Page 2 of Pucking the Players

"Police are almost there," someone else said. I didn't recognize the voice or care who said it, I was just grateful they had called.

Something I should have done but failed to do in my panic. That and his best friend was on the force. They likely wouldn’t have come anyway.

This was one of those situations I thought I'd handle differently. But when the adrenaline and fear are at an all time high, there's no time to think or remember everything.

Another thud sounded, though this time further off which made Luke stop what he was doing. I could hear shouts and more stuff breaking but couldn’t make sense of what was happening.

Maybe the cops were finally here?

"We're almost there, Macy, ten more miles," Dad promised. This time I did let hope build, knowing he was close and the cops would have Luke in cuffs by then.

There was a chance I'd survive this and I vowed to be smarter going forward. Never again would I allow anyone to sweet talk me into forgiving them when red flags start piling up.

Loud shouting upstairs sounded off before the line went silent. I let the phone drop and wrapped my arms around myself as the door finally gave way. My heart was beating so hard that dizziness took over and I tried to focus on my breathing. It wasn't until my dad's voice broke through the panic that I finally looked up.

There he was.

My dad.

Looking like a true warrior with his weathered face, salt-and-pepper hair, and fierce green eyes. He was in his coach's uniform, whistle still around his neck. Everything about him was comforting and safe.

I launched myself off of the ground and into his arms, letting myself break down as he held me tight.

"He's lucky I didn't kill him," Dad muttered.

"There's still time yet," someone else countered. The voice was just as angry and hard and I peeked up to see a group of hockey players behind him, all in athletic gear like I'd caught them just after practice.

Maybe I should have been upset to have an audience, but right now I appreciated them. I felt safer with a wall of muscle between me and my ex.

"We're leaving. What do you need to grab?" Dad demanded as he held me at arm’s length, eyes roaming over me to ensure I was unharmed. He finally breathed in relief when I took a deep breath and dried my tears.

"Not much," I promised. "Where is he?"

"In the back of a squad car," he promised, leading me upstairs. We stopped on the landing and I blinked in surprise as my shoes were held out to me.

"You'll need these. It's a war zone up here."

"Thanks," I managed to choke out, barely registering the guy's face as I slid them on.

They weren't kidding. How one person could do this much damage in so little time was insane. Holes were punched out of the walls while glass and broken furniture were scattered across the floor. Everything from decor to his prized game system were destroyed.

"The cops said she has to grab whatever she needs and to leave. House is in his name so he's kicking her out," someone else added with a dry laugh. "He's a fucking tool."

"I was leaving anyway," I said. "I'm halfway packed."

"Good, let's go," Dad urged. I hurried down the hall, stuffing the last few things in my bag which were mostly unharmed despite the chaos around them. In ten minutes, I was done, only grabbing my clothes, makeup, and very few sentimental things. As we passed back through the living room I grabbed Roscoe’s favorite toy.

"You have a dog?" someone asked, the worry in their tone palpable.

"No, he gave him away before this," I admitted. The pain in my voice was echoed by the sinking feeling I felt every time I thought of my sweet pug.

He was safer out of this house and right now, for the first time, I was grateful he wasn't here.

"Let's go home," Dad said as he led me outside. They were all so sweet as they made sure I was strapped in the front seat, everyone else squishing in the back. My eyes caught Luke's as we drove away, the anger on his face sending a shiver down my spine. Dad flipped him the middle finger as we passed and sped up, leaving my current life behind.

Good fucking riddance.

Dad dropped the guys off at the rink before driving through town to the small house I grew up in. It had Mom's touches, like the cute little garden out front and the bright-blue front door.

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