The Goon

by Sara Hubbard

  “Coffee, please.”

  “It’s old.”

  “How can I say no after that recommendation?”

  She stares at him with a blank expression on his face.

  “Old’s just fine. I’m sure I’ve had worse.”

  “One old coffee coming up,” she says over her shoulder as she walks away.

  “I think she likes you,” I say as I pick up the single sheet of paper they use for a menu.

  “Of course she does. Who doesn’t?” He grins from ear to ear, and I chuckle at his cockiness. On him, it comes off endearing, but mostly because I don’t buy he believes it one hundred percent. His expression is too sweet, his mannerisms too soft. It certainly is hard to believe this guy beats other guys to a pulp on the ice. Like Dr. Jekyll and Hyde meets the Hulk. I like contradictions, and something tells me he might have a lot of them. I find that interesting. But I’m not here to get to know him or have a friendly dinner. I’m here to wreck his life or, at least, that’s how he might see it.

  The waitress returns before he has a chance to say another word. She pours the black liquid in a white cup in front of him and sets down a small plate of creamers and sugar.

  “Thanks,” he says before threading his finger through the ring and bringing it up to his lips. When he takes one long sip with his eyes closed, I notice the bags under his eyes. Or are they old shiners? I squint to see a hint of purple and yellow. Hmm. I guess they are.

  When he opens his eyes, his gaze meets mine, and I quickly duck them to look at my menu.

  “You know what you want?” the lady says.

  “Just some poutine, please,” I say. Fatty fries, cheese curds and gravy is just the thing I need to make this conversation a little easier.

  She nods to Michael. “And you?”

  “I’m good.”

  “One poutine.” She walks away, her bright white shoes squeaking on the black and white tiles. They hadn’t squeaked before, or maybe I hadn’t noticed.

  “All right, Emily, don’t keep me in suspense any longer.”

  “What?” I say. “No foreplay?”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  “I mean…no chit-chat. Never mind, how are you? What do you think of all this rain?”

  He runs a hand through his short hair and then drops it to the table. There are cuts on his knuckle I assume came from hockey, but maybe not. “Look, I’m happy to help you skate. I actually enjoy teaching and coaching, and I’m not going to lie, I enjoy being around you. More than I should.” He averts his eyes.

  What does that mean? He likes me more than he should? Down, Old Emily, it’s not an invitation, although this guy is exactly my type and amazing to look at. His dimple just winked at me for crying out loud. Who gets a dimple when they frown?

  “Chloe is going to flip her lid when I tell her I met you here today,” he says.

  The mention of his girlfriend anchors me back to reality, reminds me why I need to keep going, and to tamp down any thought of him and me together. “I thought she liked making you jealous. Maybe she needs the tables turned on her for a change.” What am I saying? He won’t even be with her after I tell him what’s going on.

  “Why are we at Meatballs?” he says, pushing the issue. He takes a long sip of his drink, and his face is sour when he lowers it. “Man, I forgot how awful everything is here.”

  I grimace at him. “Now you tell me. I just ordered food.”

  “Sorry. I thought everyone knew.”

  Nope. Not this girl.

  It doesn’t stop him from taking another sip, though.

  “Don’t drink it,” I say.

  “And waste good caffeine?”

  “Good point.” But it’s not a good point; I just don’t know how to respond. I wanted to say something other than what I have to tell him, but I can’t put it off any longer, no matter how sick I feel about it. I take a deep breath and lower my hands under the table to hold them together. “If someone had told me I’d be sitting here with you today about to have this conversation, I never would have believed them.”

  “Jesus, you sound like you’re about to ask me for a kidney. How bad can it be?”

  “It’s pretty bad. If I knew something that would hurt you, would you want to know? Or would you rather stay ignorant and keep living your life the way it is right now?” I know what I would pick, but feelings make you throw reason out the window sometimes.

  He considers my question, but it takes mere seconds to respond. “I’m no punk. I don’t ignore shit. I deal with it. Head on.”

  I hoped he might say the opposite. It would have let me off the hook. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Just tell me.” He interlocks his hands on the table and stares at them, refusing to look my way. I barely know him and yet, I know that face. I wore that face for weeks. My gut tells me he might expect what I’m going to say.

  “You already told me you heard about me and Brad, right?”

  He nods—just once. His eyes flicker up at me and then return to watching his hands.

  “People know he cheated and I freaked out, but they don’t know all the details. In fact, I think maybe just Brad, the girl he was with, and me are the only ones. The thing is, I walked in on him while he was cheating. I saw everything. I knew her, and she knew me. She didn’t seem to care he had a girlfriend, and I guess she didn’t care she had a boyfriend, either. I didn’t know that, though.” I take a deep breath and force myself to continue. I watch him for signs that he knows where I’m going with this. Other than the tick of his jaw, I get nothing from him. “I never saw her with her boyfriend…” I gulp. “I never saw her with you.”

  His face changes, and his eyes harden. His Adam’s apple bobs as he splays his hands out on the table.

  “When you told me her name yesterday and then told me how long you’ve been together…” Fuck, it’s an awful thing to hurt someone like this. Like I’m the one who did the cheating.

  He remains perfectly still for a few of the longest seconds of my life while I wait for his response. I had no idea how he’d react when I told him, but I didn’t expect this. Silence. My heart rate quickens, my nerves fire faster. I have no idea what to say or do. So I lean back and bite my nails while I wait. “Please say something.”

  The waitress approaches, her scuffing louder than an atomic explosion. She puts my poutine down in front of me, as well as a bottle of ketchup. “Bon appetit,” she says with a gravelly voice that sounds like she just smoked a pack of cigarettes out back. When neither of us do anything but continue to stare at one another, she shrugs and walks away.

  At long last, Michael releases a sigh and leans back in his seat. Under the table, his foot brushes against mine and then moves away. Should I eat? Um…I’m not sure, but I’m hungry. I pick up a fry and chomp on it like a squirrel while we continue to stare at each other.

  “Want one?” I ask quietly, pointing to the fries.

  He shakes his head slowly. A rosy hue colors his cheeks, and his eyes narrow.

  “Oh, my God, please say something.”

  “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it was someone who looked like her.”

  My heart breaks a little bit for him. It would have been nice to have been told about Brad’s infidelity from someone else instead of seeing it myself. The image of Brad pumping his hips from behind her is scorched into my brain. And that slapping sound of his balls hitting her ass. Ugh. I might have taken the same stance Michael’s taking. I might have believed Brad if he lied—and I believe he would have. Sometimes a lie is easier to swallow than the truth. But I can’t deny what I saw. If Michael wants to, that’s his choice. I gave him the truth; it’s up to him if he wants to ignore it.

  “She smiled at me.” My voice comes out choked. The pain is still as real as it was months ago with no hope of it going away any time soon. “It was her.”

  “With Brad Logan?”

  I nod.

  He curls his fists, and his jaw ticks as he grits his teeth. “I don’t
believe it.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I didn’t want to tell you. Who am I to you? But I thought since I was the one who saw it, maybe you’d be more likely to believe it if it came from me.”

  “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

  “Hang on,” I say holding out a hand. “Let’s be clear. She’s not a victim here. She cheated on you. She’s the one you should be angry at.” It might seem as if I’m protecting Brad here, but it’s not my intention, not really. Maybe the small part of me that still cares for him doesn’t want to see him in the hospital, but the bigger part of me believes Brad doesn’t owe him anything. Chloe is the one who betrayed him.

  “No, this is bullshit,” Michael says with a humorless laugh. He picks up his coffee mug and grips it so tightly I expect it to crumble to pieces in his hand. He drains the rest of his coffee and then calmly sets it down. I swear to God it’s like watching a calm ocean with a hurricane on the horizon. I want to duck for cover.

  His eyes turn dark and cold. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I know it’s hard, but it’ll get better.” Eventually. For me, too.

  “Well, aren’t I the fool?” He thrums his fingers on the linoleum lined table while staring out the window to his right. “When was this?”

  “Just after school started.”

  He growls and lifts his hands to interlock them behind his head. Steam slowly escapes his mouth as he exhales.

  “Brad said it only happened the one time.”

  He laughs. “Oh, I bet he did.”

  I shrug. “I never saw him with anyone else or heard about anyone so maybe it’s true. I don’t know.”

  “I have.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I saw him at parties last year, sometimes when you were there, coming out of closets with girls or out of the bushes.” He points to me and lets out strangled laughter. “Last year, Valentine’s Day? You passed out on the couch at Maxine Cleary’s party. He made out with another girl while sitting beside you. They laughed about it afterwards. So did all his friends.”

  A lump grows so large in my throat I can’t swallow it down. My eyes burn but, goddamn him, I won’t let tears fall. If what he’s saying is true, then being called a “crazy bitch” isn’t the worst thing people have ever said about me behind my back. People laughed at me. Thought I was a joke. Pathetic. The cycle is complete; I am my mother.

  I round my shoulders as I feel the weight of his anger. I did nothing but try to help him. I’m a victim, too, but he’s choosing to focus his hate on me rather than deal with the truth. Pissed off, with a tight chest and dry throat, I toss the fry in my hand at his pretty head and snatch my purse sitting on the leather seat booth. The fry bounces off of him and leaves gravy in one of his brows.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, my voice hoarse. I slide out of the booth and start to stomp away but then take a few steps back to stop where he still sits. He wipes away the gravy and glares at me. “I was trying to save you from going through what I went through, and you then turn around and purposely try to hurt me. You want to get mad, get mad at Chloe!”

  I’m almost out the door when I decide I’m not done. I storm back over to him. My need to lash out at him is so strong I can’t hold it in. I’m fighting a war inside of me where I want to leave but my body won’t let me. I don’t care if he’s hurt or in shock. “Follow your girl’s lead, Michael, and go eat a dick!”

  Someone behind me gasps. I suspect it’s the mother of the young children. Michael’s jaw drops so low he might trip over it. “Sorry,” I say softly when I walk by the mother who now covers her kid’s ears.

  Here’s the problem with letting my temper get the best of me: I feel better in the moment, and maybe for a few minutes after, but once I’ve calmed down? I feel even worse. This moment is no exception.

  Chapter 7

  Under a fine drizzle of ice-cold rain, I storm home with my arms folded across my chest. My hood blows back, and I tug it forward to protect my forehead. It’s cold enough to snow, but not a single flake has fallen this year so far. When it does, it’ll linger until April.

  The chill from my damp clothes distracts me from focusing on what’s really bothering me. Michael tossed out some pretty ugly details today. Like his performance on the ice, he hits hard and with an iron fist, refusing to hold back. Maybe the persona he plays during games is who he really is deep down. He just hides it well.

  But he’s hurting, and I can understand that. Look what I did to that car. I reacted in an ugly way, but that’s not who I am. This likely is true about him, too. I growl as the realization dulls my anger, but I want to be mad at him. Brad, too. That asshole! He made out with a girl while sitting beside me? How many people sat there and laughed? How many of them claimed to be my friends? Did they call me pathetic? I sniff away the tears I can’t fight anymore. “Fuck!” I scream out at the world, earning me some harsh looks from pedestrians. I’ve always liked myself. Since the beginning of the year, I can’t say that anymore. Brad didn’t just break my heart; he broke me. And I desperately want the old me back.

  Near the edge of campus, a path cuts through the wooded areas leading to Hugh Hall. The incline is steep, and my thighs are burning by the time I get up the hill. I trudge forward. The pain in my legs make me focus on something other than my broken heart. I’m near the Student Union Building when I hear a voice call out to me, but it’s muffled by my hood. I wonder if I’m hearing things until I turn to find Ozzie.

  “Where ya going?” He stands tall, his dark hair is tousled and wet, though surprisingly perfect for a guy getting rained on without a care in the world.

  I sigh and toss my hands up before letting them fall to my sides with a slap.

  He regards me for a long minute. My eyes are likely red and puffy so I’m sure he can tell I’m upset. I don’t like anyone seeing me this way, not even Charlie.

  “Come on, I’ll drive you to your res.”

  My residence isn’t far, but I don’t have the energy to climb the hill. I nod and trudge forward, my head down, my feet slapping in the puddles. When I climb into his Jeep, he’s already inside and waiting for me, the heater on high and blowing in my face.

  “Thanks, Ozzie.”

  “Sure.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. Since Ozzie graduated, he doesn’t come to campus much unless he’s refereeing or picking up Charlie.

  “I left my extra helmet here when I was reffing the other night. It gave me an excuse to see Charlie.”

  “Oh.”

  I stare straight ahead but feel his eyes on my face.

  “You all right?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Sure?”

  I bite my lip and nod. My face is wet, and my hair hangs against it like a wet blanket. I push it away from my face and gather it in a low ponytail off to the side.

  “I can drop you off at my place if you want to hang out and wait for Charlie?”

  A rain drop slides over my hand, tickling me, and pierces my leggings. The chill to my thigh travels all the way up to my shoulders, and I shiver. I’m stubborn, and all I want is to go to my room, pull the covers up over my head, and ignore the world, but I’ve been alone a lot lately, and the thought of passing more time like that makes me feel even more wretched. “If you don’t mind,” I say quietly.

  “You want to talk about it?” His voice tapers off at the end. He wants to mean it, but I don’t think he really does. He’s trying to be nice.

  “I’m fine.”

  He pulls out of his parking spot and stays quiet. I never found him much of a talker, so I don’t think much of it. I like that he doesn’t force me to talk or try to get in my head. I enjoy the silence all the way back to his place. When we get to his apartment building, he removes his apartment key from his keychain. “I got practice, so just let yourself in. I think Charlie’s done a little after four maybe?”

  “She is. Thanks, Ozzie.”

  “No problem. Charlie’s my f
amily now, and she’s your best friend. That makes you family, too.”

  I force a smile and climb out of the truck. Before I shut the door, I quietly say, “She’s lucky to have you, Ozzie. You’re decent.”

  He chuckles. “Is that the bar you set for a girl to be lucky? To have a guy who’s decent?”

  I shrug. “Maybe. There aren’t a lot of you left.” I push on the door, but pull it back open. “Hey, you didn’t hear from Michael this afternoon, did you?”

  He shakes his head, and a look of confusion covers his face. “No. Why?”

  “No reason. Thanks.” The door almost clicks shut this time before I yank it open.

  He smiles at me. No wonder people think I’m crazy.

  “Sorry. Right now I think Michael’s an ass, and I don’t care if I ever talk to him again…but he might need a friend.”

  “Something you want to tell me?”

  I shake my head and shut the door. I watch as he puts the car in drive…and then I yank it open once again.

  He laughs. “Just get if off your chest, Emily. You’ll feel better.”

  “Brad cheated on me with Chloe Adams.” I shut the door, and this time I leave it shut. I shove my hands in the pockets of my jacket and wait. He rolls down the window, his brows pinched together and his forehead full of wrinkles.

  “Chloe?”

  I nod.

  He looks straight ahead with a blank expression. His wipers swish back and forth, breaking the silence. “Well, shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  The silence continues. He’s not about to talk to me about my feelings or hug me and tell me everything will be okay. I doubt he’ll do that for Michael either. I just thought Michael could use a friend. Even a silent one. I know I needed one when it happened to me.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  I knew he would. When Ozzie leaves, I run into the apartment building. I’m no stranger to this place. I make myself at home—like they always tell me to—and get in a warm bath to get rid of the chills still rolling over me from the rain. I stare at my feet propped against the white subway tiles above the taps.

  I saw him at parties last year, sometimes when you were there, coming out of closets with girls or out of bushes.