One Pucking Wish

Chapter One

Penelope

Gabby chatters away. She’s one of the rare people in the world who still enjoys talking on the phone. I’d prefer a text or email from my high school best friend. Seeing that I speak to her twice a year, I guess I can’t complain. We’re eight years removed from our best-friends-forever status. Yet she’s always quick to include me when there’s any gossip she thinks I may be interested in.

After graduation, we grew apart. I went off to college, and she stayed in the small, one-blinking-red-stoplight town we grew up in. I don’t understand it since I couldn’t wait to leave that place. It always felt so small and suffocating. Then again, Gabby and I had very different home lives. While she was raised by two doting, happily married parents, I grew up with a single mother who was an alcoholic to boot. My entire goal in life was to escape. 

My former best friend is a decent enough person—we just have nothing in common anymore except our past. Rest assured, anything pertaining to said past will spark a call from her whether I want it or not. Today, the news definitely falls in the not category. In fact, the gossip she’s going on about isn’t, in fact, news to me. I’ve been staring at the social media post of the engagement announcement for several hours now.

“Can you believe he’s engaged?” she asks, and though I can’t see her, I can imagine her big green eyes bugging out of her head right now. She’s always been somewhat of a drama queen.

“Yeah, I know. It’s crazy. I’m happy for him,” I lie through my teeth because the truth is, I’m not remotely happy for him. I’m jealous and heartbroken. Once upon a time, he promised that the only finger he’d put a ring on was mine.

It’s ridiculous to hold him to something he said nine years ago, but I do.

“Yeah, she’s a model. I guess she’s been in like two Target ads,” Gabby exclaims.

“Wow. That’s pretty cool.”

More lies. 

I hate the girl. I don’t think the fact that she’s a model is cool at all. 

Gabby continues yapping. I half-heartedly listen as I scroll through the engagement pictures of the love of my life on social media, as I have been for hours now. Everything about the photos shatters my heart, but I can’t look away. He looks so happy, and it hurts. But maybe the most painful realization is she’s literally everything I’m not. 

She’s tall and thin, while I’m average at five foot five inches and on the curvy side. In fact, according to the sizing charts in the stores, I’m considered plus-sized. She has long dark brown, almost black hair while I have a deep red. Her skin is evenly toned and tan. Mine is pale as a ghost with freckles. It’s as if he searched for someone the exact opposite of me. 

“I guess her parents are from Mexico, and she comes from a lot of money. Her father owns some company down there, but I can’t remember what it was…maybe textiles or something with investments?” Gabby continues.

“Those are two very different things,” I say.

“It doesn’t matter. The point is she’s rich or at least her parents are. I heard the wedding is going to be amazing. Are you going? You and Tucker are still friends, right?”

“Uh, you know… not really. I haven’t spoken to him in a while. I’m probably not invited.”

“Are you kidding?” Gabby gasps. “I heard they’re going to invite everyone from our class. The wedding is going to be huge. I’m sure you are. You and Tucker have been friends since third grade.”

Considering we graduated with forty-five people, inviting them all wouldn’t make a massive guest list. Even if everyone brought a date, that would only be ninety people. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tucker invited our whole graduating class. He was friends with everyone and voted the most popular, funniest, nicest, and most likely to succeed. Yeah, in our tiny little town, Tucker Fenway was a god… and he was mine. 

As it goes in small towns, there wasn’t a time in my life when I don’t remember Tucker being a part of it. However, in third grade, we truly became inseparable. We were assigned seats next to one another, and I helped him cheat on his spelling test. Even at eight years old, I was smitten. He and I organized a “king of the hill” group and proceeded to play that specific game every recess of that year, solidifying our best friend status. It was over after that. We were besties throughout the rest of elementary and middle school. In the fall of freshman year in high school, he asked me to the homecoming dance. That night ended in a kiss, igniting our perfect best friends-to-lovers fairy tale. Tucker and I dated throughout high school. We were the it couple and voted most likely to get married.

The truth is, I was nothing without Tucker. He put me on the map and made me somebody in that town of nobodies. He was charming and charismatic. Everyone loved him, and by extension, they loved me, too. Because he loved me. Without him, I was just the daughter of the town drunk. With him, I was high school royalty—as regal as one can be in that pathetic excuse for a high school. 

“Are you going to bring a date?” she asks.

The picture of the supermodel holding out her hand to the camera, the flashy diamond on display as Tucker kisses her cheek, makes me feel ill.

“What?”

“To the wedding? Penelope Stellars, you cannot blow this off like you did our reunion. Everyone will be there!” Gabby chastises.

“I’m not blowing off anything,” I sigh, my invisible Pinocchio nose extending farther.

“Well, are you dating anyone? If not, you can come by yourself. Promise you’ll come, Penny. You haven’t been back since your mom died. We all miss you.”

I doubt that.

I clear my throat. “You know what? I really have to finish some work stuff tonight, so I have to get going. But thanks so much for the call, Gabs. It was great talking to you.” I work to make my tone sound sincere.

“Oh, okay. I mean, they haven’t even set a date. I guess we can figure out everything after our invitations come,” she says.

“Absolutely! Talk to you later.” I don’t recognize my own voice. The forced cheerfulness is nauseating. 

I hit the red end button and drop it on the sofa. My gaze zeros back in on my laptop screen, where Tucker’s sickenly blissful face stares back at me. I know I should be happy for him. He’s a good person who deserves to find love. 

It’s my fault, really. All of it. I have no right to be upset. 

Upon graduation, Tucker left for boot camp and the Army base in Texas, where he would be for several years. I headed up north to Central Michigan University, where I received a scholarship for school. I convinced him it wouldn’t be fair for us to continue a long-distance relationship. I made the argument for breaking up and finding our paths with the understanding that we were meant to be together and we’d find our way back to one another. 

He was devastated and promised me he could never love another. I felt the same way. Yet I just didn’t see how pining for him from hundreds of miles away, for years, would help either of us. I was serious about making something of myself, terrified to live even a fraction of the life my mother had. Unlike her, I would do great things and be somebody of importance. Tucker was already important, but I knew he’d rise to the top of his unit and make a real difference in the Army. Both paths would be harder if we were tied to one another. It was the time in our lives to be selfish and put our needs first. When we accomplished our goals, we’d come back together.

This idea never scared me because I was so certain that Tucker was the man I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. He was positive, too, and swore that when he slid a ring on someone’s finger someday, it would be mine.

So we went our separate ways the summer after high school graduation. It was difficult at first, and we talked on the phone all the time and texted constantly, but we were eventually able to slow our communication until it was a rarity. 

For the first time in my life, I was free. I wasn’t being pulled down by my mother or held up by Tucker. I was making my way on my own, solely on my efforts, and it was liberating.

Up until this point, I’d survived off coffee and cheap boxed pastas. College brought the all-you-can-eat buffet in the cafeteria and happiness, which led to the freshman fifteen. I wasn’t worried because I’d always been too thin and on the verge of malnourishment anyway. But sophomore year brought another fifteen and junior year another. 

When I graduated from college, I was sixty pounds heavier than I was in high school. I went from a rail-thin teenager to a woman with major curves. The newfound breasts and ass, while a little obnoxious, weren’t awful, but when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself. 

Five years after the summer Tucker and I said our goodbyes, our class of forty-five, now twenty-three-year-olds, decided to get together for a five-year reunion of sorts. The get-together consisted of meeting at the local bar. Our town didn’t have a grocery store, but it certainly had a bar. I knew Tucker would be there. I was sure he’d kept in touch with over half our graduating class, whereas I’d only spoken to Gabby and rarely. I had no desire to see forty-three of the people there, only one. Only him. But I felt ashamed for gaining so much weight. I dieted, barely eating anything but chicken breasts and broccoli the entire month prior to the reunion, and I lost four pounds of what was nothing more than water weight. My clothes didn’t get any looser, and the reflection that met me in the mirror didn’t change.

I went back and forth, deciding what to do, but ultimately, I couldn’t go. I couldn’t let my grand reunion with Tucker happen until I lost weight. I spent the whole evening stalking my classmates’ social media, and sure enough, Tucker was there, beautiful as ever. My heart broke at missing my chance to see him. But I literally couldn’t make myself go. I was terrified of what he would think of me. What if he wasn’t attracted to me anymore? How would I have handled that rejection? It would’ve broken me. 

That night, I promised myself that I’d lose the weight and I’d reach out to Tucker for our second chance. Yet another three years have passed, and I haven’t lost the weight, nor have I seen Tucker in person. We’ve messaged via social media a few times over the years, but it’s just been chitchat and nothing of importance. 

Now, the love of my life is engaged, and if I’m being honest with myself, I won’t go to his wedding either. I couldn’t bear him looking at me with relief that he’d moved on.

In my day-to-day, my weight hasn’t held me back. How many twenty-six-year-olds can say they’re head of PR and social media for one of the most popular NHL teams in the country? I’m kick-ass at my job. Even with the extra weight, I still feel pretty. I just don’t feel like the girl Tucker loved anymore, and because of it, I’ve lost him—for good. 

Even if I had still been skinny and had gone to that reunion, we might not have gotten back together. I have no doubt we both had changed since high school. But I’ll never know. 

My heart still yearns for him, yet I’m terrified that I blew my one chance at my happily ever after, all because I didn’t have the confidence to put myself out there. Did I expect him to wait for me forever? Of course not. I guess I assumed that our love was strong enough that he’d be waiting for me when I was finally ready. 

But no. He decided to go fall in love with a supermodel instead. 

Or, at the very least, a Target model. 

My phone buzzes, and I look down to see a text from Iris. She’s the wife of one of the starting forwards for the Cranes and also works under me as our social media and party planner. She’s been in that position for a year now, and we’ve developed a friendship. Only this isn’t a text between friends. It’s work-related. 

We have a situation at The Station.

She mentions the local bar where the team likes to party. I wasn’t aware of any celebrating tonight since it’s an off day. The team had practice and lifting earlier but no game, which is when they like to go out together. 

My blood boils.

Oh my God. What?

While I’m very good at my job, I can’t deny I often feel like a glorified babysitter. It’s ironic that I spent my life cleaning up my mother’s messes and covering for her with the school and the other parents so that Child Protective Services wouldn’t be called. And while a bunch of partying, testosterone-filled men drinking and celebrating is very different from dealing with someone with a legitimate disease and problem—they do bear striking similarities. 

There’s just a little misunderstanding. Don’t worry too much. Just come.

Don’t worry? Of course I’m worrying. What happened?

Nothing serious. Simply something that needs your expertise.

That means something bad has happened. My blood begins to boil as angry tears fill my eyes. I just wanted one night to wallow in my heartache. Maybe eat a pint of ice cream and watch some Friends. But no… I have to go deal with grown-ass men who act like high schoolers.

It’s Gunner. Isn’t it?

Don’t rush. It’s not an emergency. Drive safe. Just please come.

Gunner Dreven, the Cranes huge goalie, is a constant thorn in my side. Iris’s lack of response tells me exactly what I need to know. He went off and did something foolish. Every time there is a problem, it’s him… or at least fifty percent of the time. 

Gunner, who the team refers to as Dreven or the Beast due to his massive size, is an asshole—plain and simple. I don’t hate a lot of people. But I hate this guy. 

Actually, maybe I do hate a lot of people.

Tonight alone, Target models and giant goalies are on my shit list.

It’s just not a good night for me.

I’ll be there soon.

I reply to Iris. Leaning my head back, I groan as it falls between my shoulders. 

My red hair hangs loose in crazy wavy locks that fall over my shoulders, and I have on a pair of baggy sweats and a T-shirt. None of which will do. When I first got this job, I found dealing with grumpy hockey players easier when I put on my power suit. Now, I won’t go to work without my hair pulled back into a tight twist and a pant or skirt suit of some sort. Presenting myself this way makes me feel powerful, and when dealing with Gunner Dreven, that is a must. That man would eat me whole if I let him.