I close the door and press my back to it before my mouth gets away from me.
I slogthrough the next week, and Archangel is distant again. But I wake up on game day, and my brain wants two things: Dr. Pepper and vengeance. And by vengeance, I usually mean hockey. Sometimes it comes in the form of me pushing my teammates’ or my best friend’s buttons. But today, my vengeance is solely focused on the enemy. We’re playing Boston, and I can’t lose to Mark. Not even because of Steph, just because I know he’ll never let it go, and we’ll have to deal with it at the wedding.
It should be a good day, but with the way things are with Angel, I’m not hopeful. We’d already tied with them in the pre-season game, which makes me want to kick their smug asses even more, but I’m expecting the game to be shit, which will really piss me off.
Before I get set into a bad mood, I half fall out of bed and stumble down to the kitchen, practically slamming into the fridge as I try to get it open. I squint, feeling around for my beloved, the only thing in this life that doesn’t let me down. My fingers finally close around a can, and I crack it open sightlessly, needing the caffeine to use my eyes.
I take my first sip, waiting for the syrupy sweetness to usher me into the day and quell my rage. But instead of getting my twenty-three life-saving flavors, I’m met with nasty static electricity.
I squint at the can in my hand, and the fuzzy words come into view.
Betrayal cuts deep into my very soul.
Cherry soda water.
The ultimate double cross.
The can crumples under my rage, spraying me with bubbles while eroding the last of my sanity.
“Who put the static on my Dr. Pepper shelf?”
“Leave,” Angel whisper-yells.
“What?” Seaborn’s half-asleep voice mumbles.
“Do you want to die?! This is defcon five. He drank a soda water.” Archangel hisses.
“Don’t you mean one? Five is the lowest.”
“I’m gay. I only know military uniforms, not military terms! Just leave until he’s Peppered up for the day.”
“Sometimes I wonder why I keep living with you two.” Seaborn sighs.
“Because it’s cheap and nice.” Archangel shoves at Seaborn, who outweighs him by a lot and doesn’t move.
“But he’s taken too many pucks to the head, and you placate him!” Seaborn hisses.
“I’ve never taken a puck to the head!” I grumble and they ignore me.
“You win some, you lose some. Out.” Archangel shuffles him out, but I’m too busy digging for a Dr. Pepper to pay attention. Archangel shoves a can into my hand and takes the devil’s water from me. “Just drink Mr. Hyde.”
I scowl at him and chug.
The soda enters my veins, and I start to feel more like myself.
“Who put hell in liquid form on my happy shelf?” I ask when I’ve calmed.
“I’m sure it was an accident.” Archangel rubs my shoulder.
I look at his hand, and my chest aches with an emptiness, so I wrap him up in a hug.
He’s caught off guard at first and makes a cute squeaky sound, but then wraps his arms around my neck. “Feel better, big guy?”
I lift him off his feet, loving when he’s all shocked. “Yes, but I may never recover from this.”
“Never?” He tries to pull back to look at me, but I don’t let him, pressing my face right into his neck.
Another pang hits my chest. That’s the only bad part about swearing off relationships. I miss being touched. The physical love part that doesn’t come from hookups. Sure, I get some from my friends, but not enough, and if Archangel doesn’t want that part of our relationship anymore, what am I going to do?
