well on defense, and we just stopped allowing goals. There wasn’t one goal scored on our line in the final six games of the regular season.

  Now we’re in DC for game three, playing against a rowdy, noisy, opposing crowd that wants nothing more than to see our championship restricted to one year.

  The crowd is deafening as we head out into the second period, owning a 1–0 score. I take a look around and can’t believe how many people they’ve crammed into the arena here. Looking up into the owner’s box, I see Holly and the baby with Max Terry at their side. They all wave and I raise my hand, only to realize they’re actually waving at Evan, who skates up beside me. I catch the rear view of a blonde and my hopes soar, but she turns and it’s not Pam. I shove my mouth guard in and skate into position, allowing the frustration to fuel me.

  We play well, holding off a flurry of shots on goal, but in the last few moments of the period, Viktor gets distracted and the puck slips by our goalie, allowing the red-and-white to score. The next shot they take is deflected by Tyler, who puts a little too much chine on it, resulting in an icing call. It’s a stupid mistake, one that results in a faceoff and another score for the home team.

  Evan gives us a “get your fuckin’ heads in the game” speech during the break, and as we head out into the third period, I can tell our energy is just not in the right place. We fight and fight but they score once more. Despite Evan going full hockey-hulk mode we can only get one more in, and we end it in a loss.

  We lose the fourth game as well, mainly because Tyler starts not one, not two, but three fights that put us on the losing end of a power play. Coming out tied in the series, Coach Brown threatens to bench him for the rest of the playoffs if he doesn’t get his temper “under fucking control.”

  After the game, a few guys ask me to head out for drinks. I could use one, but I haven’t had a single drink since the series started. I’m determined to never have to check myself into rehab like Ned, so that means self-regulation.

  I go, but I get a club soda, and of course, the guys end up at a strip club. I pretend to be delighted by the attention of a very attractive dancer who makes it clear that she’d love to go into a private room with me.

  “I’d take her up on whatever she’s offering,” Tyler says in my ear. “She’s super hot.”

  “She is. I’m just hanging, though.”

  The fact is—she’s not Pam. No one is Pam, and I want Pam. I get out my phone. I type, “I miss you” into a text and then delete it.

  I end up going back to the hotel early, spending a restless night watching television.

  At noon the next day, there’s a knock on my door. When I open it, there’s a scantily clad playboy bunny holding a basket. She’s wearing the ears and silky butt-shorts and the little cotton tail. There’s little left to the imagination, her long, toned, tan body on full display.

  “Are you Georg Kolochev?” she asks in a high-pitched, girly voice.

  “I am.”

  She holds out the basket. It’s filled with bath items. “Some-bunny loves you,” she says as I take the basket, a surprised look surely splattered across my face.

  She walks off, leaving me holding this basket full of girly stuff like bubbles and body wash and loofahs. And she said “some-bunny” so, what the fuck does that even mean? Just a play on words because she’s a Playboy Bunny? Or is it from a puck bunny?

  Weird.

  I toss the basket onto the counter and go turn on the shower. The team bus will be departing for game five in a couple hours. Here’s hoping this weird start to the day doesn’t stick with me as we move onto a pivotal game.

  The whack-off session I intend to have in the shower will probably help some with the tension. But the only thing I can picture is Pam as I work my cock over in the palm of my hand beneath the spray of hot water and some soap… The two of us together at the ranch making love. Her first time having sex. How she looked as she came with me buried deep inside her. How generous she was with me. How trusting she was of me. I felt all those things. It was real.

  Her name slips off my tongue as I come.

  Twenty-Eight

  God Love a Feminist

  Pam

  “You sent him what?” Holly asks over the phone.

  “A basket full of all of the soaps and items we used at the B&B that night we said we were in love with each other,” I answer.

  “That’s very—umm, will he even know that’s what it is?”

  “I don’t know. It’s meant to be mysterious. I had it delivered by a Playboy Bunny.”

  “He’s not going to get that, Pammy. He’s not that smart. Sorry, friend.”

  I burst out laughing. “Well, he’s not dumb, and he put a lot of thought into that night, so I bet you he will get it. But I didn’t send a card or anything, so we’ll see. And there are other gifts, too, so he’ll see the pieces come together, and he’ll get it eventually.”

  “It’s weird.”

  “Shut. Up. Evan planned a big ice-skating outing to get your attention. It’s not that weird.”

  “Pam, he was trying to woo me. And get past the non-fraternization policy by pretending to teach me to skate.”

  “Well, I’m wooing Georg. So there.”

  “You’re already in love with each other. Just go tell him you were stupid and you want to get back together.”

  “Nope. I want to do the grand gesture. I need him to know I’m willing to put myself on the line for him. And he needs to feel it coming from me one hundred percent.”

  “Okay, fair enough. Well, speaking of which, how did your meeting go with Bud?”

  “It wasn’t just Bud,” I say. “I had Devon, Max Terry, and Patrick from HR in there. I explained that Georg and I met prior to my working for the Crush. I told him about the night of the fight with Viktor, and that we tried to ignore each other for the sake of the team’s policy. I shared that we were in love, and that I knew I could manage my relationship with him in a more private manner, but I was willing to leave the Crush organization if they were inflexible.”

  “And what did they say?” I can hear little Dany cooing in the background, and it melts my heart a little at the sweetness.

  “Devon said she felt that Georg’s focus on career and perso
nal health has been spurred on by his positive relationship with me. Max Terry said he wanted his players to be happy and healthy. He felt Georg was integral to the integrity of the team, so he wanted Georg to be happy off the ice as well.”

  “Well, it’s all good, right?” Holly asks hopefully. “Max was our saving grace, too.”

  “Yeah, that was all good, but HR said the biggest problem is we had sexual relations on the property. Patrick felt that alone was a dismissible offense. And he’s not wrong. But Devon pushed back and asked him if he would also fire Georg, or if it was a one-sided, sexist policy that would allow players to do whatever they wanted while staff took all the hit for it.”

  Holly snickers. “God love a feminist.”

  “Right? Anyway, they ended up agreeing that I was an asset to the therapy team, and made me promise that my relationship with Georg would in no way be played out at work. So I promised that, though I intend on it being very much a part of work if we make it to game seven.”

  “Oh boy,” Holly says. “I guess there’s still time to get fired, then?”

  “Most definitely.” But I’m smiling to myself this time, because I now know what I really want.

  Make that who I want.

  We finish up our conversation so she can get some pre-game work done while the baby naps. Me? I’m planning my next delivery.

  I’ve put a lot of thought into expressing how my feelings for Georg developed. It might seem quick. I mean, we’ve just been an on-and-off thing for a little less than a year. But each experience with Georg has chipped away at my heart, bit by bit. I’ve realized that while we’ve certainly had some seriously hot sexual moments together, our connection is so much deeper than that.