The Pucking Proposal (Maple Creek)

I didn’t expect today’s after-game to be this big of a deal. It’s a Saturday night, so maybe some of these people are at Chuck’s for their weekly outing, but either way, it’s turned into a Moose-lebration.

I’ve been chatting with teammates, taking pictures, and I might’ve had a few fried pickles that definitely aren’t on Fritzi’s nutrition plan. I’ll have to burn those off later with Joy.

Everything’s going great, until . . .

“We need to talk. Now.”

June and Rayleigh are shoulder to shoulder and both bowed up at me with matching glares wishing death on me and my entire bloodline. That’s saying something since June literally is my family. As if that’s not enough, she digs her finger into my chest. She might be little, only five-three, and cute as a bug, with dark eyes and messy hair, but my sister is a monster. She learned from the best—our mom. And Rayleigh, while usually the picture of serenity, currently looks like Mars is in her retrograde or something.

“What?” I ask in confusion, my eyes darting back and forth between the two women.

“Seriously?” Rayleigh sniffs.

It’s only one word, but I’ve never heard that biting tone from her. And it suddenly hits me that’s there’s one Musketeer missing from their merry band. They’ve been virtually glued together all night—line dancing, sharing appetizers, and talking like long-lost besties. Until now.

I bend down, lowering my voice to demand harshly, “Where’s Joy? What’s wrong?”

“Why?” June asks, drawling it out like she knows something she’s definitely not supposed to know while glaring at me as though we’re in a battle for dominance. I have grown-ass men shaking in their skates at the mere idea of going toe to toe with me. My sister? Zero fear, and zero fucks. She’ll confront me any day, any time, without hesitation. Especially if she thinks I fucked up, which she obviously thinks has happened.

But as far as I know, I haven’t done anything wrong.

Other than keep one little-bitty, teeny-tiny secret from her.

I wrap an arm around both of their shoulders, shoving them to a quiet corner where we won’t be overheard. “What’s going on?”

“Joy’s gone,” Rayleigh informs me, acting like it’s my fault.

Before I can ask why, June jumps in. “She left after overhearing Mollie tell me about your secret affair.”

My head whips to my sister, my eyes wide, and I quickly scan the room, looking for Joy despite Rayleigh saying she’s not here anymore.

Shit! I’m not only busted by my sister, but Mollie knows about me and Joy!

“So you are seeing Mollie?” June accuses.

Wait. Seeing Mollie? What is she talking about?

I blink, trying to wrap my head around what they’re saying all at once. I’m not getting there fast enough apparently because June backhand smacks my chest. “Dalton!”

“What?” I grunt. Looking from June to Rayleigh, who’re both scowling at me, I sigh. “I am having a secret affair, but not with Mollie.” My face screws up with revulsion at the very idea. Shaking my head, I hiss, “With Joy. But she asked me not to say anything. Damn near begged me not to. And then ordered me to stay quiet. Says it’s for me and Shep’s benefit so we don’t fuck up the season. So keep your fucking voice down.” I look around us to make sure no one has overheard me say the one thing I’m not supposed to say in public. Or to anyone.

June and Rayleigh lock eyes, having some sort of silent girl conversation I’m not privy to, and then they turn back to me in unison. “Wait. We need to get this figured out,” June snaps. “Who exactly are you seeing, fucking, hooking up with, dating, et cetera? Whatever you’re calling it. I need to know all of them, One-Night. Right now.”

Hearing my nickname on my sister’s tongue disgusts me and makes me ashamed of my previous behavior. “Joy. Only Joy, for months now,” I insist.

“Seriously?” Rayleigh says again, but this time it has a completely different meaning. She sounds almost hopeful, like someone just said they’re handing out free puppies and ice cream later.

How do women do that? Make a single word have a thousand different meanings depending on tone and body language. It’s a gift, one I wish I had and could comprehend because I’m lost.

“Oh shiiit,” June mutters, looking horrified. She narrows her eyes, looking over her shoulder to scan the crowd behind her. She must see something or someone that pisses her off because she starts to move away, bowing up again like she’s about to throw hands.

I grab at her arm, dragging her attention back to me. “What’s going on?” I demand.

June swallows hard. “This is bad, Dalt. That Mollie girl introduced herself to me in the bathroom, said you and her are fucking. Well, she made it sound like a lot more than that, and a lot more recent too. She told me that you’re in a relationship but keeping it secret because she’s a cheerleader and you’re a player. Apparently, there’s some big plan to come out as a couple in the offseason so you can date publicly next season without breaking the rules.”

None of what she’s saying makes any sense. None of it’s true.

“That’s total bullshit,” I tell June. I glance at Rayleigh to see if she can make sense of it, either, but she seems as baffled as I am. “I’ve barely talked to Mollie in ages, much less done anything else with her.” I don’t have to spell out what I mean. Both women know exactly what I’m talking about given my reputation.

The fire in June’s eyes is gone, turning to dread like she doesn’t want to tell me the rest. “Joy was in the bathroom. She heard everything.”

It takes me a second to piece it all together. I feel like I still don’t understand the expressions on June’s and Rayleigh’s faces. It’s like five slap shots are flying at me at once, and I’m still catching up with everything. They look like somebody died . . .

“Shit, did Joy fuck her up? Do I need to get bail money together?” Joy’s not a fighter. She’s too classy to throw down at the drop of a hat, but she is scrappy and I wouldn’t put it past her to claw Mollie’s eyes out. But surely we would’ve heard the racket if there was a catfight in the bathroom of Chuck’s. It’s busy, but that’s the kind of thing that gets noticed.

“She left,” Rayleigh intones flatly. “She was trying not to cry.”

It’s then that the full impact hits me.

Joy actually believed Mollie’s delulu-land lies. Joy just believed her, and . . . left.

What the actual fuck?

I’m gonna give Joy a piece of my mind and ask what the hell is running through hers as soon as I find her, which becomes my new priority mission.

Halfway to the door, Mollie intercepts me, stepping directly in front of me and placing her hand on my chest. She smiles up at me like everything’s fine, except she’s burned my whole world to the fucking ground and is standing on the ashes of the one thing I was working so hard to build.

“Everything’s okay now, baby,” she purrs. “We’re okay.”

Red flashes in front of my vision. “What the fuck are you talking about? There is no we, Mollie.”

She laughs like I said something funny. “Of course there is. You always come back to me.” She dips her chin, looking up at me through her lashes, and says in a pouty voice, “There was the bank teller, then me. The redhead, then me. You were supposed to fuck this one and come back like you always do, but you took too long and I got impatient, so I took care of her for us.” She walks her fingers up my chest to my cheek, where she pats me. Hard. As though she’s punishing me for a scenario that exists only in her mind.

I flinch, putting a solid foot between us as I knock her hand away because I suddenly grasp that I have had no real idea who Mollie was until now. I thought she was clingy, trying to make our few hookups into something more. I didn’t know she created an entire fantasy life in her head where we are something more than previous fuck partners.

“Took care of her?” I repeat, realization dawning. “You knew Joy was in the bathroom, listening to your lies. How long have you known about me and her?”

“A while.” Mollie waves a hand dismissively, as if Joy is a bothersome gnat in her fantasy. “But it’ll be fine now. We’ll get through the season, you’ll get the call we’ve dreamed of, and . . . Oh! I already talked to June about planning your signing party. Hopefully, it’ll be a blue-and-red Otter theme so we can stay close to our friends.” She grins widely like what she’s saying makes any sense.

She hasn’t only deluded herself into thinking there’s an us, but she has my career planned out, with her apparently at my side as I get signed by the nearest team to Maple Creek.

“Mollie! No,” I snap. “There’s no us. There never was.”

This is taking too long. I have to get out of here and get to Joy so I can fix this. I step around Mollie, taking care not to touch her, but she grabs my bicep. “Dalton!”

“Don’t touch me!” I bark loudly, not caring who hears, as I shake her off and stride out the door.

“Open the fucking door, Joy!” I yell as I bang on her door.

I half expect her to ignore me or do the stupid “leave a message, beep” thing. Instead, the door flings open so fast and hard that it bounces off the wall behind it and rebounds to hit her in the shoulder.

“Fuuuck you, Dalton Daysss!” Joy snarls, her lip curled and her eyes red.

She’s drunk. I know she didn’t drive home that way, so she’s been drinking since she got here. It’s not how I want to have this conversation, but I’m not gonna let this ride. We’re talking it out now. Drunk Joy or not.

I push into her apartment, closing the door behind me, only to see . . .

“Are you cleaning?” I stutter, looking around. There’s nothing on the floor except vacuum lines on the rug, her coffee table is gleaming, the couch pillows are fluffed and karate chopped, the sink is empty, and I can hear both the dishwasher and washing machine running.

“Rage cleaning and alcohol seemed like a good way to deal with my fucking problems. What’zhit chu you?” she sneers.

“June told me what happened.”

Joy whips her head around, her brown waves flipping behind her as she dismisses me in favor of folding the couch blanket. “Whatever. I knew better.”

“What do you mean ‘you knew better’? Because you should fucking mean that you knew better than to believe Mollie’s lies,” I roar, and she pins me with a glare. She haphazardly lays the blanket on the back of the couch, not saying a word. “But you don’t, do you?” I bite out.

“Yeah, sure. Mollie’s lies,” she repeats, rolling her eyes. “Of course, she’s lying.” She throws her voice low, mimicking a man’s pitiful pleading, “No, Joy. I swear I’m not screwing her. It’s you, only you.”

I don’t sound anything like that. Have never sounded anything like that. But she knows someone who has.

The guy who cheated on her a long time ago. The athlete boyfriend. Right now, I could choke a motherfucker, and I’ve never met him.

She’s not mad at me. Or not only mad at me. She’s mad at him, and at herself for daring to think that I would be different than him. But I shouldn’t have to pay for mistakes he made when I’ve done nothing but be honest, respect her, and love her.

“You know I have a past, but I haven’t fucked Mollie since long before we started anything. Hell, I haven’t so much as looked at anyone else since October,” I declare evenly, trying not to yell again. “I’ve only looked at you. But Mollie obviously found out about us, and she knew you were listening in that bathroom, so she told June a whole bunch of lies to run you off. It worked.” I huff out a humorless laugh that something so stupidly simplistic could ruin everything.

Joy doesn’t move, her eyes still full of mistrust and skepticism. “Why would she lie, Dalton?”

“Why does anyone do anything? I don’t fucking know, and I don’t fucking care about Mollie. I care that after everything we’ve been through together, you didn’t even consider, for the tiniest of seconds, trusting me.”

She looks as though I slapped her, the shock of my statement hitting harder than a hand ever could. It’s all the answer I need.

“At the slightest nudge, you trusted a complete stranger’s lies over me. You didn’t hunt me down and ask, or kick my ass.” My chest is tight and aching, and I lay my hand there, trying to stop the hurt as I say, “You just believed the absolute worst about me with no hesitation.”

Her chin drops, but it’s too late for shame because though Mollie might’ve been scheming, her lies have revealed an even bigger betrayal than cheating.

“It doesn’t matter that Mollie made that shit up.” I run my fingers through my hair, gripping the strands punishingly tight. “It doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is that you lied to me.”

“I lied?” she echoes, pointing at her own chest in exasperation. “What do you think I lied about?”

“You were never gonna give us a real chance, were you?” I answer quietly. “I’ve been all in with you for months, reminding myself at every turn to go slow because it’d take time to overcome my reputation. You made me believe that if I was patient enough, proved myself worthy of the great Joy Barlowe, that we might have a real shot. But it was never going to be enough. I was never gonna be enough.”

I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to see the truth. But I see it now, clear as day. I’ve been such an idiot.

“Because it was never about that, was it? I haven’t been fighting my past, I’ve been fighting yours. And you were never truly gonna let me in, were you?”

She freezes, but the ice in her eyes is a mere representation of the frigid landscape of her heart. I’ve made my way past her brick walls, barbed wire, insults, and more, but underneath it all, there are only more shields she hides behind, keeping everyone at bay. Including me.

“You weren’t keeping us a secret for Shep and me. Or even for the good of the season. It was so you could walk away at the first sign of trouble,” I tell her, my heart breaking inside. Suddenly, I’m nearly on the edge of tears, and I haven’t cried over a woman since my grandmother died. “You’d think I would’ve realized that sooner, but I guess the best defenses are designed like that because that’s what this is—another defense mechanism. I told you once that you were sour on the outside and sweet inside, but I was wrong. You’re a Trojan horse—pretty on the outside and deadly on the inside.”

“I’m not—” Whatever argument she’s about to make doesn’t come. Instead, her mouth hangs open and she blinks as we both silently recognize that’s the cold, hard truth.

She’s destroyed me. Ruined us.

“Fuck that, Joy. And fuck you too. I deserve someone who’s as proud to love me as I am to love them. Because I do—I fucking love you,” I spit out. The pained words hang heavy in the air between us, unanswered except for her quiet gasp. “But I deserve better . . . than you.”

I sag, breathing heavily at the weight of the realizations hitting me from every corner of my mind and heart.

I have done nothing more than love this woman, giving her my whole heart, while telling myself that if I was patient enough, she’d eventually love me back.

But she doesn’t love me.

After getting her heart broken so badly at such a formative stage, I’m not sure she’ll ever love anyone. I’m not sure she can.

Or if she does, she won’t admit it. Not to herself, and certainly not to me.

She doesn’t stop me when I walk for the door. Or when I open it. I wish I could leave without another word, but I can’t. I glance back over my shoulder to say, “I wish you’d kicked Buchanan Spitz in the balls so hard that he could still feel the tingle of your fury every time he gets a hard-on. Maybe then he wouldn’t have such a death grip on the choices you’re still making today because he’s right here in this room, like a fucking ghost that scares the shit out of you.”

With that said, I walk out. She still doesn’t stop me.