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When Simone’s bun in the oven made headlines, the world naturally assumed that Mickey was the father.
But oh, what a tangled web we weave!
In a plot twist worthy of a Hollywood blockbuster, paternity tests shattered Mickey’s dreams faster than a slapshot to the goalie’s glove. Turns out, the real daddy was none other than Mickey’s friend, Jared Frank.
Talk about a body check to the heart!
But wait, there’s more drama on the ice!
Fast forward to the present, and the Sabertooths’ GM, Tom Redding, has thrown caution to the wind by signing both Mickey and Jared to the same team. Can you say “awkward locker room encounters”?
As the puck drops and the drama unfolds, we can’t help but wonder: will sparks fly on the ice, or will this frozen soap opera end in tears?
Stay tuned, dear readers, because we’ve got a feeling this season is going to be one for the record books!
Follow us as we keep you updated.
XOXO Cam & Cammy
No matter how many times I read the article, it hits me right in the feels. Mickey… oh my God, poor Mickey. It all makes sense, and explains why he’s so distrusting, and basically treating me like enemy number one.
I really don’t want to excuse his asshole behavior, but fuck. This makes it a lot more understandable.
There’s a special place in hell for women like Simone, women who cheat and lie like that. Not for the first time, I pause and wonder if I’m like her. I didn’t outright lie to Mickey and Soren, but I wasn’t honest about my name at Cupid’s Court.
Hindsight is a bitch, one that makes me second-guess myself. Sure, I didn’t know who they were, and anonymity was part of the game on both sides. But still, I could have brought up the pregnancy as soon as I knew.
Succumbing to my new favorite pastime activity, I greedily read everything I find, even the articles I’ve already read before. According to the internet, Jared was kicked off the Sabertooths team within six months for having broken some clause in his contract. Eventually, he signed with the Jersey Jags, where he’s been ever since.
There are videos of Mickey and Jared shouting at each other, fighting on the ice, even Jared lunging at Mickey during a night out. I think it’s safe to say there’s still bad blood between them, and from what I can see, Simone is very much at the heart of it. The pictures of her cozying up to Mickey while Jared watches makes bile climb up my throat as jealousy pumps through my veins.
Shit, I shouldn’t feel like that, yet there’s no denying that’s the feeling coming to the forefront of my mind, and there’s no getting rid of it. If I were a cartoon character, steam would erupt from my ears and there’d be a me-shaped hole in the door already. Sadly, I’m flesh and blood, so all I can do is sit here, seething alone while I tell myself it’s because I feel bad for Mickey. Yep, that’s the story I’m sticking to.
Done with Mickey for now, I move on to Soren, once again re-reading articles I’ve already read at least ten times over the last week. His past isn’t as sordid as Mickey’s, but definitely equally sad. Losing his twin in an ice drowning accident at fifteen, running away to live with his nana. Shit, some of the things his parents are quoted saying makes my heart break for him.
Staying in bed, I desperately scour the internet for all the info I can get on the guys, seeking answers to questions I never thought about asking. I never get around to having my bath; the later it gets, the heavier my limbs and eyes become.
The last thought I have before falling asleep is that tomorrow I’ll drive to the arena with Soren. No more hiding out at his house. And… I’ll tell him about the laptop.
Mickey
Islam my stick against the boards, snarling at Peter across the ice. That son of a bitch better watch his back.
It’s been one fucked up week since Soren took Gail shopping, playing house with her, and I left her my parting gift; my laptop preloaded with everything she needs to know to understand that this will never work, that I can’t go down this path again.
Every time I try to think about it, all I hear is Simone’s soft voice, whispering that the baby is mine. But it wasn’t back then, and I’m too damaged to want it to be now.
My vision goes red as I charge at Peter, ready to beat the shit out of him for that cheap shot he took at Soren. How dare that asshole—
“Davis! Off the ice, now!” Coach bellows, grabbing me by the collar of my jersey. I struggle against his grip, desperate to get to Peter, to make him pay. Coach shakes me hard, dragging me off the ice as I shout curses at my teammate.
He shoves me onto the bench, looming over me. “What the hell has gotten into you? Pull yourself together or you’re benched for the rest of the month.”
I drag my hands through my hair, clutching at the roots. My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath. Benched? He can’t bench me. Ihaveto play. I need to pound my rage into the ice until there’s nothing left.
Coach sneers down at me. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you, Davis? This attitude of yours ends today.”
Like hell I’m telling him shit. I slump onto the bench and stay there, glaring at Peter across the ice. It’s not like me to lose my cool like this. I’m usually the level-headed one. But after everything, I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe. I can’t even fucking sleep. Rage and panic war inside me, threatening to rip me apart, and all I want is to forget.
