Just a Pucking Prank [COMPLETED]

Chapter 39 - Anger

Lydia

Somehow, I get through the shift. We avoid each other and I try not to cry. I catch him looking at me a few times. Probably thinking how lucky he is that he dodged a bullet.

It's not until Saturday afternoon when Trisha asks me what I'm wearing that I remember I promised to go with them to the game. The hockey game. Where Wes will be.

I try to get out of it, but they insist we don't spend enough time together as it is. So I get dressed, put my make-up on and head downstairs.

"Where are we going first?" I ask as I get into the front passenger seat. The game doesn't start for another hour.

"The Den," Pres says and maneuvers the car in the right direction.

"But we'll be early?"

"I know." Pres grins. "I want to watch the warmups."

"Why?"

Trisha leans forward from the back seat. "Oh, I can't believe you missed it. Pres hooked up with a hockey player."

"What?" I blink and stare at her. Pres cheeks get red.

"It was just a hookup."

"Uh-uh," Trisha says. And now we're going to watch the Lions warm up before the game."

"Who was it?" I ask, eager to know if I know them.

"His name is JD. He's the captain."

"Really?" I don't want to discourage my friend, but JD does not have a reputation for sticking to one woman. In fact, it's quite the opposite. But I have to say something. "So, are you seeing him again?"

"Maybe. I left him my number, so I expect he'll call as soon as the game is over."

"Right." I sit quietly as Trisha and Pres discuss the odds of JD calling her tonight. We pull into a parking spot at the Den and I try to stall, but to no avail.

Soon, I'm not only in the stands, but I'm standing near the glass as Pres tries to spot JD. My eyes scan over the players until they find Wes. He stutters a bit as he spots me.

Our eyes meet. I'm not sure he's ever seen me at one of his games before. Last time, I think he didn't know I was here.

"So, are you a hockey fan?"

A man in his mid twenties is standing at my side. He doesn't look like a student, but it's hard to tell since he's wearing one of the team jerseys.

"Sure," I say and turn back to the ice.

"You're very beautiful."

I take a small step away from him. "Thanks." My tone is flat and uninterested. I don't want to make a scene here. Not in front of Wes.

"Do you have a favorite player?"

My gaze lingers on Wes. "Not really."

"I like Brick. That's the goalie. Not only is he built like a tank, he's agile."

I nod but give him no reply, wishing Trisha and Pres would be done already so we could take our seats.

"You know," the man continues, "it's hard to find a woman who appreciates hockey as much as I do. I was born and raised on the ice. If it hadn't been for my knees, I would be a professional hockey player. Have you ever played?"

"No," I say and grab Trisha's arm. She waves me away, busy discussing the warm-up exercises the players are doing.

"Maybe I could have your number, and we could discuss hockey some more?"

I take a deep breath and turn to the man. "Look, I'm not interested. Sorry."

"Come on." He reaches out and grabs my elbow. "Just give me your number. I promise we'll have a good time."

With my heart in my throat, I pull my arm away. "I'm not interested." I emphasize every word.

"I'm a nice guy," the man says. "You just have to give me a chance."

He reaches out again and takes hold of my arm. Panic floods me. And then anger rises. I try to yank my arm away, but he's not letting me. I'm just about to tell him to fuck off when a loud crash makes both of us jump.

Wes has slammed into the glass right next to us. He's furious.

"Fuck off away from her," he yells.

My insides twist. A few of his teammates gather behind him.

"Get off her, you creep." Wes is still yelling and now everyone is watching.

The guy lets go of my arm and Trisha and Pres, who finally noticed what's going on, pull me back. Their eyes are wide.

The guy looks from me to Wes and holds up his hands. "She never told me."

"She never told you not to grab her?" I've never seen Wes this mad. "Get a fucking clue, man, and stop harassing women."

The man realizes there's a barrier between him and Wes. "She never told me she had a boyfriend."

"It fucking doesn't matter if she has a boyfriend or not." Spit is flying as Wes yells. "If I ever see you as much as look at a woman in here again, I will have you banned for life. Now get the fuck out of my arena."

The man gives me a dirty look before he strolls off.

"Are you ok?" Trisha asks and puts an arm around me.

My hands are shaking. I nod. "I'm fine."

Wes is studying me, still with that same anger on his face.

"Thanks," I say. He doesn't acknowledge me. Instead, he skates off with his teammates.

I feel cold and wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop shaking. Trisha rubs my upper arms.

Wes and the players that showed up head over to their coach. There's some adamant discussion and gesturing in my general direction and I assume they're trying to make sure the creepy guy is escorted out of the Den.

"What exactly happened?" Pres asks.

"He was just a creep," I say. "Can we go sit down now?"

The arena is filling up and Pres and Trisha lead me to our seats. I wait for the adrenaline rush to pass, taking deep breaths and warming my fingers. A couple of the players glance in my direction as they finish their warmups, but Wes doesn't.

I have a hard time paying attention to the game. I'm focused on Wes and his contributions. He plays aggressively and by the end of the first period, the players from the opposing team seem to be avoiding him.

I think he plays well. At the end of the game, several of his teammates pat him on the back.

Pres wants to stay and wait for the players to come out, but I just can't. I plead with her to take me home before they head over to Lucky's.

Wes stood up for me, but I'm certain he would have done that for anyone. So it doesn't mean anything. He wants his arena to be a safe place for everyone.

But why can't my heart realize that? Why does it want to make a bigger deal out of his anger? Why does my heart want to believe that he did it because he cares about me? He doesn't. And we are over.