Denise slowly peels her head from my shoulder. “What happened in there?”
“Nothing. They asked me questions about what happened. Luckily, Charlotte told her brother that the guy has been in there all day drinking and leaving to go smoke or whatever. So they gave me a warning to stay out of trouble. It’ll blow over,” I say.
“I called Doug as soon as they took you away,” Denise says. “I didn’t know what was going to happen.”
“It’s fine. Doug was okay about it. My PR girl not so much,” I say, looking at the entrance to my loft and seeing that there aren’t any news vans there waiting, which is a good sign. “No news vans. Maybe she actually did her job instead of bitching,” I say to myself as I get out of the car. Steve parks in the visitor parking spot and they follow me inside.
“What do you mean?” Denise asks me.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say when I walk into the kitchen and grab a water bottle out of the fridge.
“It matters to me.” She gets on the stool in the kitchen.
“She started throwing my rap sheet in my face.” I shrug my shoulders. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.” I lean back on my counter, crossing my feet.
“You’ve never brushed it off before.” She points at me. “You usually rant and rave about it.”
I take off my cap, running my hands through my hair. “Maybe I’m maturing,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Maybe.” Denise eyes me and then turns to Steve. “You think you could drop me off at home?”
Steve just nods.
“I think I need to sleep for a week and then I might feel human again.” She gets off her stool and comes over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “You’re the good guy.” She leans up and kisses my cheek. “Don’t forget that.”
“Yeah, well, once you fuck up, it’s hard for people to see that good in you.”
“Hmm.” She grabs her bag and Steve guides her out.
I finish my bottle of water and grab my phone to see what mess I got myself into. When I see Twitter the hashtag throws me off #mykindaguy.
The team made an official statement, which I know is one that Allison had to type up. It is basically me as a knight in shining amour. It’s been retweeted over a thousand times, and the hashtag is now trending. I shake my head and check my email, seeing one from Allison. I scoff while reading it. Sorry my fucking ass. Only reason she’s sorry is that she isn’t right. I throw my phone down before I send her a simple fuck you email.
I’ve never cared if someone liked me, spoke about me, or thought I was a thug. I didn’t give a shit, but when she looked at me and threw my rap sheet at me without knowing, it burned all the way to my soul. I stood, ignoring her eyes or the look of disgust. The minute I saw Steve, I bounced. I didn’t give a shit. It’s been two days and she’s already getting on my last fucking nerve.
I peel off my shirt and toss it in the basket. I’m probably holding all this pent-up frustrations because I haven’t fucked in such a long time. That is what I need, to fuck. I grab my phone, knowing I can have someone here in ten minutes, but the sane part of my brain tells me to put the phone down and fuck it. I toss my phone, closing off my alarm for the next day. No way am I going to work out tomorrow, at least not at the rink. Then I think about it. Fuck her, fuck them, and their condescending shit. I’ve paid for my mistakes tenfold and I refuse to make them run me off. Not this time.
Tossing and turning all night, the only thing I see when I close my eyes are her eyes. I give up finally at four a.m., get up, and go to the gym. Go in early, get home early. Maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to see her. Maybe. I spend three hours on the ice, by myself. In my own zone. I work on my skating, my stick handling, my shooting. By the time I skate off, my body is soaking with sweat.
“You got here early,” Luka, the goalie, says to me, putting his bag down.
“Yeah, couldn’t sleep so thought I’d come in.” I toss my helmet on the top shelf. I peel my jersey off, tossing it into the basket in the middle of the room. I sit down with just my pants on and bend over, taking the tape off.
“Jesus fuck, how much did you grow this summer?” Luca takes in my chest and arms.
“Not that much.” I smile at him and toss my tape at him. “Knew you’d be slacking, so I had to pick up the pace.”