by June Winters
I pretended to think it over. “Hmm. No, I don't think I'm in the mood, really.”
“Aw c'mon, Ella. It's your last night here, and I haven't even gotten to take you out anywhere but our shopping spree. I know how bad you wanted to do something last night.” He grabbed my arm and began to tug. “At least come to dinner with us after the game.”
“Fine. I'll do team dinner.”
“And maybe the club after?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I'll think about it, but no promises.”
“Alright, alright.” Lance dropped my arm and backed away. “Back to bed for me.”
“Sleep tight.”
Chapter 20
Empty
Radar
The pre-game nap was a waste of time. I tossed and turned in bed for two hours, but I couldn't sleep at all. I knew I was going to pay for it later on the ice, too …
All I could think about was the new look in Ella's eye. The way she looked at me had changed. Sounds crazy, right? But it really wasn't the same. There used to be something else in her eye when she looked at me. A bright, glittering spark. But now, when she looked at me, it was just … cold. Cold and unhappy and like I was a nobody.
And I knew it was my fault, but I couldn't grasp why. Where the hell did I go wrong? I liked Ella. That was the only reason I tried to kiss her. Was that a mistake? Yeah, okay, I guess. But wouldn't it be an even worse mistake if I'd slept with her?
For once, I actually liked a girl, and I tried to do the right thing—and that ended up making her even more mad at me.
I couldn't wrap my brain around it.
I knew that the worst thing I did was make her lie. But … what else was I supposed to do, when Lance was standing in my bedroom and Ella was naked, hiding underneath my bed? Tell him the truth? God, no! If I did that, I can basically guarantee a fist fight between me and Lance would've immediately erupted, followed by an unholy war between siblings.
I didn't get it. I didn't get why she was so mad at me. Logically, I knew she was right—that in the end, it wasn't a big deal. Because she was leaving town tomorrow, and yeah, I'd probably never see her again. But that didn't make it any easier to stomach. And it also sucked to think about.
When 'nap time' was finally over and I didn't get a single wink, Lance knocked on my door.
“You ready to head out to the rink, bud?”
“Sure,” I grumbled.
“Get any sleep?”
“Nope.”
“You normally sleep like a rock …” Lance said, rubbing his chin.
“Yeah. Not today.”
“Huh. Weird.”
Our tradition before every home game was the same: we cleaned up, put on our suits, grabbed our bags and took the water taxi downtown then walked the rest of the way to the rink. The only difference in that routine today was that Ella would be joining us. When she emerged from the bathroom, in a breath-taking little black dress, I felt my heart drop into my stomach. She'd pinned her long hair on top of her head like a crown, opening her bright and round face to the world.
She's so gorgeous.
My heart thumped in my chest as she neared. I wondered if I could tell her how nice she looked without Lance getting suspicious—
But she walked right past me and went to her brother instead. “I'm ready! Are you?”
“Yep. Let's go.”
The boat ride across the harbor was tough. Lance and Ella were trading memories from their youth, joking, laughing, playfully reviving decades-old disagreements. It was good to see them getting along, but it was obvious that I was the outsider. If I tried to joke with them? Lance might chuckle, but Ella would just stare over the water, off into the distance, and wait for me to butt-out before she went back to talking to Lance only.
It was only a matter of time before I withdrew myself totally from their conversation, and watched them from afar.
I knew what she was doing: erasing me from her life. I was nothing but a bad mistake now, and this was how she was moving on: forgetting about me entirely. She'd meant what she said earlier, when she swore I wouldn't get another thing form her. Ella was a woman of her word, after all.
When we made it to the rink, Lance and I split paths with Ella. She headed off to the press box, where she'd watch the game, and we took the VIP elevator down to the rink-level.
“She seem strange to you?” Lance asked me as we stepped off the elevator and made our way to the dressing room.
I swallowed tensely. “Huh? I wouldn't know. I thought you guys were getting along just fine on the way over here, though.”
Lance punched my shoulder. “Thank you! That's exactly what I mean.”
The two of us stepped into the dressing room, and our teammates greeted us with hoots and hollers.
“Dinner's on me tonight, boys,” Lance offered with a wink. “My little sister's in attendance tonight. Let's treat her to a win.”
Chapter 21
VIP Seats
Ella
Just one last night of this, I thought to myself as I had a glass of wine and watched the game from the press box. I shared the box with a few of the Brawlers team officials, some suit-and-tie business executive types, and the casually-dressed hockey media people.
But the game wasn't the worst thing in the world. It was fun seeing Lance play again. And I'll admit, it was pretty awe-inspiring seeing all the people in the crowd who wore our surname, COUTURE, emblazoned on the back of their jerseys.
Of course, I couldn't watch Lance play without seeing Radar, either. They played on the same line. The hockey media people around me started openly questioning what was wrong with Radar. According to them, Radar looked sluggish and disinterested—like he were 'wearing cement blocks for skates.' He lost all his board battles, gave up on plays, looked winded, was the first skater back to the bench on a line change …
At first, I enjoyed listening to them trying to figure out what was wrong with him. It was a small thrill knowing that I was a large part of what was bothering him. Little ol' me, sitting right there in the press box with those media people, sipping my wine innocently. Who would ever suspect it? Certainly not the hockey journalists.
But before long, the media people's observations about Radar's game turned nasty. Once they noticed the problem, they seemingly enjoyed seeing him struggle on the ice. And then they were free to let their imaginations run wild, gossiping like children:
Has Radar quit on the team?
Does he want to be traded?
Does he hate playing for this coach?
Is he unhappy with his contract?
Eventually, the wine kicked in and I jumped into one of their conversations.
“Or maybe he's just human,” I proffered loud enough for them all to hear. “Do you guys ever stop to consider that?”
Ten sets of eyeballs stared at me as if I were a strange monstrosity.
“Excuse me?” someone among them asked.
“He's human, right? So he has the same stuff we have to worry about, on top of being a professional athlete. Right? You don't know what's going on in his personal life. Maybe give him the benefit of the doubt for once.” I downed the rest of my wine. “And that's coming from me. I don't even like the guy.”
Someone cleared their throat. An anxious quiet set over the press box, but at least they stopped talking about Radar as if he were some kind of criminal mastermind who was purposely sabotaging the team.
Can't believe I'm defending him now. Lying for him, and defending him from the media.
I stared at him as he chased the play on the ice. I'll admit, I watched some of his highlight videos on YouTube after I first met him and thought he was cute. And, it was true, watching him now, he looked like a totally different player—like one with half as much heart.
I knew it was because of me, but … the only part I didn't understand was why. Why did he feel so bad about what happened last night? He was supposed to be this heartless, womanizing sleaze.
Somet
hing didn't fit the picture, and I couldn't understand what or why.
***
Even though Radar didn't have the best game, the Brawlers still won, thanks to Lance's two goals. Someone from the team escorted me down to the room after the game.
I stepped into the locker room, where the players were peeling off their sweat-drenched jerseys and protective equipment. The athletes were in good spirits, laughing and shouting about their victory.
No one even seemed to notice me, until—
“Well hello, sweetheart,” someone called. “Who are you and why are you so beautif--”
In a huff, Lance threw a roll of tape at his teammate. “That's my sister, you idiot!”
The cat-caller ducked the roll of tape, but turned bright red. “Shit! Sorry Lance! You're Ella, right? Please forgive me, I'm an idiot!”
Lance, still wearing his ice skates, clopped over to me and gave me a hug. “Thanks for coming, Ella.”
“Ew, Lance, you're dripping with sweat!” I griped, wiggling away from him.
He grinned. “How'd you like the game? Did you like your seats?”
“Minus the media jerks, yeah, it was fun. Good job scoring those goals.”
“Thanks.” Lance turned to his teammates and grabbed their attention. “Everyone, this is my sister, Ella. She'll be joining us for dinner.”
“Hi Ella,” twenty-some deep voices boomed back at me.
“Hi,” I answered meekly.
“This is your sister?” another voice asked. “The one you left alone? With Radar?” another voice joked, and the whole room suddenly exploded with laughter.
Gulp. Maybe it was my turn to turn bright red? I hoped no one would notice.
“Shutup,” Radar growled at the perpetrator from his stall in the locker room. “Don't joke about that. It's not funny.”
While everyone else looked joyous and triumphant after their win, Radar looked like … well … like he'd just suffered through another game entirely; a bad defeat. His brow was heavy, his features dark. He tore off his shoulder pads and angrily stuffed them into his locker. I watched as he struggled to get his sweaty under-shirt off his body. My eyes swept up and down his muscles for the last time.
I almost wanted to tell him what had happened in the press box with those reporter jerks … but I was giving him the silent treatment, after all.
Lance turned to me. “Anyway. We have to shower up and do some media interviews, but we'll be ready to go in an hour or so. You can kill time in the club room if you want. There's a bar, internet, TV, whatever you want.”
“Sounds good, Lance. See you later, boys.”
“Bye Ella!” all twenty voices boomed at me as I left the room.
Chapter 22
Take it to the Grave
Radar
“Huh, Lance, your sister's kinda cute,” Ilya joked. “Lucky for her, she doesn't look a thing like you.”
Everyone busted up into a great big belly laugh. Ha ha ha ha.
Everyone but me. I'd played a lousy game and I didn't feel like I deserved to bask in the good vibes of our victory.
Lance rolled his eyes. “Oh, ha ha. By the way. If any of you guys think you're hot shit and try to flirt with my sister tonight? I'll personally ask the GM to trade your ass to the coldest fucking city in the league. What's that, Winnipeg? Winnipeg, boys. That's where you're heading if you even look at my sister the wrong way.”
I didn't laugh at that joke, either, for obvious reasons.
Lance strutted by and patted my shoulder. “Tough game, Radar, but you'll bounce back.”
“Yeah.”
It killed me to think that Ella had been somewhere in that crowd, watching me suck all over the ice. She probably enjoyed it, too, after what I put her through.
We did our media interviews, hit the showers, and then dressed for team dinner.
“I don't feel like going,” I muttered. “I'm feeling all fucked up. You guys go without me.”
Everyone booed and hissed.
“It's a team dinner, Radar,” Shea began. “If you go home, then someone else has a reason to cut out early, too. And then suddenly everyone else on this team has some other place they'd rather be. Then it's not much of a team dinner anymore, is it?”
I sighed. “Yeah … I'm just really not feeling well.”
“Order a pepper vodka, then,” Ilya yelled. “That's what we do in Russia when we're not feeling well. Oh, and go to the sauna!”
“Pepper vod—” I made a horrified face. “You know what, I'll be fine. Where are we going, anyway?”
“I was thinking MacAllister's,” Lance shouted from across the room.
“Shouldn't we take her some place she hasn't—…” I swallowed the rest of the incriminating sentence down before I shot myself in the foot.
“Some place she hasn't what?” Lance asked.
“I meant, shouldn't we take her some place fancier?” I muttered.
“Nice try.” He wagged his finger at me. “I know exactly what you're trying to do, Radar.”
Gulp. “You do?”
“Yeah. You heard me say I'm buying dinner for the team, so now MacAllister's isn't nice enough. Lemme guess, you want to go to the most expensive steak house in Boston, right? You're just trying to drive the bill up as high as possible, you fucker!”
I let out a breath of relief. Whew. “Ha, yeah, you caught me …”
“I knew it, bud. I should make you pay for dinner, since you owe me that five grand!”
Once everyone was dressed and ready to go, the entire team headed over to the club room where we picked up Ella.
I stayed away from her, since I knew that was what she probably wanted. It kinda hurt to see her joking around with the others.
We went outside, where a fleet of cabs was waiting for us. Lance grabbed the first car, opened the door for Ella, and shouted, “who wants to ride with me and Ella? Radar? Ilya?”
I jumped into an empty cab before he could spot me. Shea climbed in after me and shut the door.
***
“So what's up with you?” Shea grumbled at me.
“Huh?”
“You. You're acting fucking weird. So, what's up?”
“Nothin'.”
“Bullshit. I've seen you play with the flu. I've seen you play a game after a night you didn't get any sleep. I've seen you play so hungover, I could smell the alcohol pouring out of your sweat. But tonight? That's the worst game I've ever seen you play.” He paused. “You might manage to fool Lance and the others, but you're not fooling me. So what is it? What happened that's got you all fucked up?”
“I, uh.” My throat grew chalky. I couldn't speak if I wanted to.
“You know, I saw the way you and Lance's little sister looked at each other back there in the dressing room.”
I played dumb. “Huh?”
“I also heard you almost slip-up. Something about 'Ella's already been to MacAllister's'.”
Shit. How'd he hear that?
Shea stared me down. “I'm going to ask you something serious, Radar, and I want you to answer truthfully. Don't bother trying to lie, because I'll see it in your eyes.”
I nervously swallowed as I waited for his question.
“Did you do something with Lance's little sister?”
I couldn't lie to Shea. I broke eye contact and turned to stare out the window instead, swearing under my breath, “fuck.”
“Holy shit,” Shea muttered. “Holy shit, Radar. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You can't tell him,” I said, or pleaded, desperately.
“No shit! But I got a funny feeling he's going to find out anyway—because you fucked his sister! And once she tells him what you did, this team is fucking done. Either Lance will ask to be traded, or he'll make sure you're traded. Either way, the core of this team is gutted. All because you couldn't keep your dick in your pants. Damn, man. I've been telling you to stop sleeping around and get your shit together for two years now—”
I
shook my head. “Shea, it's not like that—”
“Oh, I know. You just had to fuck her. Had to add those sweet, sweet, teammate's-little-sister panties to your collection. They're so hot and rare, and you gotta collect 'em all, right? Couldn't stop and think for a second what a bad idea it is to fuck your teammate's little sister, could you?” Shea's nostrils flared. “You didn't just fuck her, you fucked all of us this time, Radar.”
“Dude, Shea, I'm telling you, I didn't fuck her.”
“Oh, no? You just held her hand, then?”
“I mean, we fooled around, but …”
“Fooled around, meaning what?”
“We did stuff, but we didn't fuck. She wanted to, but I told her it'd be a bad idea.”
“Lance will be very relieved to hear that you were thinking of him when his sister had your dick in her mouth,” Shea huffed sarcastically.
“That didn't happen, either,” I mumbled.
“Honestly, Radar, I don't care what precise sexual acts you two did together. Look, do you think she's going to tell him or not?”
“I have no idea. I really don't know.”
“So is that why you played like garbage? Because you're afraid Lance is going to find out?”
I had to think it over. “No … I honestly don't think it's that.”
“Then what is it?”
“Well.” I paused. “Because she's mad at me. Yeah, we shouldn't have done anything last night, but I tried to do the right thing. And now she hates my guts because of it. I just feel awful. Plus I made her lie about it.”
Shea's jaw dropped. “Wait—are you telling me you actually like this girl?”
I had to stop and mull it over. Jesus, I do like her, don't I?
“Is it worse if I do?” I asked.
Shea smacked his forehead. “I don't even know. I guess it's less worse than if you just fucked her for the hell of it … but not by much. It's still a train-wreck of a situation. And don't think for a second that anything could happen between you two, alright? It's hopeless. Get that through your thick-ass skull.”
