by Sarina Bowen
Thank you, baby Jesus.
Lauren tapped on the door. “Elsa? Couldn’t you hear my knocking? It’s almost time to go.”
She waited, expecting to hear the teen say she’d been in the shower. But Elsa didn’t say a word. Though . . . Lauren listened harder. She heard a sniffle.
“Elsa? Are you okay? Can you open the door?”
“N . . . no.”
The tingle at the base of her skull was back. “Are you ill?”
“I . . .”
Lauren heard a sob. “Honey? You’re scaring me. Open the door, please.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t? Why?” Her mind began offering up explanations, each more frightening than the last. Elsa had slipped and hit her head. Elsa had slit her wrist with a razor blade. Elsa was experimenting with heroin.
Okay, the kid’s carry-on would never have passed inspection if those last two were true. But still.
She tapped again. “Open this door.” She tried the knob. It was locked, of course.
“God! Just go the fuck away!”
Lauren took the kind of deep, cleansing breath that Ari tried to get her yoga classes to take. Then she took two more. Yelling at a locked door was not going to win the girl’s trust.
She backed away, then opened the adjoining door to slip back into her own room. She dug out her Katt Phone and tried to think.
After a few more yoga breaths, she called Mike’s number. “Hi, honey. Hope your pregame routine is going well. I don’t want you to worry, but Elsa won’t come out of her bathroom. As a precaution I’d love to know if she’s been feeling ill. But I suspect that she’s fine and just pushing my buttons a little bit. If you have any intel, shoot me a text. Otherwise I’ll talk her out of there in a bit and we’ll both be cheering for you. Love you.”
She hung up, wondering if calling him had been the right thing to do. Mike probably wouldn’t see that message before the game, anyway. He was probably stretching with his teammates and chatting with the goaltending coach.
Lauren went back into Elsa’s room and stared at the door. She’s only a sad teenager, not a lion, Lauren reminded herself. “Honey,” she said to the door. “If you won’t tell me the problem, or come out of there, I’m going to have to call maintenance and get them to open it for me.”
“No!” Elsa invested so much fear into this short word that Lauren’s pulse kicked up a notch again.
“Why?” Lauren demanded. The bathroom doorknob had a little hole in the center of it. The ones in her apartment were the same. If she could thread a straightened coat-hanger into that hole, the lock would release with a pop . . .
The doorknob turned suddenly and Elsa’s face appeared in the crack, looking both angry and scared. “I have a p-problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Lauren whispered.
“There’s . . . blood everywhere.”
“What?” Lauren nudged the door, moving Elsa out of the way. When it swung open she saw bright red blood on the bath mat. She grabbed Elsa’s wrists in her hands, but they were perfect.
And shaking.
A fraction of a second later, more pieces of the puzzle began to align themselves together. The pair of jeans cast onto the floor. The wastebasket full of wadded-up tissue. The red smear on the toilet. “You just got your period?” Elsa nodded tearfully, and Lauren felt a great flood of relief. Then one more lightbulb illuminated. “For the first time?”
The child dropped her chin, and her shoulders sagged.
“Oh,” Lauren said slowly. “Oh, honey. That must be scary.”
Elsa let out a sob.
“Hey!” Lauren said quickly, pulling herself together. “You’re okay! You’re fine.” Instinct kicked in and she pulled Elsa against her body, one hand on the back of her head. “Breathe, okay?”
“It’s . . . everywhere,” Elsa cried.
“It looks worse than it is,” Lauren babbled. “Just a little mess. You’re just surprised, right? Did it start earlier today?”
“I . . . I guess. I saw some . . . brown in the airport. And then I shut the TV off and got up and . . . and . . . it gushed.”
“Okay, okay,” Lauren soothed. “You’re fine. I know you feel scared, because it seems weird to see a lot of blood. But this is totally normal.” It wasn’t her most elegant speech, but she was pinch-hitting here.
“I want my mom,” Elsa sobbed, her narrow shoulders shaking.
Lauren’s eyes welled instantly and spilled over. “Oh, honey. I’m so, so sorry she isn’t here.” She swallowed her own tears. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I’m going to help you the best I can. I know it’s not nearly the same as having your mom around, but I’ve gotten periods for a long time, okay? I’ll get you set up.”
“Okay,” Elsa ground out.
She convinced Elsa to take a quick shower while she went to look in her luggage for a pad. Luckily, she found one. Often there were only tampons in there.
With Elsa standing there in a towel, she gave her a quick explanation of how pads were affixed to underwear. “You can just throw your ruined ones away, okay? I have extras. And we’ll use cold water to get the stain out of your jeans. Do you have another pair with you?”
She did, luckily.
Ten minutes later, Elsa was dressed in clean, dry clothes and sitting on her bed looking a little shell-shocked but otherwise fine. It was almost time to head over to the rink, but Lauren took the risky step of climbing onto the bed next to Elsa. She hugged her knees to her chest and sighed. “I got my first period on a bus trip with my class. In eighth grade.”
“Oh, no!” Elsa gasped.
“It was on the way home, at least. I tied my sweatshirt around my waist. But I was still a hundred percent sure that everyone saw. I felt like I was glowing like a beacon.”
Elsa groaned, because the idea of bleeding in front of your classmates was universally acknowledged to be a fate worse than death.
“We’ll buy some pads in the hotel gift shop on our way to the game, all right? I’ll stash them in my purse.”
Elsa risked a glance in Lauren’s direction. “Thank you,” she said gruffly.
“It’s nothing, honey. I know it seems like a huge deal today. But you get really good at handling the details, and life goes on. You can ask me for anything, okay? One of these days you’ll be ready to handle tampons, which makes life even easier. But today is probably not that day.”
“Ew, no,” Elsa said, and Lauren had to bite back her smile.
There was a crash in the other room, and Lauren jumped. A split second later, Mike appeared in the doorway between the two hotel rooms, his face red, his eyes wild. “What happened?” he panted.
For a second, Lauren just blinked. “You’re supposed to be at the rink!”
“No kidding! But I got a call from you on my phone that there’s some kind of crisis. I texted you back a hundred times with no answer.”
“Omigod,” Lauren said, sitting up straighter. “The message I left! I’m so sorry. We’re fine.”
“Looks that way.” He bent over and grabbed his knees. “Jesus. Ran all the way here.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Elsa said quickly. “You’d better get back. Like, yesterday.”
He stood up and leaned on the doorjamb. “You two sure you’re okay? Want to tell me what happened?”
“Later,” Lauren said.
His eyes shifted to Elsa. “Young lady, were you causing drama?”
Lauren tried to meet his gaze and tell him to drop it, but his eyes had a laserlike focus on his daughter.
Elsa swallowed. “I wouldn’t come out of the bathroom because I got, uh, my period.”
His expression went from angry to shocked to completely uncomfortable in about two seconds. “Oh,” he said slowly. “Uh, okay. And . . .” He scratched his chin. “Is that, uh, work
ing out all right?”
“Yup,” Elsa said quickly. “You can go back to guarding the net now.”
“Right,” he said.
“Right,” Lauren repeated.
“So . . . I’m just going to . . .” He pointed over his shoulder.
“Stop ’em all,” Elsa encouraged.
“Stay sharp,” Lauren added.
He gave them both one more appraising look. Then he turned around and disappeared. The next sound was the hotel room door shutting again.
“Whoops,” Lauren said into the silence.
“Yeah,” Elsa whispered. “Did you . . .” A hysterical giggle bubbled out of her chest. “. . . see the look on his face?”
“I did.” Lauren kept it together for about two seconds before bursting out in laughter.
“He was like, oh, omigod,” Elsa giggled.
“Any topic but that,” Lauren added, her stomach contracting with more laughter. It was a few minutes before they could calm down. “We should go or we’ll miss the beginning.”
“Okay.” Elsa got off the bed carefully. She looked a little freaked out again.
“Do you feel okay? Does your stomach hurt?”
“It did earlier but I think I’m good.”
Five minutes later they took the elevators downstairs, and Lauren pointed out the lobby shop.
“Are you going to, uh, ask for them?” Elsa whispered when they stepped inside.
“Sure. Don’t forget—every woman buys these. And if there are men at the checkout counter of Rite Aid at home, that’s what self checkout is for.”
“Huh. Okay.”
Lauren strode right up to the bored looking woman behind the register. “Do you have maxi pads? I need them very badly.”
“Omigod, Lauren,” Elsa hissed. “Shhh.”
The woman barely lifted her eyes from her phone. She turned around, grabbed a plastic-wrapped pack of eight and plunked it on the counter. “Six-fifty,” she said.
Everything sold in hotels was such a rip-off. Lauren paid anyway, tucked the pads into her bag and went outside. “There’s supposed to be a shuttle bus to the game.”
The doorman turned to her with a frown. “It’s running slow tonight because there’s a protest rally going on. Give it ten minutes. Or you could walk it.”
“Thanks,” Lauren said, turning to Elsa. “Shuttle or walk?”
“Walk.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Beacon made a giant error by getting into the hotel’s courtesy car.
He’d been trying to save time, and the guy was right there when he emerged from the hotel’s front door. But now they were stuck in traffic, and he couldn’t even see the arena.
The half-mile sprint he’d done along the river to get to his family? That had worked fine.
“Seems to be some kind of rally,” the driver murmured. “I can’t turn left at any of these cross streets.”
“Shit.” His phone was blowing up with messages, too. WHERE ARE YOU? the general manager of the team kept texting. That was in addition to Rebecca’s texts, Jimbo’s texts, and Silas’s.
Your phone shows that you’re at the hotel, Becca texted. Or maybe you left your phone at the hotel, and you’re here in the building? I hope so. If you get this message, please know that people are freaking out. I hope you’re in a bathroom stall somewhere meditating.
If only.
He was truly MIA. When he’d gotten Lauren’s message, he’d looked at his watch and seen an hour before game time. The hotel was (sort of) connected to the complex where the arena was. So he just made a run for it.
Obviously they’d noticed. He knew the situation was really dire when the next text was from his agent. Where the fuck are you?
The car inched forward again. Then it stopped. The road in front of them was a sea of brake lights. He leaned over the seat to ask the uniformed driver, “Which way is the arena? I’m going to have to run for it.”
“I apologize, sir. You have good seats for the game?”
“You could say that.”
“That way.” The man pointed. “We’re three blocks north. You’ll see it when you clear those blocks.”
“Thanks,” Beacon said, opening the door in stalled traffic.
Then he ran.
• • •
He got back to the dressing room at seven forty-five, sweating like a racehorse.
“What the actual fuck?” Coach Worthington spat.
“I’m sorry,” he said, trotting toward his gear in the corner. He bent down and grabbed his ankles, stretching. His entire pregame warmup was shot to hell. His body was warm from the run, though.
“Where were you?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”
Coach actually growled. “It does matter. I had to turn in the starting lineup ten minutes ago. I put Silas on it because nobody could find your ass.”
Oh, shit. He straightened up slowly. “Okay. So Silas starts for a shift or two. Where is he?”
“Stretching.”
Think, Beacon. “The last time Silas started a game he didn’t get any notice, either.”
“I recall,” Coach snarled. It had been an awful game.
“The thing is?” Beacon said, thinking out loud. “This is a disruption for the other team, too. They won’t be expecting Silas.”
O’Doul joined the conversation. “I thought about that. They might take it as an opportunity—drop everything and rush the net. If they think Beak is injured, it will change their whole game. Beak’s fine, but they won’t believe it.”
“Because only idiots would put in their backup guy to start game seven,” Coach pointed out. He still looked surly, but he also looked intrigued.
“Yeah,” Doulie agreed. “Putting Silas in isn’t something you’d do unless you were desperate.”
“Unless your goalie went fucking MIA at the worst possible moment.”
Beacon tried to ignore the tidal waves of anger that Coach threw out. He lifted a foot up onto the bench and stretched his hamstring.
“Let’s just ride this for a little while and see how Silas holds up,” Doulie said. “Beak will take his time getting ready. Silas starts. If he gets into trouble, Beak steps in immediately. But in the meantime, the front line is gonna play hard and try to capitalize on the confusion.”
Beacon kept his mouth shut and stretched the other hamstring. He was too far in the doghouse to say so, but he thought Doulie had a point. The worst thing that could happen would be an early goal against Brooklyn. That would suck, but the other team would assume they’d just gained a night’s worth of momentum.
That’s when he’d skate out to replace Silas, fit as a fiddle, breathing new life into their defensive game. Their momentum wouldn’t be worth a nickel if it was based on a misunderstanding.
Really, it was an intriguing idea.
“Let’s talk strategy,” Coach grumbled. “Where’s Beringer? Castro! Trevi! Get over here.”
Beacon left his pads at his locker and went to find Silas, who was facedown on a mat in full gear, stretching his hips.
“Finally,” Silas said as soon as he walked in.
“Don’t get up.” Beacon walked right around in front of him and got down into the same position. They were face to face.
“Are we gonna make out here or what?” Silas grumbled.
“I get that you’re pissed at me for doing a runner. But you’re still between the pipes when the game starts. Sorry you didn’t get any notice.”
Silas chewed his lip. “My name is on the card, huh? So Coach has to put me in for a couple of minutes.”
“Yeah, but I want you in there longer.”
“What the hell for?”
Beacon reached up and punched him in the shoulder. “To guard the net, moron. Since you’re on the card, Detroit t
hinks there’s something wrong with me, right?”
“Is there?”
Beacon shook his head. “No. I had a little freak-out thinking something was wrong with my kid. And I thought the hotel was closer than it really was. It’s a long, boring story. But I got us into this weird situation so Doulie wants to have some fun with it.”
“It’s only fun until someone loses a goal.”
Beacon grinned. “You’re going to get scored on tonight. So am I, probably. But you’re going to get scored on first.”
“Oh, joy.”
“I’m not kidding.” It came out a little gruff and Silas’s young brow furrowed. “You’re starting this game. And there’s gonna be an ugly moment when you can’t hold them off. The lamp is gonna light behind you and it’s going to feel like shit. Your job is to make sure that happens later instead of sooner. That’s all. You’re playing until one goal gets through. Game seven in the play-offs. Make it count.”
“Okay.” Silas nodded, his jaw set. “All right.”
“Good man.” Beacon maneuvered his hips to stretch out.
“Detroit is going to assume either that you’re injured or that we’re insane.”
“They’ll think whatever they think. Just do what you’ve been doing in practice, bud. This is gonna be fun.”
“Wonder if my mom is watching tonight.” He chuckled into the mat. “It will be interesting.”
“Let’s go!” said Hugh from the doorway. “On the ice, Silas.”
“You got this!” Beacon called from the mat. “I’ll be on the bench just after the game starts.”
Silas got up, gave him a salute and strode away.
• • •
Beacon suited up just as soon as the rest of the guys went out for the pregame announcement and the quick warm-up skate. When he tossed his phone into his locker, the screen held a text from Lauren. We’re here and we’re fine and we love you!
There were three heart emojis, but he was more thrilled with the we in that sentence. He strapped on his pads knowing everything was fine in half his universe, at least.
