Grumpy Puck

24. Michael

Chapter 24

Michael

A Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 can reach 180 miles per hour—a speed I hit at least a couple times in my haste to get to the stalker’s house.

A stalker who’s turned out to be my fucking teammate, of all people.

Burning tires as I come to a screeching halt in front of his house, I leap out of the car and smash my fist into the door.

“Who is it?” Jack calls from the other side.

Yes. It’s fucking Jack, a fact I never would have believed if it weren’t for the security footage.

I didn’t think he’d have the balls to mess with my woman.

Balls that he’s about to lose.

“It’s Michael,” I reply as calmy as I can, which isn’t very. “Open. Now.”

I fully expect him to realize why I’m here and refuse me entry, which would be fine, because it would be my pleasure to break his fucking door down.

But he does open the door, and as soon as I see his face, I plant my fist in it.

With a pained grunt, Jack collapses on the floor, and I raise a leg to kick him when I hear a muffled sound from inside the house.

It sounds like someone screaming, “Help!”

“Who is that? Is that the last person you stalked?” I demand from Jack, but he’s still on the floor, moaning as he cradles his jaw.

The plea for help repeats, and the voice sounds vaguely familiar.

“Stay here or you’re dead,” I growl at Jack, then sprint inside, following the voice.

It takes me a few minutes to figure out where the sound is coming from: a padlocked room at the back of the house.

I tug at the padlock, testing its strength as I yell, “Hey! Who’s there?”

“Medvedev, is that you?” The voice sounds even more familiar now, though I still can’t place it.

“Yeah, hold on!”

The padlock doesn’t give, so I scan my surroundings until I spot a key on the nearby coffee table. Grabbing it, I unlock the door and finally recognize the speaker.

It’s Ted, the guy who was our mascot before Calliope got his job. He’s unshaven and filthy, but it’s definitely him.

Wait a second.

The reason we needed a new mascot was because Ted disappeared without a trace. Is this where he’s been?

Judging by the looks of him, it’s pretty likely.

But why?

Does Jack have some weird obsession with whoever is inside that bear suit? Is that why he shredded it in our hotel room?

“What happened?” I demand, glaring at Ted. “Why did the fucker lock you in here?”

Ted scans the room, wild-eyed. “Where is he?”

Oh, shit.

I run back toward the front door.

No Jack.

“Fucking shit.” I return and grab Ted by the shoulder. “Help me catch the fucker.”

We run out of the house and search a couple blocks, to no avail.

“Get inside the car,” I order Ted when we’re back at the house. “We’re going to drive around looking for him.”

Ted obeys, and we circle around the neighborhood, but with zero results.

Fuck. Where could he be?

Shit. Could he have gone after Calliope?

Everything inside me goes cold.

“Buckle in,” I growl at Ted and floor the gas, heading back to the circus.

“Where are you going?” Ted gasps as we blow through one intersection after another at breakneck speed.

My jaw flexes. “He might be after my girlfriend. She’s the new mascot.”

“Huh,” Ted says dumbly. “Why would he be after her?”

“For the same twisted reason he locked you in that room?”

“Oh?” Ted looks confused. “Did she also take a video of him jerking off to that gator?”

His question is so confusing I actually have to slow the car. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“That’s why he wouldn’t let me leave,” Ted laments. “We got high together, and when he thought I was asleep, he snuck outside. I followed and caught him standing by the lake with his dick out. He was staring at the gator as he was jerking off and grunting shit like, ‘Yeah, those teeth. Those scales. That fat, juicy tail…’”

I glance at him incredulously.

Is he shitting me? I get that this is Florida and all, but come on.

“So… you see a dude jerking off to a gator, and your first reaction is to take a video of it?”

“I was high, dude. And it was funny as fuck. But Jack saw me filming him. He seemed crazed, so I jumped into my car, went home, and stuck the footage on a USB flashdrive. I then texted Jack to tell him that if he came after me, or if he pissed me off in general, I’d mail the flash drive to WTVJ.” Ted rubs his nose. “The next morning, he knocked me out as I was leaving my house, and then he kept me locked away until I told him where ‘all the drives’ were. He didn’t believe that I only had the one, stashed under a floorboard in my place. So I was stuck. Thank God that you came over when you did. I was about to go insane.”

Fuck. Suddenly, everything clicks into place. Calliope was right when she thought someone had snuck in and looked under the floorboards in her—formerly Ted’s—place. It was Jack, looking for the only existing flash drive. But Jack must have thought—and I use that term loosely—that Ted had hid another hypothetical drive in his bear suit, so he kept coming after it, first in Calliope’s dressing room, then in the hotel. I bet that’s why he tricked me into pushing her in the pool while she was wearing the suit for the first time—in the hopes that the drive would get damaged. Or that she’d leave the suit drying, and thus unattended.

What a fucking idiot.

Correction: idiots, the both of them.

“Can you do me a favor?” Ted asks plaintively.

I grit my teeth. “What?”

“Can you take me to the sheriff’s office?”

I’m about to tell him, “Fuck, no,” because I have to save Calliope, but then I realize Ted’s story means she’s not in any danger from Jack. Or from any stalker.

She never was.

I should be ecstatic about that, and I mostly am, but a part of me is disappointed as well. Without the danger, there’s no reason for Calliope to stay at my place anymore. Not unless?—

“I really want to file a report,” Ted says pleadingly. “And get a restraining order against that asshole.”

Fucking fuck. “Fine. But you owe me, big.”

If cops are involved, I’m not going to be as free to enact my revenge on Jack, but then again, getting arrested and having the ridiculous story Ted just told me become part of the public record is a cruel and very unusual punishment in itself.

I can see it now: “Florida Man masturbates to gator, then kidnaps hockey team mascot.”

To my shock, there’s not a hint of mirth on the sheriff’s face as Ted rattles out his tale—as though shit like this happens here all the time.

“I need to get back to my dinner,” I tell everyone before the sheriff asks who I am and what my role is in this whole mess. The last thing I want is to get delayed for however long it’ll take Ted to file an official police report.

“How am I going to get home?” Ted whines.

Should I tell him his “home” was given to someone else?

Nah.

“How is that any of my fucking business?” I demand.

“It’s fine,” the sheriff says. “We’ll give him a ride.”

Whatever. I run for my car and return to the circus, eager to tell Calliope the whole story. To my relief, the dinner is still ongoing, but Calliope is missing from her seat.

And her family is staring daggers at me over their dessert.

Shit. For the first time, I realize that I left rather abruptly, likely offending them.

“What are you doing here?” demands the trapeze sister.

Fuck. I did screw up. “Sorry, I had to leave on important business. But I’m back. Where’s Calliope?”

The sister scowls at me. “Did you explain your ‘important business’ to her?”

Double fuck. “I was in a rush to resolve the issue that arose.”

And by “resolve,” I mean “break some bones.”

“Well, then, you messed up, big time,” she says. “My sister thought you hated our family.”

“Hated your family?” I look around. “The opposite is the case.”

“The opposite?” She arches an eyebrow. “That would be loving the Klaunbuts, and that’s a tough sword to swallow, even for Uncle Bruin.”

“Trust me,” I say earnestly. “For someone whose family abandoned him, seeing how much you all care for each other is a revelation.” And as I say the words, I realize that they’re true, and so is something else.

I don’t just love the Klaunbuts’ family dynamic. I may actually love one Klaunbut in particular, which is insane, given how?—

“Then you’d better go after her,” the sister says. “And hurry.”

Fuck.

She’s right.

As I run back to my car, I call Calliope, but she doesn’t answer. I text her as well—but I don’t get a reply, which isn’t a good sign.

Leaping into my car, I floor the gas once more, and a few minutes later, I approach my front door… only to catch Calliope stepping out with her suitcase and rat carrier.

Something in my chest shrinks, like a punctured tire. “You’re moving out? Just like that?”

I know I shouldn’t really be surprised, not after all the other people who abandoned me in my life, but this is on another level. Calliope doesn’t know that the stalker situation isn’t a problem anymore—which means she’d rather be in danger than spend another minute with me.

“Of course I’m moving out,” she snaps. “I can’t be with someone who hates?—”

“Don’t say that I hate your family. I never fucking said that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your actions spoke volumes.”

I take in a calming breath. Maybe if I explain it just right, she won’t abandon me. “I didn’t leave because I hated your family. I left because I learned who the stalker is—and it’s someone I know. I got very angry and rushed to deal with him. In hindsight, I should have told you, but?—”

“You learned who the stalker is?” Her eyes are wide.

I clench and unclench my fist, sorry that I punched him just once. “Yeah. It’s Jack.”

She blinks at me. “Kangaroo Jack?”

“Kangaroo?” Now that she mentions it, Jack does vaguely resemble one. “Yes. That Jack. As it turns out, he wasn’t after you. He was after a flash drive that has a recording of him jerking off to a gator.”

Her eyes narrow. “You think this is a good time for a joke?”

“I’m not joking,” I grit out. “Ted—whom Jack kidnapped—hid the flash drive in his apartment, which then became your apartment, hence the moved floorboards.”

At this point, her eyes are mere slits. “You expect me to believe that horseshit?”

“Why the fuck would I make this up?” Taking another calming breath, I add, “Ted is filing a police report. They’re public record in Florida. You can check.”

She grips her suitcase tighter. “Fine. If that insanity is true, I don’t have a reason to stay here anyway.”

I gulp in the next breath, and it’s anything but calming. I force the next words out. “Don’t go.”

She swallows, and her gaze drops to my chest. “I… kind of have to.”

“What do you mean? I’m telling you, the stalker situation is over.” Once more, I force myself to say the words that I never got to say to my parents. “I want you to stay. With me. I know we’ve only been dating for?—"

“Less than a week.” She takes a deep breath herself. “This is too soon for a step like moving in together. But more importantly, I… accepted a job offer. In New York.”

A puck smashing into my gut would be less painful than this. “You did what?”

She steps back. “I thought you’d broken up with me. I thought you hated my family. And this is a job I’ve always wanted.”

“What job?”

As she explains, I feel nausea coming on—no doubt I’ve become carsick from driving like a maniac.

“I see,” I say when she reminds me that the rat show has been her dream for as long as she can remember. My tone is hollow as I say, “In that case, you should leave. Now.”

She rushes past me and gets inside an idling Uber.

My nausea worsens as I watch the Uber pull away and disappear from sight.

Turning toward my front door, I smash my fist into it, over and over, until the wood cracks and the pain in my knuckles distracts me from the turmoil in my mind.

The reprieve is short, however.

I soon recall what a fucking idiot I’ve been.

Why did I ask her to stay? Why did I think it would make a lick of difference?

I should have fucking known better. Nobody has ever stayed for me.

Not. A. Single. Soul.