by Rebel Hart
Keith shook his head and looked down at the table. “You know that’s not true.”
“Sure it is.”
Keith eyed me skeptically. “You can’t honestly say things magically seem to work out for him. Not after what he went through when we were kids. Considering all that? It’s pretty impressive how far he’s come.”
I bit my lip and thought about what my brother was saying. “I guess.”
William hadn’t had it easy as a teenager. Of course, at the time, I’d been completely unaware of how bad things were for him at home. I’d just thought he was greedy and liked spending time with my family because my parents were, for lack of a better word, fan-fucking-tastic people to be around. They had expectations of us kids that we always wanted to meet, and they never shied away from making a big deal about one of us when they were proud of something we’d done. Back then I couldn’t make sense of why William was treated the same as me and Keith.
Then one night my father explained to me what William went home to: a drunken father with anger problems who had been known to knock William around a bit. William was a large man now. And he had never been a small teenager. But his father was a big man, too. Solid. He worked construction and had ever since he was young. He had power in his bones that William couldn’t match as a teenager.
My father had told me that he and my mother wanted to be a safe place for William to land whenever he needed it. And he needed it a lot.
Then his father died. It was natural for my parents to take him in. He fit with us. He belonged with us. And I knew for a fact my parents had saved him.
I met my brother’s stare. “Maybe I resent him.”
“What? Why?”
“Mom and Dad sacrificed so much to take care of him, Keith. Dad worked double time. Mom dropped her book club and her weekly lunch dates to work more hours at the school so they could afford just to feed the guy!”
“He’s an athlete. It’s not his fault he needed a lot of calories.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not the point I’m making. The point is they did everything they possibly could for him. And he thanked them by getting drafted and then just dropping off the map. He never called. Never came back to visit. Except for that summer three years ago. But he spent most of that in Chicago with pretty girls on his arm every night. It’s not much of a way to show gratitude, if you ask me.”
Keith fell back against the booth. The look he gave me was dripping with disappointment. “Just because someone doesn’t express their gratitude the way you think they should doesn’t mean they aren’t thankful, Kim.”
“You sound like Dad.”
“Good.”
I drummed my fingers on the table and stared out the window. Keith didn’t know what he was talking about. How could he? William was his best friend. He’d justify anything the guy did. And if the shoe was on the other foot and this was Jade or Eugene we were talking about, I was sure I’d do the same thing.
Keith nudged my shin under the table with the toe of his shoe. “Hey?”
I arched an eyebrow and looked back to him. “Hm?”
“You’re sure this… you’re sure this isn’t because you might just be jealous?”
“Jealous?” I asked sharply.
“Yeah. You know. That he’s a pro hockey player. And you’re not.”
I felt my eyebrows creeping upward. My lips parted. My breath rushed between my teeth. “Wow, Keith. Classy move. I take back what I said. You don’t sound like Dad.” I fished a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet and tossed it on the table. “I’m not hungry anymore. See you later.”
“Kim. Wait. Come on. Don’t be like that.”
But I was already shimmying out of the booth, putting my jacket back on, and making my way to the door.
Jackass.
My mood had not improved when I arrived at the rink. I parked in the employee lot along the side of the building and used my keys to let myself in the back door instead of going through the front. I moved down the maze of hallways to the staff room, where I left my jacket in my cubby and traded it for the well worn polar fleece hoodie all the employees wore that read ‘Long Grove Rinks’ in blue stitching on the right side of the chest. The fleece had balled up over several washes and no longer had that soft luxurious feeling to it. It was almost coarse, like faux wool.
I had a good four hours to kill working in concession and skate rental before I started coaching at six. I dreaded those hours and how slowly they were going to pass and hoped Eugene would be working today, too. But I knew full well he didn’t work Mondays. Not unless he was covering for someone.
When I came out into the lobby, the place was fairly busy. I relieved the morning shift girl working concession and she took her leave quickly, apparently as eager to get out of there as I was, and I put on an apron and started helping customers with their coffee and hot chocolate orders after they finished their free skate.
It was as I was steaming milk for a latte that I felt someone’s eyes on me.
I looked up over the top of the chrome espresso machine and locked eyes with Doyle. He was on the other side of the lobby. The fluorescent lights made his eyes look sunken and hollow. He smiled at me and I nearly shuddered. I looked back down at the milk I was steaming and focused on the task at hand.
As I helped the rest of the customers in line, I became increasingly aware of how much attention Doyle was paying to me. I willed him to stay on the other side of the lobby. I was in no mood to deal with him today.
William’s words rang in my ears about talking to management about Doyle.
I probably should. I didn’t want to throw him under the bus because he hadn’t actually done anything to me. He just made me uneasy. And if I could avoid working shifts alone with him, I knew that would give me some peace of mind at this place.
Even now, surrounded by customers and other employees, I felt unsettled.
Exposed.
Watched.
I didn’t see him coming across the lobby. I was too busy trying to pretend he wasn’t there, that when he draped his arms over the counter and called my name the way a construction worker might holler at a pretty girl walking by, I flinched.
“Sorry, Kimmy. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
I glared at him. “Can you not stare at me like that? You’re making me uncomfortable.”
Doyle chuckled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to. But I can’t help it sometimes. I just think you’re so fucking pretty. There aren’t any girls in Long Grove like you.”
“Well, knock it off. I don’t like it.”
Doyle nodded graciously. Then he pumped his eyebrows. “Well, if I can’t stare at you at work, how about we go to dinner so I can stare at you from across the table? Maybe you could wear something a little—”
“Ew. No, Doyle. Sorry. I don’t date coworkers.”
Had he seriously just asked me out? My skin felt suddenly itchy at the thought of being out one on one with the likes of Doyle Digby.
“Fuck, Kim. You don’t have to be such a bitch about it.” Doyle clenched his hands into fists and then slammed his right hand on the counter. I jumped. He seethed and leaned forward, pushing himself over the concession counter. “You know what’s a bigger turn-off than a girl who knows she’s pretty? A girl who thinks she’s too good for anyone. Girls like that always get a wake-up call, Kim. Always.”
Doyle pushed away from the counter and marched off with his fists still tightly balled at his sides. All the tendons in his wrists were flexed.
My heart raced wildly in my chest. I realized I’d been holding my breath and let it out, and then took a few long, deep breaths. Then I took off my apron and bailed, abandoning my post at the concession to hurry down the halls and back out the rear door to my car.
I couldn’t get out of the parking lot fast enough.
10
William
I scratched at my temples and frowned at the spread of real estate flyers on the coffee table in the Renwicks’ living r
oom. I was presently the only person home. Liz was at school teaching and Roger was out and about running some errands. I didn’t expect anyone back for at least two more hours, so I’d taken the quiet time to myself to review all the options of homes Maxine had shown me over the last two days.
There were a total of six that she was really pushing on me. I gazed down at the pictures; each one was just as lavish as the last. Gourmet kitchens, walk-in closets, modern finishing, giant chandeliers, glossy marble floors, the works.
None of that appealed to me. When I’d expressed those sentiments to Maxine, she’d laughed and told me I was impossible. She’d also said I made for a terrible rich man.
I didn’t disagree with her.
I still hadn’t come to terms with the rapid expansion of my bank account or what to do with it. Sure, I was living the life I’d always dreamed of, but in those dreams all I’d had the presence of mind to envision was the game itself. I never considered the lifestyle that would go along with it.
And the lifestyle made up more of my reality than actual ice time.
“I don’t want any of these,” I muttered as I pushed them all into one pile and slumped back in the sofa.
This was overwhelming. Perhaps Maxine wasn’t the right choice in realtors for me. Sure, I’d promised her three years ago that if I ever made it with the Blackhawks and purchased property in Chicago, she’d be my girl. But back then I hadn’t realized any of that would come to fruition. I also hadn’t realized how materialistic she was.
Having money to spend in her eyes meant I should spend as much of it as possible.
Of course she wanted her own slice of the pie. I couldn’t fault her for that. But she wasn’t hearing me. She wasn’t listening to what I wanted and didn’t want. She was continuing to show me places that didn’t check any of my boxes and I wasn’t sure how many more glamorous penthouses I could stand to walk into. Some people might want that, but I didn’t.
I wanted a home.
A place to come at the end of a hard day, close the door, and tune out the outside world. A place where I could relax and be myself and not feel like an imposter.
I doubted Maxine would understand that if I tried to explain it to her. All she understood was money. And designer handbags.
The front door swung open.
I glanced up as Kim came in like a storm. She was muttering under her breath as she sat down on the bench and untied her sneakers. She kicked them off. They hit the baseboards in the hallway. She continued muttering, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.
All I could tell was she seemed angry. Or upset. Or a mix of both.
She took her jacket off next. Once she’d gotten her arms out she hung it on the hook. It promptly fell off and landed on the floor.
“Fuck!” Kim hissed.
She bent, grabbed her jacket, shook it out furiously, and hung it up again. Then she turned around and saw me staring at her.
“What are you looking at?” she barked.
“Bad day?” I asked.
She licked her lips. The hardness in her glare abated a little bit and the stiffness in her shoulders softened. Her hands, which were clenched at her sides, relaxed, and she closed her eyes as she exhaled slowly. “Sorry, Will. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
“What happened?”
She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Nothing.”
It was then that I noticed the slight shaking in her hands and the paleness of her complexion. I saw the tightness in her jaw; her teeth were clenched. And I saw the way she fidgeted anxiously with the strap of her bag.
I stood up. “Seriously, Kim. Are you okay?”
She swallowed hard. Then nodded. But it wasn’t a convincing nod. “I’m okay. I just had a run-in with a coworker, that’s all.”
“What kind of run-in?”
Kim searched my eyes. I stared calmly back. I knew she had a temper, but she didn’t scare me. And she needed to let some steam out. I could feel her anxiety sucking all the air out of the room.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said softly.
I nodded at the kitchen. “I was about to make a pot of tea. How about you keep me company and share a cup and tell me what happened?” I didn’t wait for her to answer before moving into the kitchen. I hadn’t planned on making tea. But it was the most innocent thing I could think to suggest to get her talking.
Kim followed. “You drink tea?”
“Green tea.”
“Of course.”
“So is that a yes or a no?”
She slid onto a bar stool at the kitchen island and tugged at the hem of her white T-shirt. “Sure. A cup of tea sounds nice.”
I filled the kettle and set it on the stove before turning on the element. Then I faced her and leaned on the island. “So what happened?”
“You remember me telling you about Doyle?”
“The creepy guy who walked you to your car the other night?” My hackles were up. Jesus. What was that all about? Kim was a big girl. She could take care of herself. And yet here I was, holding something hot and angry in my chest at the mention of the coworker I knew was giving her a hard time. “What about him?”
“He asked me out on a date.”
I blinked. “Oh? And what did you say?”
Her cheeks turned pink. Really pink. And I noticed how damn cute she was as she tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. “Um. I said ‘Ew.’ And then I told him no.”
I tried not to laugh. “Ew?”
She nodded. “I didn’t mean to. I know that’s mean. But he’s just such a creep and he gives me the heebie-jeebies and it sort of just slipped out of me.”
“Then what happened?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek and wouldn’t meet my eye. “And then he got angry and said some things.”
“What things?”
“He said girls like me are a turn-off because we think we’re better than everyone. And he said girls like me always get a wake-up call.” She continued gnawing on her cheek and finally lifted her gaze to meet mine. “I couldn’t help but take it as a threat. The way he was looking at me… I don’t know. I bailed. Took my apron off and left work. I’m supposed to be coaching tonight.”
I straightened.
Kim looked up at me. “But he freaked me out, you know?”
“Is he still at work?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because maybe someone needs to go down there and remind him how you behave in the work place and in the presence of a lady.”
Kim’s worried expression melted into a smile that surprised me. “You and I both know I’m no lady, Will. Calm down before you hurt yourself.”
“I’m not the one who’d get hurt.”
A smile still lingered on her lips as she shook her head at me. “Don’t be an idiot. You’re a Blackhawk now. You can’t go running around punching people’s faces in because they said something you don’t like. You have a reputation to worry about. Besides. I can fight my own battles. Doyle is all talk. He just caught me off guard today and I got spooked. I won’t let it happen again. Next time I’ll handle it better. And I’ll be the one to teach him what’s acceptable and what isn’t.”
The kettle started to whistle. I dropped two green tea bags into Liz’s teapot, a white ceramic piece covered in pink and red roses, and put the lid on it to let it steep. Then I turned back to Kim. “I appreciate you looking out for me and my career, but I don’t like that some jackass at work is giving you a hard time.”
She shrugged. “Shit like this happens to girls all the time. Doyle is just a bump in the road.” She flashed me a wicked little smile. “I’ll flatten him out.”
I ran my fingers through my hair and chuckled. She proceeded to grin at me as I poured us our tea, and then I handed her a mug. We took them into the living room and she immediately went to the coffee table, sat down cross-legged on the Turkish patterned rug, and began flipping through the real estate flyers.
�
�Wow,” Kim breathed. “These are some seriously nice places. Look at that pool!”
I sipped my tea and burned my tongue. Grimacing and cursing the lack of taste buds that would now plague me for the next twenty-four hours, I set my tea down. “They’re all right, I guess.”
Kim shook her head at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You can be such a dick sometimes.”
“Wait. What did I say?”
She stood up and picked up her tea. “Nothing. Only you could look at a place that beautiful and that out of reach for someone like me and think it’s just all right. Happy house hunting. I’m hopping in the shower.”
“Hang on. I didn’t mean—”
It was no use. She went to the stairs and climbed, and once she reached the second floor I heard her close the bathroom door and turn on the shower.
I collapsed back down on the couch. “Stop putting your foot in your mouth, Will.”
A couple minutes passed. Then she started singing.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Kim had always sung in the shower on weeknights before bed. She used to shower at night so her hair would dry while she slept. It was an unspoken rule between me and her brother that we never set foot in that bathroom between the hours of nine and ten o’clock at night for fear of suffering her wrath. So I’d always lain in bed two doors down, listening to her sing, coming to grips with the fact that I was officially an orphan and these people were all I had left in this world.
Hearing her sing now brought those feelings back in a flood of emotions I couldn’t make sense of. Gratitude. Pain. Guilt. Regret.
And above all, relief.
At the Renwicks’ I was safe. At the Renwicks’ nobody would lay a hand on me again. And that relief made me feel only all the more guilty as I lay in bed every night as a teenager and thought about how my father had met his bloody end behind the wheel of his old pickup truck.
Nobody deserved to be afraid in their own home.
Or at work.
I thought of Doyle Digby and how rattled Kim had been when she came home.
“Prick,” I grumbled before standing up, collecting the flyers, and taking them to the recycling bin in the kitchen.
