Pucked Love (Pucked 6)

Violet’s mid-sip, so she spit-sprays ginger ale all over her mother’s face and also gets my cheek. “What?”

Skye wraps her arm around Violet’s shoulder. “I was almost five months along before I realized I was pregnant. In hindsight, I should’ve figured it out sooner, but sometimes things happen for a reason. I had zero interest in that hockey player, so I raised you on my own until I met Sidney and we fell in love.”

“My dad was a professional hockey player?” Violet asks.

“He was. Not a very good one, mind you, but a hockey player nonetheless.”

“I can’t believe this is the first time I’m hearing this! Why didn’t you tell me before now? I always thought he was some random.”

Skye gives Violet a patient smile. “He was a random, honey.”

“Does this random have a name?”

“Of course he does.”

“Do you remember it?”

Skye makes a face. “Well, yes.”

Violet arches a brow. “Care to share?”

Skye sighs, maybe realizing she’s not going to get out of this. “His name is Dick, which is kind of ironic really, considering his was so small and all.”

“My father’s name is Dick?” Violet looks unimpressed.

“Sidney is your father, Violet. He gave you away at your wedding. I think that trumps being a sperm donor.”

“Agreed, but still—even if Dick is a dickless dick, he’s my biological father, and I think I have a right to know who he is, Especially since he’s contributed half of my DNA, and I’m pregnant, and who knows what effect his genetic bullshit will have on this kid.” She motions to her stomach, eyes wide with horror. “What if we have a boy and he has a tiny little penis?”

“You’re almost exactly like me, and nothing like your biological dad. I’m sure Alex’s DNA will win out in this case.”

“Still, it’d be good to know. Does dickless Dick have a last name?”

“Of course.” Skye grimaces and mutters something.

“What was that?”

“His last name is Head.”

Violet blinks. And blinks again. “Come again?”

“Head. His last name is Head.”

“My dad’s name is Dick Head?”

“Technically it’s Richard, but yes.” Skye takes a healthy gulp of her drink. “Maybe we should talk about this later.”

“Richard Head? And he played for North Carolina?”

“Yes, honey. Are you okay? You’re really pale.” Skye gives me a worried look.

“Maybe you should sit down.” I put a hand on Violet’s shoulder and urge her to the closest stool. Something about this conversation is very familiar, and I can’t place why that is.

Lily appears, having returned from the bathroom. “Is everything okay? What’s wrong with Violet?”

“Skye just told her who her birth father is.”

“What?” Lily’s eyes go wide.

“She’s pretty drunk,” I say.

Lily frowns. “I thought Violet was pregnant.”

“Oh, Violet’s not drunk, Skye is.”

“And I thought Butterson was a bad last name.” Violet shakes her head. “I guess Head isn’t the worst, unless you name your kid Richard, and even then, you could go by Rich, or Richie, Why go by Dick?” She looks like she’s hovering between shock and horror. “You’re just setting yourself up for a world of ridicule. What kind of person, other than a dickhead, goes by the name Dick Head? My fucking father, that’s who.”

Lily grabs her shoulders. “What did you just say?”

“My sperm donor’s name is Richard Head, but he goes by Dick. Seriously, he must be the biggest asshole in the history of the world with a sad, tiny dick,” Violet replies.

And then I remember why this conversation is so damn familiar; two New Year’s ago, before Randy and Lily were super serious, we talked about Lily’s biological father, and Violet couldn’t get over his stupid name.

Both Violet and Lily’s eyes go wide. “Oh my God!” they say in unison.

“Your bio dad’s name is Richard Head?” Lily asks.

“And your deadbeat dad’s name is Richard Head,” Violet replies. “Did he play for North Carolina?”

Lily nods slowly.

“What are the chances . . .” Violet trails off. “Holy shit. Does this mean you’re my half-sister?”DARREN

I’m not sure if the cost of winning this game will be worth it. The only thing that’s going to make me feel better is Charlene. I want to put the lid on her jar and never let her go.

I realize, very clearly, that I’m in a terrible frame of mind. I’ve kept her on edge all day and probably shouldn’t have since she was already there to begin with. I’m also aware that having done this to her is fucked up, but it seemed better than telling her things she’s not ready to hear, especially when I’m not sure if I’m ready to say them.

Alex is quiet and in a shit mood as we make our way to the bar. He’s not angry that we won the game; it’s how we won that he’s upset about. It’s not jealousy, it’s bigger than that. It’s about his worth to the team. It’s the position he feels he’s putting me in. It’s knowing that my chances of being pulled in the expansion draft get higher the more I pick up the slack he can’t manage. It’s the nine-million-dollar-a-year salary he doesn’t think he’s worth anymore.