Pucked Love (Pucked 6)

I almost always have one with my tea right before I go to bed when I’m at home. I can still sleep like the dead—the flaily dead—even with all my afternoon naps.

I drop my hand from my mouth. “I’m a pothead.”

“There are a lot worse things to be.”

“I’ve been carrying those around with me everywhere. I’ve taken them on planes, Darren! Oh my God, what if I’d been arrested? My mother is my dealer!”

Then it dawns on me that Darren had one in his mouth. “Shit. Now you have weed in your system! What if you test positive at the next drug test?”

“It’s off season. There aren’t any mandatory tests anytime soon, and I had, like, three sucks of a candy.”

A little of the unease dissipates, but it fires right back up. “What if I’d offered them to Sunny and Violet? They’re both pregnant!”

“You haven’t given them any, have you? Or any of the guys?”

“Well, no, my mom said it was best not to share them, but I could’ve ignored her, and then I’d be feeding a baby weed, or ruining NHL careers!” I’m starting to feel lightheaded even though I’m sitting down. “I need to get rid of them!”

“Whoa.” Darren grabs my arm before I can reach the bowl of candies. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to throw those out.”

“Well, I can’t keep them now that I know what they are!”

Darren pulls me back into his lap. “Calm down, firefly.”

“I don’t think I can.” Shit. I’m at risk of hyperventilating. And all I want to do is simultaneously eat all of those candies and flush them down the toilet.

He kisses me softly. “Take a deep breath and listen to me, okay, Charlene?”

I nod and do as he asks, sucking in as much oxygen as my lungs will allow, then breathing my weed-candy breath in his face.

“You said you’ve been eating those as long as you can remember?”

“Since I was a teenager, I guess?”

He tucks a few hairs behind my ear, tracing the shell with his fingertips. They’re softer than usual because he’s not training as hard.

“So you’ve been eating these every single day for the past decade?”

He picks up the discarded candy from the coffee table. Peeling it off the wrapper, he holds it to my lips. “I think you should eat this.”

My mouth waters in anticipation. “Oh, God. I’m an addict.”

“It’s just weed, Charlene. It’s not like you’ve been shooting heroin your entire life, but I wouldn’t suggest quitting cold turkey. It might be a good idea to cut down a little, though.” He taps my lips, and I open my mouth, allowing him to pop the candy back in.

I feel instantly better, which I realize is not possible.

“Okay, so tell me about these candies. Your mother’s been making them since you were a teenager?” Darren rearranges me so I’m straddling his lap, facing him.

I think back to when it all started. “Earlier than that. When we were at The Ranch, we grew all our own food. We had greenhouses, and there were some I wasn’t allowed in, but I caught a few glimpses here and there. Harvest time was always busy. My mom would be gone all day and sometimes late at night. Then they’d make candies and box them all up, and trucks would come and take them away. Jesus . . .” I pause for a moment, remembering very clearly the night we escaped. “When we left the compound, my mom had a car waiting for us, and we had three backpacks—two of them filled with candies and some money, and the other had my stuff. That’s how we survived until she found a job.”

“That was pretty resourceful and a lot fucked up.”

“This is crazy.” I can’t believe I’ve been eating weed candies for years and didn’t know it, and that my mom failed to mention it.

“Do you think they’re still making those candies?” Darren asks.

“Yes. Definitely. There was a box of them on my front porch on my birthday. I thought it was a birthday present from you, so I left them on my counter and finally opened them the other day. I was going to throw them away on garbage day because there’s no way I’d ever eat anything from The Ranch, but I haven’t had a chance yet. Let me get them.”

I find them in the garage and bring them back to the living room. Darren opens the box and peeks inside. My mom’s candies have a tiny logo on the wrapper. I’d never thought anything of it until I note the letters stamped on these mint green wrappers. Darren unwraps a candy, inspecting it.

He looks up at me. “If I’m right about any of this, we might’ve found a way to get rid of Frank.”DARREN

When I look back on the night I met Charlene, I don’t think I ever would’ve pegged her for a pothead who was raised in a commune, but then people only let you see what they want you to, until they take their masks off.