Puck Puckerman Novels & Stories

He gulped as he spoke. "I swear I don't know," he vowed, but then frowned at the pictures. She sure seemed to be enjoying being held by him. He had always thought she didn't like the Mafia. She had been passionate about her career as an artist as far as he knew. But now, it looks as though he didn't know much about his daughter. Well, he never really spent time with her anyway. He gulped as drops of sweat trickled down his sideburns. "Are you telling me that this happened within a month?" Parker grumbled at him, pointing at the iPad. "Do you think Frank will take just anyone to the ball as his date? Someone he had started to see about a month back?"

Paloma is a pessimist and crusher. '

Fixing the boss a glare, he declared, "Mr. Tucker Licht. Boss of the Kuda Gang or, as the people apparently know you, a tyrant and terrorizer of local peace. Your reign of terror ends today. The Pascal family guarantees it! Tucker's bald, podgy face wrinkled into a grimace. His hairless scalp paled together with the rest of his face. He trembled a little despite trying to force a smile to accompany his response. All 5,000 men in black pulled out their swords. The air seemed to weigh several tons heavier. "You're Mr… Uh, Erwen Pascal! O-Of course!" Tucker stammered. "Ah, this is all a misunderstanding! A big misunderstanding! Say… do you remember me gifting Mr. Hubert Pascal an expensive bott

“Some of the guys just got back from the hospital. He’s chilling now, but lowkey, Coach… I’m not even shocked. Reynold is full of shit. He always acts untouchable just because his dad is loaded. He treats everyone like trash and thinks he can get away with anything. No cap, the vibes on the team have been so cooked lately. He’s been on a massive power trip.” I nodded, not disagreeing. He was right. Reynold had the worst attitude, and many of the players disliked him, but he was talented on the ice. Derek leaned forward. “But Coach… you won’t believe this.” He lowered his voice. “They said he has no idea how he ended up in the hospital. He can’t remember shit since our game against Buffalo.”

It was impossible. They were hanging over the plexiglass, shaking the boards, and holding up massive, neon poster boards that made my stomach twist into sickening knots. MERCER’S MATTRESS.* *DISTRACTION ON ICE.* And then, the ones that made my throat close up and my eyes burn, the ones scrawled with ugly, jagged letters that spelled out slurs I hadn’t heard since I was a kid in middle school. Every time I touched the puck, a chorus of boos rained down on me, so loud it vibrated right through my helmet and rattled my teeth.

"I don't know what's going on with him. He lost, so now I'm just supposed to stand here and wait until he's ready to acknowledge me?" "Maybe he's just processing. Guys are stupid about emotions." She squeezed my arm. "Want me to stay and be a buffer?" Before I could answer, a voice cut through the noise behind us. "Well, well. If it isn't the princess herself." I turned. A guy I recognized from the Falcons, Kowalski, I think, was swaying in front of me, beer sloshing over his knuckles. His eyes were glassy, his grin ugly. His team had won, and he was celebrating hard.

Just me and the puck and the ice and the thing in my chest that needed to go somewhere. First defender committed. I shifted left, went right. The same move, but faster now. Fueled by something that tasted like metal and felt like drowning. Second defender tried to angle me off. I dropped the puck between my legs, picked it up on the backhand. Third defender – Porter himself. The captain who’d been grinning all night. I looked at his eyes and saw Caleb. Saw my father. Saw every person who’d ever stood between me and the thing I wanted and smiled while they did it. I faked the shot. He dropped. I went around him so close I could hear his breathing.

I shoved the door open, expecting the silence of an empty suite, but I was met with the sight of Liam sitting on the edge of the mahogany table, tossing a hockey puck up and down. Liam had been my best friend since we were in kindergarten. We’d learned to shift together, learned to hunt together, and survived the brutal politics of the Moonstone social scene together. He was the only person who could look at me and know exactly how close I was to losing my mind. “You look like hell, Gid,” Liam said, catching the puck mid-air. He jumped off the table, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Where have you been? The campus is losing its mind.”

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Neither of them looked away first. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> The puck dropped.

“I'd hasten to lock my doors, were I you.” My cheeks blazed red. “You're disgusting, the both of you.” Puck laughed jovially. “Pardon if my coarse manners offend. I tell it like it is, sparing no truths betwixt. What might I say? My kind loves a merry romp in the grass, with milkmaids' skirts hitched high above the knee...” He stared off into the distance dreamily. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Actually, I'm lying-”