Page 8 of Puck of My Life

My captain texted me late afternoon. You coming tonight or do I have to drag you there?

I’m coming, don’t worry.

That must be a first, he wrote back.

He thought a charity gala was a good night out because he had a partner accompanying him and a daughter at home who’d wake him in the morning with kisses. I couldn’t begrudge him his happiness. My folks used to be like that. Their lives weren’t the same after I left, according to my brother. Like me, there was something missing in their lives.

Making sure I had my phone so I could always use a non-existent friend as an excuse to leave early, I drove into the city.

The venue was one of those hotels downtown with chandeliers, marble floors, and staff in white gloves. What happened if one of those gloves got smudged? Did they have spares?

By the door, there was a photo backdrop covered in the charity’s logo with a photographer waiting. I was Archie the Kodiak, the one kids asked for selfies with and the guy from the highlight reels. Not that that person existed except here on the red carpet. I smiled, put my chin down, shook hands with someone, I wasn’t sure who, and told them it was a great cause. That was my public face, and I walked off after thirty seconds.

Inside, it was as I expected. The ballroom was full of people with money dressed in their best, trying not to look at someone at the next table and calculate how much they were worth. Waiters wandered between tables with trays, and there was a stage at the front with kids in helmets grinning at the camera.

My teammates were scattered through the crowd, and the captain lifted his glass, probably relieved I’d come. I got a club soda so I had something in my hand and found a spot by the wall where I could count the minutes until it was acceptable to leave.

But somewhere in this space, under the perfume, the food, and the hundreds of bodies, a scent made its way to me, one I hadn’t encountered in eight years. My glass was halfway to my mouth, and the only word that mattered popped into my head.

Mate.

6

WALTER

The second I could get out of here without getting too much attention, I left. I needed air and some time to think in a space where my eyes weren’t going to be constantly seeking Archie out.

I was a professional.

I was here to do a job.

I could do this.

Except I couldn’t.

The intensity of the emotions flowing through my body had me shaking, and I didn’t know what to do with them. I felt sick, but also sad, and also scared. Along with a side of turned on. I was such a hot freaking mess. All because I saw Archie. We hadn’t had an altercation or so much as a wave. He came into my sight and it was game over.

I now understood what people meant when they said the one that got away never leaves. Because what do you mean just getting a glance of this man had me reacting in this way? Shouldn’t I have seen him and been let down, wondering why he lived in my head rent-free for all these years? That was the logical way this should’ve gone down. Instead, my body and my brain were doubling and tripling down on my feelings toward him. Make it make sense.

And worse than that, he didn’t seem to notice me. He walked right past me like I was a rando in the crowd. I kept playing that moment over and over in my head, and each time I felt worse about myself than the time before. He didn’t recognize me, or if he did, he didn’t care. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

I was aware that my reaction wasn’t normal. None of this was. I’d met the guy once. One time. We didn’t date. We didn’t kiss. We didn’t exchange numbers. We didn’t talk about our favorite foods. None of that. And yet, here I was wondering if I was going to be able to make it through the night.

If I was here because it sounded fun it would be one thing, but I was here to do my job, and that wasn’t negotiable. Making it through the event, talking to people, and getting the facts was the bare minimum. Hiding away like this was only going to make this worse. But convincing myself to go back inside was proving a challenge.

I pulled out my phone and tried to mentally go through the list of people at work to see if I could think of somebody who could take my place and might be willing to. Yes, the ticket had my name on it, but I’d figure out those details later. When I pulled open my messaging app, there was a new group text waiting for me.

It was great news about Joseph. His surgery had gone well. He was recovering. Everybody was filling the feed with relief and best wishes despite Joseph not being a member.

And then I entered the chat without even thinking and typed away.

I’m struggling tonight at the hockey event. Is there anyone who can come tag-team me out?

I couldn’t say, “Listen, the one that got away is here, and I don’t know how to react to that, and I’m about to shut down.” Although, possibly that honesty would have had better results than what came, which was crickets. No longer were people saying how happy they were for Joseph. They were just gone.

My phone vibrated in my hand. It was Truman in our private chat. I didn’t need to tap it to know I was in trouble with my boss. It was one word. No.

I understand, was all I sent back. I didn’t want to make things worse.