Mind Pucked (Chicago Blue Jays #1)

25. Amelia

25

AMELIA

T he game was interesting, to say the least. My heart thumps in my chest, wondering what exactly caused that fight between Jackson and the other player. I know I’ll likely never know the answer.

It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, since the Blue Jays won, but I’m sure Jackson is beating himself up over it.

Jackson’s mom and dad are taking Hayden for the weekend to give both Jackson and me some much-needed time off, but as I hand the sleepy little girl over to his mom and gather my things to lock up the house, I have no idea what I’m going to do with my night.

Once they’re gone with her, my phone buzzes with a message from Brooke. I smile as I read it.

Hey girl, some of the ladies and I are going clubbing. Come with us! No kids, no guys, it’ll be fun! I won’t take no for an answer. See you at Club End Game at ten.

At first, I think about telling her no, but it’s been a really long time since I’ve been out with just the girls. I grab my purse and head out the door, locking it behind me before sending her a text and reply.

Sure, I’ll be there .

I’m not sure why they’re only just going out so late at night, but I guess the clubs get better the later it is. Maybe I’m starting to be a little old-fashioned. I shake off the feeling of bedtime and head up to my room once I get back to my place.

In no time I’m dressed in a pair of black leggings and a crop top. It’s a little less conservative than I’m used to, but hey, I’m throwing caution to the wind. I need something to get Jackson and this whole mess with my brother off my mind.

After I fix my hair and apply a small amount of makeup, I throw on my Converse and grab my bag. Once I’m in an Uber and on my way, I take a few minutes to lay my head against the seat and think. My mind drifts to the fight Jackson had on the ice. I still want to know what he was so upset about. Is he still mad at me?

Although, mad isn’t exactly the right word to describe how he was feeling toward me. Irate , or out of control with anger would be more like it.

In no time we’re pulling up to the club, and after tipping the driver I get out and make my way in. I quickly find Brooke dancing with a group that includes some of the other girlfriends and wives to the players. They’re all dressed in short mini-dresses and wearing far less than I am, but I decide not to think about that too much.

“You look cute,” Brooke says as she comes up and wraps her arms around me.

I fall into the hug, wishing I could tell her about the situation with my brother and what happened between Jackson and me.

I wonder if she even knows we aren’t together anymore.

“Pick your poison,” she says, holding up a tray of shots that seem to have come from out of nowhere.

I’m having a hard time telling the difference between all of the varieties, so I take two. With one in each hand, I down them both back-to-back. I’m not sure it’s a wise decision, since the first is a spicy cinnamon flavor and the second is something fruity. I crinkle my nose at the mixture of flavors and Brooke laughs at me.

“You just had a cinnamon toast crunch and a Scooby snack. Not the best of combinations I’d say.” She giggles as she hands me a third one. “This one is a lemon drop—it should be a decent pallet cleanser.”

I smile at her and down this one too, not necessarily because I think I need a palate cleanser but because I think I need the alcohol.

I don’t normally drink this much, but I need something to kill the pain. I know I’ve made major mistakes in my relationship with Jackson, but part of me wishes he was here with me or that I was with him celebrating.

I continue taking shot after shot, keeping up with Brooke until the tray is empty and she excuses herself to the restroom—or to get more, I’m not sure. Between the last Scooby thing and the toast crunchy, lemon-drop-ish goodness, I’m feeling good.

“Hey, baby,” a voice calls from behind me.

The voice is a blast from the past, and I don’t even want to turn around, since I already know who the voice belongs to. My ex—Trevor Donahue. I try not to shudder at the thought of seeing him again after all this time.

Trevor and I dated for almost two years. Preston didn’t like him from the get-go, but I sure did. Until Trevor showed his true colors. Never once had I suspected him of being violent in any way, until we were together almost a year.

He started to be verbally abusive, but I tried to ignore those parts of him. Mostly because I wanted a boyfriend, and he was there. When he started to get physical around the two-year mark…well, it didn’t take me long to call my big brother and have him help me get out of there for good.

I turn slowly. I can’t let Trevor see my worry over seeing him again.

I haven’t seen him since the day Preston helped me leave, and I could live a lifetime without having to do it now.

“Hello, Trevor,” I say once we’re standing face-to-face.

He hasn’t changed a bit, it seems. He’s still the same smug-looking ass as the day I left.

Why does fate, or whoever or whatever controls my destiny, have to be so cruel?

“What are you up to nowadays?” he asks. “You look amazing, by the way,” he adds, which makes me want to cringe.

He leans in a little, smelling like straight-up alcohol.

“I’m fine, Trevor,” I say, looking around to see where Brooke went off to.

I see her dancing with some of the girls from our group across the bar. I don’t want to disturb her, but I don’t want to be standing here with him either.

“My, you are beautiful,” he purrs as he moves closer still.

“Thanks,” I say as I try to move away from him. “I’m going over there with my friends.”

“Wait a second—” He grabs my arm, but not forcefully. “Let me buy you a drink,” he says, but I immediately begin to shake my head. “Come on, just one drink. If after the one drink, you don’t want another or would like for me to leave, I will.”

“Fine,” I say with an eye roll, accepting the free alcohol mostly because I need it to dull my pain…and I know this might be the only real way to get rid of him.

I stand with my arms crossed, waiting for him to come back as he goes to the bar to get our drinks. Suddenly, staying at home seems like it would have been the better decision.

Trevor and I broke up shortly before Preston and Lyla’s car accident, and not for one moment have I thought about him—other than occasionally fearing I might run into him. Part of my decision to go abroad was because of him, and getting as far away from him as possible.

I look up to see him coming back in my direction. He has two of the largest drinks I’ve ever seen. Of course he’s brought me the amount of alcohol that might be in five regular drinks. I roll my eyes.

“Sit with me,” he says, more of a demand than anything.

“Don’t you know how to ask nicely for anything?” I wonder as I take the drink and find a table nearby.

“You know I’ve never been very nice.” He smiles at me as if that’s something he’s proud of.

“Believe me, I know.” I begin to take a sip of my drink, but then decide to chug half of it to calm my nerves.

“My, aren’t we thirsty?”

“I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell am,” I say before taking yet another drink.

Between the shots I’ve consumed, the beer I was nursing before this, and half of this ginormous drink, I’m already feeling a decent buzz.

I look around to find Brooke, making a point to know where she is at all times in case I need to make a quick escape.

A cheer comes from the doorway as a bunch of guys filter in. They’re all wearing Blue Jays jerseys. Obviously, it’s some sort of fan club. Most of them are carrying flags, while others have banners for the Stanley Cup.

I wonder where all the ladies are…but then again, most Blue Jays fans are guys.

I roll my eyes, thinking of Jackson. I’m happy for him and his team, but the pain I have inside is all-consuming. I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in the world to drown out my sorrow, though I know it’s all my fault.

Half ignoring Trevor, I guzzle the rest of my drink and set the glass down in front of him.

“Well, I agreed to have a drink with you, so now that mine is empty, I think I’m going to go dance with my friend,” I say. Truthfully, even if I do manage to stand up I’m not sure that I won’t be so dizzy I’ll be forced to sit back down.

“No,” Trevor says as he puts his hand on my thigh from under the table. “We’re having way too much fun.”

I try to brush his hand away. “Let go of me,” I say quietly, trying not to draw too much attention.

“I miss us,” he has the audacity to say, trailing his hand up further as if he owns me or something.

I grab his hand from under the table and give it a hard squeeze. He doesn’t so much as flinch. He’s obviously had too much to drink, and so have I. My already fuzzy body is starting to heat up, and I’m both angry and afraid.

“We were never a good thing, Trevor,” I say softly, putting my hand on his upper arm, like I used to when we were together.

Maybe if I can soothe him, he’ll back down. There were many times when I had to act this way in order to avoid getting hurt by his words or actions.

He looks at my hand on his bicep and smiles. “We were fucking awesome,” he says, squeezing my inner thigh hard.

I flinch, causing an even broader smile to cross his face. I have to think of a way out of this without drawing too much attention.

I stand to my feet, swaying from the effects of the alcohol. All the while, I’m fighting against his hold until eventually it falls. He looks at me expectantly as he gets to his own feet. Grabbing the crook of my elbow, he begins to pull me close. I fight against his hold, but he’s much stronger than I am.

“Maybe you should come home with me so I can remind you how good we can be together,” he says, tugging me toward the door.

“I don’t want to go home with you—I’m here with my friends,” I say to him as I try to stand up straight and look him in the eye. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

“Sure you do, Amelia. You never knew what was good for you,” he growls as he forcefully pulls me another five feet toward the door.

I look around, frantically trying to find anyone willing to help…but there doesn’t seem to be anyone paying that much attention to us.

“Let go of me,” I say sternly, and then I do the only thing I can think of and slap him across the face.

He flails back, mostly in shock, but doesn’t let go of me. Instead, he stands to his full height and looks at me in anger.

“You bitch!” he spits at me in a tone of absolute rage.

He lifts his fist to punch me, and I know he’s going to. He’s done it before. I brace myself for the impact, somewhat shocked he’s going to do it here in public.

I close my eyes, knowing I shouldn’t—he likes to see me cower…

Nothing happens.

In fact, his grip on me falters altogether and I feel him moving away from me. I don’t know what’s changed, but when I open my eyes, I’m shocked at what I see.