For Pucking Keeps: A Hockey Romance (The Seattle Vipers Series Book 1)

12. Jaz

TWELVE

Ihave my eyes shut; my hand enclosed in Tor’s firm grip, his calloused paw pressed against mine as he leads me to my surprise. Before we arrived at our destination he asked if I would keep my eyes closed, or would I prefer a blindfold? He left the door open for me to flirt with him, but I didn’t take the bait this time. Opting to promise to keep my eyes shut instead. You know, you have to keep men on their toes, one can’t always be predictable. So, here I am letting him lead me, his steps slow, mindful of my own as I try not to peek at my surroundings. No matter my curiosity, I am keeping my word.

I love surprises. Tor’s honesty and playful nature, the biggest ones of the day so far. He’s endearing, deliciously handsome, considerate, with a great sense of humor. Plus, I don’t mind him taking control; the fact I am willing to give it to him so easily is something to examine later. For now I am along for the ride. I can feel he’s holding back, well, we both are. I wonder if our internal battles mirror one another, determined to keep this professional, yet fighting the urge to get pulled into each other’s orbits. It would be so easy. . .

“Open your eyes,” Tor says, making me stop abruptly. His body collides with mine, my eyes pop open in shock on impact. My hands find his back, but clumsy wins and I stumble. Tor turns quickly, grabbing my arms to steady me, brows pinched in concern. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I should have warned you sooner.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him and take a wide-eyed look around. We are standing in the entrance of a large tunnel, behind us the lights are off, but I catch a glimpse of the concrete walls on either side with posters tacked to them. We’re at a community center, perhaps, I wonder as I turn around and take in the room.

As if he can read my thoughts, Tor confirms my musings. “Yes, this is a community center,” he says almost shyly, he shoves his hands in his jean pockets and rocks back and forth from his heels to toes, as if he’s expecting me to protest my disapproval. I remain silent, intrigued and stunned as I stare out at the ice rink behind him.

“I wanted to take you somewhere special, private, of course, no need for unnecessary attention from the press. In the off-season I hold hockey camps here for disadvantaged children, who, due to their circumstances, don’t have access to a sport like this. This is a venture close to my heart, even my agent keeps this project secret. The last thing I need is for the press to catch wind of this and descend upon this place, spinning the story somehow and taking the focus away from what’s important.”

“Noble, Mr. Bailey. But what’s the most important thing about what you’re doing here?” I ask, curious about his response. His simple act of charity only endears him more to me, but let me be honest here, it won’t take much. This man.

“The kids, what they get out of the experience. It keeps them off the street and out of trouble. It opens their eyes to possibilities and if one of them wants to pursue hockey further, then I will consider it a job well done. It’s the least I can do, you know,” he says.

I nod my head slowly, more than satisfied with his reasoning. I want to ask more questions, but instead, I let my eyes travel all around the arena. It’s silent and empty, except for the loud hum of the Zamboni driving towards us. Score one for me for getting the name right. An older man sits behind the wheel, when he spots us, he takes his baseball cap off and waves it enthusiastically.

“Hey, Torrance! I’m almost done here. The ice is all yours,” he hollers over the noise, continuing to drive the machine around the rink. The crisp, icy surface stretches out before me, glistening under the soft glow of the harsh overhead lighting. The rink itself is a vast expanse of pristine white, punctuated by colorful markings and boundaries that crisscross the surface like a giant canvas waiting to be painted. Sturdy barriers line the edges, the familiar plexi-glass stands sentry, protecting the seating area. Even without the hulking hockey players this place is impressive and intimidating.

“Thanks Rick!” Tor shouts back, then turns to me with a serious expression on his face, all traces of the shy man gone. “Rule number three of hockey,” he says in a no-nonsense tone, as he walks towards the stands and unlatches a side door and beckons me forward. “You need to be able to skate on the ice.”

Is this man serious? No. There’s no way he expects me to skate, right? Oh hell no. I stand there, my feet planted on solid ground, refusing to move. “That’s gonna be a hard no for me,” I say, leaving no room for argument. I cross my arms stubbornly over my chest and shake my head.

Tor steps away from the door, eyebrows raised in question. “I’m sorry, let me back track here, I assumed you didn’t know how to skate.”

“You assumed, correctly,” I snap back defensively. My hangups are my own, it has nothing to do with him, but he is the only one in the room, so, I make him my punching bag.

Tor holds his hands up in surrender. “Hold up, Supernova. I promise this is me doing exactly what I agreed to. I want to give you the full experience, and skating is one of them. I’m not going to make you do something you don’t want to. But I will be with you every step of the way. My intention is not to cause you harm, Jaz.”

I hang my head because I know this. I’m being irrational and my own insecurities are rising to the surface. I’ve fought so hard to mask them, accept who I am and be comfortable in my own skin. . .but there are some things. I let my hands do the talking, gesturing wildly at my body. “I’m sorry, but this body is not meant for skating. Ice skates, thin blades, holding up my larger body, it’s pretty obvious.” I try to make my statement more of a joke and less self-deprecation but if I had to choose one, it would be the latter.

Tor’s nostrils flare, the only indication that he didn’t like what I had to say. He holds out his hand to me and waits. “Come with me, please.”

I want to be stubborn and resist, but I can’t. My feet carry me over to him, my hand finds his, like it is the most natural thing in the world, and it couldn’t wait to return home. He pulls me into the stands and down the aisle to the front row, right behind the boards where various pairs of ice skates await us.

I’m already shaking my head adamantly, my decision made. “Tor, I can’t.” I find the closest seat and flop down in the chair, looking everywhere but him. I don’t want to see disappointment or pity on his face. God, I can’t believe I am letting something as simple as ice skating get the better of me. It’s embarrassing, but most hurts run deep. Mine run deeper than most. I remember being a little girl, watching figure skaters on television, pretending to perform on the carpet, making up my own routines to my favorite songs. I remember the one and only time I put on a pair of ice skates and the humiliation that followed. I sit in this chair, feeling like that eleven-year-old chubby girl once more.

“Jazminne,” Tor says my name softly, pulling me from my thoughts. He squats in front of me, the heat of his hands seeps through my denim-clad thighs. His thumbs stroke tender, soothing circles, grounding me to the present. I look down into his concerned eyes as he waits patiently for me to respond. Suddenly, I don’t want to hide from him. I want him to know me, all of me, the true me.

“Alexis. Alexis Rhodes is my real name,” I finally say to his utter wide-eyed astonishment. Tor’s grip on my thighs tightens as he narrows his eyes on me. Clearly confused, his mouth opens and closes with what I’m sure are a load of questions.

“But—”

“Jazminne Starr is my penname. Most authors use one to maintain anonymity, to keep their private lives private. When I moved here, it was easier for me to use Jaz because no one knew me by anything else. I hold my cards close to my chest to protect myself and my family. It was one of the reasons why I freaked out last night while I was watching your press conference after the game. They kept asking you questions about me. I just knew one of them was going to expose my real name to the world. I know I won’t be able to hide that information forever, but it is a secret I want to keep for as long as I can.” I blow out a breath. Yeah, I’m emotionally drained on so many fronts right now, and I’m mentally tapped out.

Tor’s eyes never waver, they search mine for a moment as he lets my explanation sink in. “Alexis,” he says my name, my real name and my stomach flips, my heart beats a little faster at the sound of it on his tongue. “You have nothing to worry about. I understand the need for privacy more than you know. Your secret is safe in my hands.”

“You’re the first person I’ve told since I moved here. Lia doesn’t even know. I’m going to tell her. I’m sure she’s going to give me shit.” I try to laugh but it falls flat. I look at Tor imploringly, “Please, use Jaz when we are out in the real world. I just needed. . .wanted you to know the truth,” I say in a rush, and he nods his head in understanding.

“Alexis,” he says my name patiently, his hands still resting on my thighs, thumbs still rotating slowly, reassuringly.

I give him my full attention now. I feel as if I’ve cut myself open wide for him to see, completely vulnerable. “Yes, Tor?” I whisper my reply.

“Do you trust me?”

Please say, yes, I think to myself as I crouch in front this beautiful trusting woman. I know we are only scratching the surface in getting to know each other. What she revealed was unexpected, but I get it. Alexis Rhodes. I let the name roll around in my head, and it feels right. I didn’t think twice about Jaz not being her actual name. There are things about her world I am yet to learn, but I want to. I really want to.

“Yes. I do,” she says confidently. A weight lifts off my chest at her admission. Trust takes time, and the fact she’s given me hers so soon fills me with. . .with, what? Well, words I am not sure I can express. Not yet, anyway.

“Good, Supernova.” I wink, trying to make light of the situation and get our day back on task. “But first,” I say sternly, because I need her to understand how necessary it is for her to let what I’m about to say sink in. I squeeze her thighs and close my eyes trying not to imagine how soft her skin is underneath the fabric of her jeans. “I want you to hear me, Alexis.” I watch her eyes widen at my use of her real name, and it gives me a sense of satisfaction. Responsive, good. I make a promise here and now to use her real name sparingly. Right now, I need her to hear me, really hear me. “I am going to teach you how to ice skate.”

“Tor—”

“No, Jaz. You are what dreams are made of. Your body,”—I let my hand climb a fraction higher up her thighs—“you are fucking gorgeous, and I’ll be damned if I sit here and let you talk about yourself as if you’re anything but. Your body is beautiful.”

I stand because I am too close to her lips, too close in general. My dick is screaming for her attention, and I want to declare my affections and intentions all over her luscious body. What I really want to say is her body is beautiful because she is mine. Mine. She just doesn’t know it yet. But maybe some revelations need to remain in my head only.

“The men who collide with me on the ice every night are a lot bigger and heavier, yet they skate like figure skaters. If they can do it, baby, so can you.” I don’t give her a chance to protest, I turn and head over to the skates I had delivered here two days ago. Thank goodness Rick, who handles maintenance at this small local ice rink was in this morning. The man is a saint, I owe him premium seats at our next home game for sure.

“I’m scared,” she says with my back to her. “I’m scared of falling and not being able to get up. It’s baggage from a long time ago. I’ve never gotten over it. The minute you mentioned skating, my mind took me back there and I freaked.”

I turn holding up a pair of skates and nod in understanding. I saw it in her face when she became defensive moments ago. I knew there was more to it than she let on. I smile. “Thank you for telling me, Jaz. I promise I will not let you fall, and if you do, which you won’t”—Holding up my finger to punctuate my point—“I will be there to pick you up. Always.”

“Okay,” she relents, covering her face with her hands. I can only assume she’s attempting to psych herself up for what we are about to do. She drops her hands from her face and shakes them both out nervously. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

My smile is wide, so wide my face hurts. This woman. Despite her fear, she is pushing past it and I have nothing but respect and admiration for the bravery of her action. I drop down in front of her again and unlace her boots one at a time. I’m surprised that I guessed her shoe size correctly, as I finish lacing her up securely in her skates. I make quick work of putting on my own skates and then I stand and hold out my hand to her.

“What do you say, Miss Starr? You want to skate with me?” I give her a flirty smile, continuing to keep things light between us. I wait. I watch her hesitate for just a bit, then she blows out a breath, extends her hand, and entwines her fingers with mine. Her chest rises and falls at the contact, her shoulders fall, and she relaxes as she steps forward. I reach out and take her other hand, then slowly step back onto the ice, one step at a time. Jaz stops near the edge, her foot raised, hovering above the ice, then she glances up at me, this moment feels like so much more, like the next step is just the beginning of many firsts between the two of us. Her trust in me, the possibility of more to come in future, we both stand on the precipice of something extraordinary happening right here, right now. As she takes that tentative step down onto the ice with me, it feels like a metaphor for the journey we are both about to embark upon. As reluctant as I am, I’m losing the battle warring inside my head. I can have it all. Can’t I? The fight to keep my goals singular, to make hockey my only priority, and maintaining this existence of loneliness, isn’t living. I want more. I can make room in my life, my heart, my mind for more, for someone. I take Ridley’s words and run with them. I don’t want to miss out on something great because I am too set in my ways to open my arms and receive it.

“Don’t let me go,” Jaz says nervously, her body swaying to the side slightly off balance as I guide us both to the center of the ice. She’s as still as a statue as I pull her along, legs bent a fraction at the knees, locked tightly in place. I need to get her to relax completely or she’ll never trust herself enough to stay upright.

“Never,” I reassure her.

Jaz’s body wobbles clumsily again and her eyes widen in panic. “Tor, please, don’t let me fall. I don’t want to fall,” she pleads. I give her hands a reassuring squeeze, her grip tightens as she holds onto me like her life depends on it.

“Relax, Jaz. I got you.” I keep my voice calm as I skate backwards, holding her gaze.

“I’m trying. This is insanity, Tor. I agreed to this. I agreed to this.” She chants the phrase over and over again, and her mantra seems to be working.

“Eyes on me, Supernova,” I command, but the stubborn woman won’t stop shifting her eyes back and forth between her feet and mine.

I tsk and shake my head. “Alexis,” I call out her real name and her eyes snap forward. When she gives me her full attention, I grin proudly. “That’s it, focus on me,” I instruct as I keep pulling her forward, encouraging her to move her feet. When she begins to relax, her posture straightens naturally. I don’t think she even realizes she’s beginning to mirror my simple footwork.

“See?” You’re improving already,” I finally say as we make a complete circle around the rink.

Jaz pants. “Really?” She laughs nervously. “You’re being nice to me. You don’t have to let me down easily. I know I am terrible at this. Not everyone can come out of the womb with skates on their feet. You make this look effortless. Not going to lie, I’m a bit jealous, Mr. Bailey.”

I laugh. “The witty banter is back. Ladies and gentlemen, Jazminne Starr has returned.”

Jaz chuckles. “I guess I have,” she says with pride. “Thank you, Tor.”

“You don’t have to thank me. This is a privilege. It’s not a hardship at all to be in your space, Miss Starr. Plus, we all have to start somewhere. I wasn’t always this graceful. It took time. Besides, I have a feeling you’re a natural,” I tease, loosening my grip on her hands, as I continue to talk.

Jaz purses her lips skeptically. “You think so?”

I release her hands, staying close enough to catch her, but she pushes herself forward without my help with relative ease. It’s not perfect, but it doesn’t have to be. She’s skating all on her own.

“Look at you go, Supernova. A natural.” I wink, continuing to skate backwards, keeping pace with her.

Jaz’s mouth falls open in shock. She looks at me, beautiful eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Tor, I’m skating.”

“Yes, you are,” I reply. Taking off, I skate around her in a wide circle before returning to her side. She reaches out her hand to me and we glide, slowly, around the rink together. We both skate like this for a few laps, me giving her instructions and talking about hockey the entire time. Jaz stumbles a few times but as I promised, I’m right there, ready to catch her, and she doesn’t fall. Not once.

“I know it was a rocky to start, but did you enjoy yourself?” I ask as I close the door to my SUV. Jaz inclines her head back against the seat, eyes closed, taking slow measured breaths with a smile on her face.

As I start the car, we pull away from the community center in silence. When Jaz doesn’t respond right away, I worry if taking her here this morning was too much, that I overstepped. Yeah, we ended this excursion on a high note, but maybe I should have discussed my plans with her before we came here. If I’d known skating was a trigger for her, I would have made other plans.

“When I was kid, I had a very vivid imagination. I guess that explains why I became a writer,” she finally says, to my relief. I glance over quickly, only to find that she has turned her head in my direction, bright eyes on me as she continues. “I was that girl, the one who pretended to be a synchronized swimmer in the swimming pool. I used to make up figure skating routines, safely of course, on the carpeted floors of the living room. Gymnastics too. There wasn’t a piece of furniture in my house growing up that my sisters and I didn’t flip over, jump on, or hide under. We didn’t always get to go out on day trips, or vacation in the summer, because it was only my mother who supported us after my father died. We found ways to entertain ourselves. Our house was our playground. We held our own concerts, lip syncing to our favorite songs, poetry corners. . .we just had fun.” She sighs wistfully, and I want her to keep talking. I want to know everything there is to know about this woman.

“Siblings?” I ask.

“Yep. Two sisters. Shay is the youngest and Dawn is the oldest. I’ve got serious middle child syndrome over here.” She chuckles softly. “To make a long story short. I faced a trauma demon today, and with your help, I think I’ve overcome it. So, yes, I did enjoy myself today. It was fun, and I’m glad you took me there. Sometimes you don’t know what you need until it’s right there in front of you.”

I let her words sink in, yet again she gives more of herself to me. Trusting me with her story, letting me in. I’m not sure I am ready to do the same, but Jaz doesn’t give me an out and I am almost grateful for it.

“What about you Torrance Bailey? What should I know about you?” she asks, settling into her seat once more as I continue to make the drive toward home.

“What about me?” I repeat her question as I try to decide how much is too much to say when introducing someone into your life. After the silence gets to be too much, I blow out a breath and decide to give her my truth.

“My mother was a teenager when she had me. Apparently when my good for nothing grandparents found out, they threw her out. They gave her an ultimatum—get rid of me or don’t come back home—well, as my mother used to tell me, she never second guessed her choice to keep me,” I say, keeping my voice matter-of-fact. I don’t talk about my childhood often, only a few people know about my life. It is the main reason why I am so private. I don’t want the press to dig up shit about me that I would rather keep buried.

“How could they do that to her?” Jaz asks, shaking her head in what I assume is disbelief.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, when you think of grandparents in general, my mother’s parents were far from loving, caring, and supportive. But she kept me, packed what she could carry and moved in with my father and his parents.” I pause, not wanting to continue. I hated this part of my story the most.

“Are you close with your father and mother? To have you so young, it’s commendable they stuck it out together.” Jaz looks over at me hopefully, placing her hand over my thigh, squeezing it in a show of support. I glance over and let her see my reality in my expression, hurt, sadness, despair, emotions I rarely let bleed through.

“Unfortunately, no. I never knew my father. He walked away from my mother the day I was born. He told her he had a life planned for himself that didn’t involve her, especially not with a child he didn’t want at least.” I shrug and continue. “Nine months she stayed with him and his parents, never giving her a reason to doubt what they had until then. Little did she know he was with someone else the entire time. His parents even knew.”

Jaz gasps, mouth falling open in shock. “No.”

“Oh yeah, he was a piece of shit. He left her there at the hospital, told her he and his parents had done their part in helping her, now she needed to move on.” I chuckle bitterly. “They wanted nothing to do with her or me. Not once did anyone admonish my deadbeat of a father, though, oh no. He had a bright future, a scholarship, and a promising career playing basketball for some college in upstate New York. Fuck my mother’s dreams and aspirations. No one gave a damn about what having a child at eighteen, barely graduating high school with a newborn baby would do to her. But, you know what? Karma is a bitch and then you die,” I say with all the venom I can muster. What do they say? You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Well, I say screw that noise. What he did to my mother destroyed her. He got what he deserved. I truly believe it.

“What happened to him?” Jaz asks, her voice now a low whisper, as if she’s afraid of what I might say.

“A car accident. Apparently he was returning home after his first semester in college, driving through a snowstorm. My mother told me he lost control of his car. Head on collision, he died on impact.” I shrug nonchalantly. “I guess he was granted a small mercy in the end.”

“Tor, I’m?—”

“Don’t, Jaz.” I cut her off, the last thing I want is pity, it’s not why I wanted to tell her this. “My mother gave me the best life she could. I didn’t have much, but what I did have, I learned to cherish and appreciate. My mother worked tirelessly to put food on the table, a roof over my head, not once asking for a handout. She introduced me to hockey and bought me my first pair of secondhand skates. It’s the main reason why I give to those less fortunate. Because someone reached down and helped me up. It was a program like the ones I now run that got me on the ice daily, giving me the experience and exposure to the sport that I love. Eventually word got out about me, a few scouts came out to watch me play, and that’s how I got a free ride to college. The rest is history.” I smile and give her a wink, but Jaz only stares back at me with unshed tears in her eyes. Keeping one hand on the wheel I reach out and take her hand in mine.

“I didn’t have the best start in life, but I had a determined mother who taught me to never take my eyes off the path placed in front of me. To steer the course and never let myself get distracted from my goals. It is a life lesson I take to heart.” The back of my throat burns from the emotions brewing underneath the surface. The memories of my mother and the things she taught me, every kiss, hug, and every loving word she uttered.

“She must be very proud of you. My mother is the same way. After our father died, it was just her and her determination to make our lives better.” Jaz sniffs, then clears her own throat.

“She was proud of me.” I pull my hand away, placing both hands on the wheel, blinking rapidly to keep my own tears from spilling over. “My mother lost her battle with cancer during my rookie season with the Vipers. I was a mess, let the wrong people into my life, lost my way for a bit. If it hadn’t been for Ridley, who knows where I’d be now.”

“I’m so sorry, Tor.” She pauses and we both remain silent, letting everything we shared with one another sink in. I didn’t mean to turn this outing into a confessional, but I wanted to share myself with her. She spoke so openly about her life; she deserved the same from me.

“Out of the dead, blackened soil grows the bright blooms of new life. Seeking the sun, rising high above thorns and brambles threatening to block out the light. The flowers flourish, despite the shadows at the roots,” she mutters to herself.

“Is that yours?” I ask, wanting to change to subject.

“Yeah, a poem I wrote a long time ago.” She hums thoughtfully. “That’s how it all started for me. I used to write poetry. I have journals full. Poetry is what opened the door to writing for me. That stanza in particular felt poignant, it just came to me, random but fitting.”

“You are brilliant, Jazminne Starr.” I smile gratefully. This woman never ceases to amaze me. The words she spoke feel like they were written just for me. No matter the darkness of my upbringing, my mother gave me the life I needed to grow, she pushed me up into the light and I flourished. At least, it’s what I interpreted from her words. I’m sure it means something completely different to Jaz.

After a pit stop for lunch at a local café outside of the city. I began the drive back to Jaz’s home. We talk about nothing and everything. After such a heavy conversation earlier, we both appreciated the easy conversation. I ask about her books and regale her with locker room stories of her newly obsessed fanboy Devan. Of course we talk about hockey, but she shies away from discussing the current book she is working on. I don’t ask why. I’m just happy to have her here beside me. I feel at ease, as if I’ve known her my whole life. When we pull up outside her house I park the car, but I don’t want her to part from me. Suddenly, the day ended too soon.

“Come to the game tomorrow night,” I blurt out nervously, anything to prolong her exit. “I can introduce you to some of my teammates. Maybe I can get the PR team to give you a tour before the game. You know, give you the whole experience.” I am desperate, but I can’t let her walk away today without arranging more time with her.

“Lia goes to every home game.” She shrugs. “There is no way she isn’t going to drag me along, but I would love to learn more about the inner workings of your team.” Jaz opens her door, but I reach out and clutch her hand in mine, halting her. She angles her body to face me, eyebrows raised in question.

“Are you alright, Mr. Bailey.” She smirks.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m feeling overwhelmed and out of my depth, but I don’t care. I want to drag her home with me and never let her go. I’m thinking crazy, possessive, obsessive thoughts, that both excite yet scare me. I’m so used to control, structure, and routine, out on the ice, as a captain to my team, and my everyday life. But with this, with her, I’m unravelling. “You’re a romance author. How fast is too fast? I mean, if you were writing a story, how fast is too fast?” I grip her hand tighter as her brows crease in concern.

“Uh, it depends on what you mean by too fa?—”

I don’t let her finish as I tug her over the console and into my waiting arms. My lips find hers and I kiss her. Her lips are soft as they collide with mine, her hands press against my chest as she steadies herself against me. I lick and pull at her bottom lip as she gasps in surprise, opening up just enough for me to deepen the kiss. I feel the exact moment she gives in, when she decides to give me everything. Her body relaxes into mine and we both groan in satisfaction, as if our bodies were waiting for our minds to catch up to what they already knew. This, our connection, a foregone conclusion, an inevitability. Our tongues tangle, the kiss goes from soft and sweet to hard, frenzied, and demanding, making my head spin. We kiss like two stars colliding, finally relenting to the gravitational pull, spiraling closer and closer, until we are one. With one kiss, my world is irrevocably changed. My Supernova crashed into my life, and she hasn’t destroyed me, she’s rearranging me, and I am more than okay with it.

When Jaz finally pulls away, lips swollen, eyes glazed, she smiles. “Nope, not too fast at all, Mr. Bailey. That was page worthy.” She reaches out her hand and wipes my bottom lip with her finger and I lean into her touch. “You have my lip gloss all over your face.”

“Not a hardship,” I say as she steps out of the SUV.

“Thank you for today, Tor.” She gives me one more beautiful smile then closes the door.

“It was my pleasure, Miss Starr,” I finally say as I watch her walk up the steps to her house, hips swaying, ass taunting me, making my mouth water. Shit. Jaz turns and waves me off, then disappears into her home. I sit in my car in a daze watching her closed door, wondering what the fuck just happened.