Cold Hard Truth

by Anne Greenwood Brown

“What?” she said without stopping her work.

  “What would you think about getting something to eat afterward?” Max’s question came out in huffs of breath that vaporized on the air.

  “I don’t think so,” Emmie said. She was clearly exhausted, but she lifted her shovel and tossed the load over the snowbank at the edge of the driveway. It was so sticky that most of it stuck to her shovel. She gave an exasperated little groan and shook the shovel until the snow fell off in large, wet clumps.

  “Friends do that,” Max said.

  She scraped her shovel along the sidewalk, lifting another load. “We’re not that kind of friends.”

  Max stood his shovel up vertically and rested both arms over the top of the handle. “Geez, Emmie. I’m not proposing marriage. I’m proposing a sandwich.” She didn’t look at him, just kept on shoveling. “Will you, Emmie, take my hero sub…”

  She shook her head and still refused him any kind of eye contact. The girl kept working.

  “Another time then.” He scooped up a thick load of snow, probably too much, but he was showing off.

  “Arrogant,” she muttered.

  Max wasn’t sure she meant for him to hear her, but he answered anyway. “Nope.” He tossed the snow over the bank. “Persistent.”

  She shook her head again, but Max noticed the tiniest of smiles. “This is ridiculous,” she said.

  “Well, I’ll give you that. It is ridiculous. No one should put up such a big fight over a sandwich. If it makes you feel better, you can pay for your own.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You could just get chips.”

  “Maybe some other time.”

  Max took advantage of her error. “Ah, progress. You just agreed to a future date.”

  She stopped and looked up into his face. He knew instantly that he’d gone too far. Without meaning to, he’d slipped into flirting, and now she was angry. The intensity in her eyes made him suck in his breath.

  “Quit playing me,” she said. Her voice was deadly calm, but it was not the kind of calm he craved.

  “Shit, Emmie. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.” He had to look away. Why was she perpetually on defense? If it had anything to do with the pregnancy rumors, he wanted to kill whoever’d hurt her.

  Emmie walked away and leaned her shovel against the van. She grabbed a Styrofoam cup from the front seat and filled it with hot chocolate from the Thermos. She looked up just as an approaching car suddenly hit the brakes, skidding to a stop right in front of her.

  It was an older-model sedan, riding low to the ground. The driver leaned out his window. He was nineteen or twenty with dark eyebrows that nearly met in the middle and a spiderweb neck tattoo. He wore an oversize puffy jacket and a baseball cap a little off center. Max could see the reflective tag under its flat bill.

  Even though Emmie was bundled in a thick parka, Max noticed her back stiffen. In fact, her whole posture was rigid. Max didn’t like the way this guy grinned at her, or the way everyone stopped working, or how Dan rushed in. It seemed everybody knew this guy but Max, and he instinctively moved to Emmie’s side.

  “Nick will be glad to know you’re doing fine,” the guy said, taking only a second to cast a sideways glance at Max. “And you do look fine, Pigeon. We’re missing you at the Gold Pedal.”

  The guy was leering, and Emmie’s face was ashen. Who was Nick? Why did this guy call her that stupid name? He was making Max’s fingers twitch.

  “Move on out,” Dan said, stepping in front of Emmie and Max. He put his hands on the car’s window frame. “We’re working here.”

  “Just saying hi to my girl,” the guy said. He gave Emmie another leering elevator look, down and up.

  Max glanced at Emmie again. Nothing in her face made him think that she considered herself to be this jerk-off’s “girl,” but it brought Katie’s gossiping back into focus. Had Emmie really had a baby last year? With this guy? With this guy? That couldn’t be right. He looked like a disease. Max’s hands balled into fists.

  Dan rested his forearms on the car’s open window frame and leaned into the guy’s face. Dan was a big dude, and Max was glad to see that he could be scary when he wanted to be. “I said, ‘Move, Jimmy.’”

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Danny.” The guy was all smiles. Then he peeled out, kicking up a spray of slushy snow.

  Dan turned toward Emmie like he was going to put his hands on her shoulders. She stepped back abruptly, tossed the rest of her hot chocolate in the snow, and crushed her cup in her hand.

  “Don’t worry,” Dan said, following her. “I’ve got this under control. I won’t let that happen again.”

  “Yeah?” Emmie asked. “And how exactly are you going to stop them?”

  Won’t let what happen? Max wondered. Stop what? What exactly was that?

  “Emmie,” Max said, jogging to catch up to her and Dan. “Who was that guy?”

  “It’s none of your business. Leave me alone.”

  “I can’t just leave you alone.”

  “Like hell you can’t.” Then she stormed away from him, picking up her shovel as she passed it and smacking it into the snowbank.

  Max didn’t bug Emmie for the rest of their shift, but he watched her. She didn’t cry or give anything away on her face, but her whole body remained rigid, and her mind seemed very far away.

  Apparently he wasn’t the only one paying attention. As Max passed two of the other guys on the crew, one of them—Kyle, Max thought his name was—said to the other, “Did you recognize that guy who came up in the car?”

  The other guy nodded. “Jimmy Krebs.”

  “I didn’t know that girl ran with his crowd,” Kyle said.

  “Well, she’s on probation for something. Jimmy didn’t look too happy about it, whatever it is.”

  “A girl like that plays fast and loose,” Kyle said. “I might have to tap that.”

  And that’s when Max lost his shit.

  His hands gave one quick twitch, and a second later, he had Kyle pinned against the brick wall of the halfway house, his fingers around Kyle’s throat.

  “Christ,” the other kid yelled, pulling at the neck of Max’s coat. Then, “Dan!”

  Dan, who’d remained in the van doing paperwork, was there in an instant, his arms wrapped around Max’s body, but Max wasn’t backing off. Kyle’s face was turning red under the pressure of Max’s fingers, his eyes tense and watering. He looked so ugly that Max wanted to tear his face off.

  “Let him go,” Dan said.

  But Max’s elbow snapped backward, connecting with Dan’s ribs, and Dan stepped off. Kyle tried to use the moment to get away, but Max had him back up against the wall. How dare this kid talk about Emmie that way? How dare he even imagine himself taking something from her? Max’s fingers tightened.

  Max knew he had to stop. He knew if he kept going, he’d slip into blackout mode. Either that, or he’d end up killing the kid. But Max couldn’t…stop. He didn’t know how…He needed help.

  And that’s when Max heard Emmie’s voice. “Dude. Let him go.”

  At first, he thought she was only in his head—because the last time he saw her, she’d been on the side of the building—but then he felt her hand on his shoulder, and his body went slack. He let go of Kyle’s neck and stepped back. Kyle staggered away from the wall, coughing and gagging. He bent over and spit into the snowbank.

  “Emmie,” Max said on an exhale. He was relieved. And he was embarrassed. What must she be thinking of him? But then he pushed away any concern he had for himself. Had she heard what Kyle said about her? Max didn’t think so, but maybe she had and just didn’t care.

  “What the hell, Shepherd?” Dan said as Kyle and his buddy backed away. “You might have thought you were done today, but that stunt just earned you another two Saturdays on the crew.”

  That was fine by Max. He wasn’t about to leave Emmie alone with Kyle Asswipe and his friend.

  “Are you okay?” Emmie asked.
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  “He had it coming,” Max said. He wished he knew what she was thinking about him. There was no judgment on her face or in her voice, and Max was so very, very grateful. But he still worried this new outburst gave her more reason to write him off.

  “Jesus,” Dan said, “why does everybody always have it coming with you?”

  “Not everybody,” Max said, still looking at Emmie. “Just those who don’t play by the rules.”

  “It’s you,” Dan said, “who doesn’t play by the rules.”

  This time Max managed to look away from Emmie, if only for a second. “Mine are the only rules that make sense.”

  “Yeah? And how’s that working out for you?” Dan asked.

  “I…um…” Emmie glanced toward the building. “I guess I’ll get back to work.” Then she walked quickly away, head down.

  Back by the van, Kyle puked in the snow. Dan glanced over his shoulder and yelled, “Get in my truck, dude. I’ll drive you back early.” Then he turned to Max. “How are those anger management classes going?”

  Max sighed. “They don’t start ’til Wednesday.”

  Dan gave Max a withering look.

  “Is Emmie in some kind of trouble?” Max asked, knowing Dan wouldn’t tell him much, but hoping he’d tell him enough so he’d know how much to worry. The flickering remnants of his adrenaline rush still left a tremor in his fingers.

  “Not now, but she needs to stay that way.” Then Dan cocked his head to the side and looked at Max as if he was seeing him for the first time. “You want to put that energy of yours to use, put it into being a friend. The girl could use one, and someone like you wouldn’t be bad to have in her corner. Just quit trying to put people through walls.”

  “You didn’t hear what that asshole said about her.” Max felt like a little kid. He knew his motivation, no matter how well intentioned, did not justify what he’d done to Kyle. So why couldn’t he scramble up an apology?

  “Doesn’t mean I’m not adding on two more Saturdays.”

  “Understood.”

  “All right. You got yourself together?” Dan looked Max over, assessing him. “Can I trust you while I take Kyle back?”

  Max gave Dan a half smile. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. It was only a little lie.

  Dan grimaced, then met Kyle at his truck, smacking the back of Kyle’s head with his open hand as he unlocked the door for him. Max breathed out as the last of the tremors left his hands.

  Two hours later, after Max got home, he sent Emmie an impulse text: You okay?

  There was no response right away. In fact, there was no response for over an hour. But eventually—and surprisingly—his screen lit up.

  Yeah. Thanks for checking. You?

  Max typed out the words I’m fine, then packed up his gear for the game, still angry at Kyle and confused by what had gone down, but gratified that Emmie’d responded and that she was fine. In fact, maybe he was even a little happy.

  When he got to the locker room and found that Jordy had put a family-size bag of M&M’s in his cubby, well…he knew the feeling was going to last.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  SUPERFANS

  Nothing Dan McDonald could ever say would convince Emmie that he had “control” of her particular situation. She knew Nick was in prison. She knew he couldn’t hurt her. But for everything that had happened, for as badly as she’d betrayed him, she didn’t trust prison to be enough. Not that he would or could escape. Life wasn’t a movie.

  This morning had proven that Nick had many arms and legs, and some of them walked around free. Like Jimmy. And if Jimmy knew where to find her, then so did Frankie. And Angie too. Sometimes Angie was scarier than any of the guys. Emmie thought it was because Angie’d been with the guys so long that she’d stopped caring about anything. When you stopped caring, Emmie’d realized, you got reckless. It could even make you dangerous.

  She hoped their reach wouldn’t extend to school. Things were starting to fall into a comfortable pattern. It wasn’t like she was popular, but at least she wasn’t a freak like she’d feared. She was getting her assignments in. Teachers liked her. She had a place at the lunch table. Marissa’s new friends accepted her into the group.

  And then there was Max…whatever he was. She’d liked his text. She didn’t need him to check up on her, but it still felt good. Especially after Jimmy’s unexpected visit.

  She’d been rattled. She’d tried not to let it show, but Max saw right to her heart. Without really knowing, he somehow still understood.

  Suddenly, for the first time in a long time, Emmie felt that she had something to lose. It was a problem, and lord knew she had enough already. What was she supposed to do with the realization that she wanted to get to know Max better? Like, a hell of a lot better.

  She shouldn’t want that. More to the point, he shouldn’t want that. But then, he didn’t have the requisite information to make a sound decision, and Emmie was starting to feel selfish. Having Max around might be a good thing, particularly if she ever ran into Jimmy again.

  “Whatever’s bothering you, you’ve got to stop worrying about it,” Marissa said as Emmie drove to Sarah’s house on their way to the hockey game. The little hula girl mounted on Emmie’s dash did a frantic hip wiggle as her car went over the washboard road of rutted snow. “It’s not good for your skin.”

  Emmie checked traffic in the rearview mirror and caught her reflection. Marissa was right. When did she get this inside zit, right at the corner of her nose? It hurt like a mother.

  But how was she supposed to stop worrying? Jimmy was going to tell Frankie. Frankie was going to tell Angie. They were all going to figure out how to find her. It didn’t matter that she had a new phone number and that they didn’t know her dad’s address. Not if they could easily find her on the street.

  Emmie shivered, thinking about what Nick and his buddies did to people who jacked them up. Usually it was junkies who didn’t pay their debts. Luckily, her mom had never gotten in that much trouble with Nick, but she’d been lucky. She had other things to offer him. Emmie, for one.

  “I’m just worried about my mom.” It was not actually what Emmie’d been thinking about, but it was at least true. And close enough.

  “Your mom? Why? What’s wrong with your mom?” Marissa asked.

  Emmie glanced over and decided, in that moment, that she owed Marissa at least a little explanation. Their friendship was back on track. Comfortable. Emmie trusted her. “She’s…My mom’s sick. That’s why I came back to live with Dad.” Emmie held her breath to see if that was enough of a disclosure to explain her distracted thoughts. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it wasn’t a lie either.

  Marissa looked over at Emmie, gap-mouthed. “What kind of sick? You mean like”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“cancer?”

  Emmie swallowed. She should have known that a little information would only lead to more questions.

  “Listen, Emmie. I keep telling you, you worry too much. You don’t have to worry about telling me the truth. You’re my friend. I love you.”

  “She’s in rehab,” Emmie said quickly, letting the last word sink like a stone. “As in drugs. Let’s say, it wasn’t a good idea for me to go live with her.”

  “I…” Marissa started. She stopped as if she didn’t know how to finish, but then she figured something out. “Emmie, you don’t have to walk around with so much bottled up. Whatever’s going on with your mom, that’s not on you. Lots of people go to rehab. Pretty much everyone in People magazine, and even if it got out about your mom—”

  Emmie turned to her with a panicked look.

  “—which it won’t, but if people knew about her, they’d think she was messed up. Not you.”

  Emmie wasn’t convinced. Bottling things up was the only way to stay afloat. It would take just one curious person to find out the whole story, and then they’d call her a whore. Or worse.

  Emmie pulled in front of Sarah’s house, and Sarah jogged down her front walk with Oliv
ia and another one of Marissa’s new friends that Emmie’d met only once. Their cheeks were all painted with blue-and-white stripes.

  “Well, aren’t we the superfans tonight,” Marissa said when they climbed in.

  “My brother and his friends were doing it,” Sarah said. “I thought, Why not? Here.” She reached forward and handed Emmie what looked like a waxy blue crayon. “I brought some for you. Put a couple swipes under your eyes, or a blue heart, or write #1, but don’t do it looking in a mirror. That’s what I did at first, and I wrote everything backward.”

  Emmie exchanged a glance with Marissa, then decided to give it a try. For a second, she considered writing Max’s number on her cheek but luckily thought better of it because (a) she didn’t remember what it was; (b) this stuff looked like it was going to be a bitch to get off; and (c) she had no business staking that kind of claim just because he’d dedicated his game to her. (Well, and to all the other new kids too.) Besides, she didn’t even want to stake a claim.

  What she did want was for him to get through the night without hurting anyone. She didn’t know a lot about hockey, but she knew he had a lot riding on this game.

  Emmie settled on writing WPHS on one cheek and a #1 on the other, making sure it wasn’t backward, then handed the crayon to Marissa. The hula girl gave a little shiver when Emmie pulled away from the curb.

  Once they arrived at the ice arena, Marissa and Sarah headed straight for concessions. Emmie stood at the corner of the rink where there was a gap in the plexiglass, protected by a black nylon net with two-inch mesh. The players were flying around the perimeter of the ice. So fast and strong, their legs pumping, their sticks held at waist level.

  Emmie searched the ice, trying to see if she could recognize Max by his size or posture. But on skates, they all looked even bigger than in real life, and they were so covered up that she couldn’t tell one from the other.

  Emmie jumped when a body came flying up to the boards. She thought it was going to crash, but there was a loud scraping sound, and the mass stopped an inch from the netted gap. It was Max. Of course. And he was smiling.

  He popped out his mouth guard and said, “You came to see me play.”