Not a Player (Laketown Hockey Book 1)

by A. J. Wynter

  I threw back the covers, hopped out of bed, and found the keys in the side pocket of my skate bag. I ran to the top of the landing. “Here,” I shouted.

  Dylan held out his hands and I tossed the keys to him.

  “Thanks,” he shouted. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Later,” I grumbled. I yanked the curtains across my window, but the sun shone through the thin fabric. I pulled the covers over my head but sweat pricked my forehead. I pulled the sheet back, reminding myself that I needed to buy a fan, or else I wouldn’t be able to sleep all summer. Even though I had grown up in this room, it felt foreign, like it belonged to another person. My skating trophies sat dusty on my bookshelf, a stuffed bear, its neck laden with medals sat beside them. Pictures of my childhood heroes, and skating icons, Evan Lysacek, and my all-time favorite – Kurt Browning, covered the walls. Until the accident brought me back to Laketown, it had been years since I’d slept in this room.

  I gave up on getting a few more precious minutes of sleep and got out of bed. The fish and chips truck was open seven days a week and I was trying to pick up as many shifts as possible. After mom and dad died, Dylan and I had sat down and figured it out, if I worked six days a week all summer, combined with the insurance money from their death, I would be able to afford the tuition so that I could go back to the Figure Skating Academy. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a tank top that I didn’t mind getting ruined from grease stains. The chip truck was a hot box and it wasn’t even June yet.

  For now, sneaking into the hockey rink in the middle of the night was going to be my only training. If I didn’t get the lutz down before the end of the year, I could kiss my chance at the Olympic team goodbye. I hoped that the peeping tom jock that I saw this morning would keep his mouth shut.

  He could ruin everything.

  I rummaged through the basket in the front closet, trying to find a baseball cap to wear to work. Dylan was notorious for stealing my hats. “Damn you, Dylan,” I hissed under my breath when I couldn’t find my hat. I sighed and snatched his Otters hat from the basket and adjusted it to fit my head.

  I heard some scratching on the door and let in Crosby, our tabby cat, home from his evening prowling. I held my breath and tried not to gag as I opened up a can of his disgusting food and mixed it in with some kitty kibble. He purred and rubbed up against my bare legs. “Lucky bugger.” I reached down to pat him. He arched his back in appreciation and purred while he ate, preparing for his day of getting cat fur all over the sofa.

  “Bye, Crosby.” I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed off to work. The chip truck was on the other side of town, beside the marina. Dylan and I took turns driving to work in the old Volvo station wagon. Carpooling wasn’t an option as our shifts rarely coincided.

  Laketown is known as cottage country, where rich stockbrokers and professional athletes come to play in the summer. The mansions that they call cottages, sit empty for eight months of the year, then Laketown’s population quadruples in the summer months, as the wealthy descend in their private helicopters. I’m what they call a Laketownie – I was born and raised here and live in Laketown year-round. In the summer, a Townies’ sole purpose is to serve the needs of the cottagers. Or at least that’s what it feels like.

  The sun beat down on my bare shoulders, and I knew the freckles that I hated were intensifying by the second. When I left three years ago, to live at the figure skating academy, I thought that my days as a Laketownie were over. That I’d escaped a life of serving rich people, but just when I thought I’d escaped, tragedy pulled me back in.

  I tied on the apron and clicked on the deep fryers. The job sucked, but at least I got to spend time with my friend Paige. We were best friends in high school and had loosely stayed connected over social media while I was at the academy. Like me, Paige was a Laketownie.

  The door to the trailer clattered open and Paige hopped inside. Her cheeks were rosy, her white-blonde hair perfectly stick straight even in the humidity. She looked like she stepped off the pages of a Swedish swimsuit catalog. “Sorry, I’m late,” she said.

  I glanced out the window and saw a sleek Mercedes pulling away.

  “Fun night?”

  “Super fun.”

  “You’re glowing.”

  “My fake I.D. worked.” She winked. Paige tucked her hair up under her hat and still managed to look good. “You should try to get your own. The bar was so good last night.”

  By good, Paige meant that a bunch of hot rich guys showed up and bought rounds of drinks for everyone at the bar. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah, you’ll never guess who showed up.”

  I squashed a potato through the cutting machine and dropped the pieces into a bowl of brine.

  “Who?”

  “The owner of the Otters and the Thunder, whatshisname?”

  “McManus. Dylan said that he’s always there.” I wasn’t impressed. I dumped the pre-mixed batter into a huge bowl and tossed in the fresh pickerel that was delivered this morning.

  “Yeah, I know. But he brought both of his teams.” The Thunder was his NHL team, the Otters his Northern Professional League team. In Laketown, NHL players are bigger than movie stars, and I once saw Kevin Costner get pushed out of the way by a fan trying to reach a Thunder player.

  “Ooooh.” I roll my eyes. “Paige, you know that I don’t like hockey players.”

  “Come on, Jessie. You’ve gotta admit that Jake McManus is one of the hottest guys you’ve ever seen.”

  She was right, but I’d be loathed to admit it. “He’s okay,” I shrugged. “Hey...” All this talk about dumb jocks reminded me of the doofus from the morning. “You’ll never guess what happened to me after practice today.”

  “You landed the lutz?” Paige’s voice was high with excitement.

  “Not yet.”

  “Oh, you’ll get it soon.” She smiled and finished rolling napkins around plastic forks.

  I hoped that she was right, but it seemed like the harder I worked, the more elusive the lutz became. “No, some hockey player totally peeping tommed me this morning.”

  “Ooh,” she turned, her eyes wide with excitement. “Who?”

  “I don’t know,” I shook my head. “I don’t fangirl on the players, you know that.”

  “Well, what did he look like?”

  I now had her full undivided attention and she set down the ketchup bottles she was carrying.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, now. Was he tall?”

  “Of course, he was tall.” All the Otters players were behemoths who stood over 6’6 on their skates. “I don’t really remember; I was trying to cover up my boobs.” This was a lie. I could describe the man to a sketch artist in enough detail that a jury would have no doubt but to convict. “Light brown hair, blue eyes.”

  “Ice or Navy?”

  “What?” I continued battering the slippery pieces of fish.

  “His eyes, what kind of blue?”

  I flicked some of the flour on my hands at her. “Blue. Just blue.”

  They were ice.

  “He was wearing those stupid flip flops that all hockey players wear and he had on sweatpants.” That left little to the imagination, I could’ve added. “I guess he was cute... If I found hockey players hot, which I don’t.”

  “I wonder who it was,” Paige mused. The deep fryer beeped, interrupting our conversation, letting us know that it was ready to gurgle and sizzle all the fries we could feed it.

  I laughed under my breath, remembering the stunned look on his face as my skate guard ricocheted off his skull. “Look for a guy with a black eye.”

  “You hit him?” Paige’s eyes went wide.

  “I wanted to, that pervert just stood there watching me change. But he may have accidentally walked into a flying skate guard.”

  “You should’ve invited him in to help you get dressed.” Paige elbowed me, her fire-engine red lips wide in a conspiratorial smile. “When was the last time you got some
action? There can’t have been that many straight guys at the figure skating academy.

  She was right, I hadn’t been on a date in over a year. There were a few hot figure skaters that trained with me, but they were all spoken for – or gay. “I would never date a figure skater. Remember how that turned out last time?”

  “Yeah, but Robbie was a dick.”

  Robbie had lost his triple axel; it was something that happened to skaters from time to time – and I still had mine. I couldn’t handle the jealousy and had enough competition on the ice – I didn’t need to compete off-ice with the guy I was dating.

  “Maybe it’s time to test drive a few hockey players.”

  “Ugh, they’re worse,” I shook my head. “Never in a million years. You couldn’t pay me to go on a date with a hockey jock.”

  “Never say never,” Paige smiled. She pulled the chain on the neon sign. We were open for business.

  BY THE TIME I FLICKED off the sign, my tank top was soaked in sweat and my hair was stuck to my neck. “How are we going to make it through the summer in this hot box?” I stepped out the back of the truck, locked the door, and chugged back all the water in my aluminum bottle.

  “I’m going to try to get a job at Valerock,” Paige stated. The local bar was ‘the’ place to work for the summer. All the girls that worked there looked like models, and the tips they made were legendary. You had to be in the know to get a job at the Rock. Paige could make a real killing there, and it was selfish of me to try to stop her from leaving the chip wagon.

  “Don’t you dare.” I shook the last drop of water from my bottle at her. “If you leave me in this truck alone, I will cut off that pretty hair of yours in your sleep.”

  “But just think, Jess. If I get in there, I could get you a job too.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not really my scene.” I couldn’t imagine putting on the tiny black dresses and a full face of makeup every night. I glanced down at my B-cup chest, knowing that even if I did know the right people, I didn’t have the Valerock ‘goods’.

  “Suit yourself.” Paige wrapped her arm around me and pulled me in tightly. “And I’m coming to destroy every single pair of scissors that you own.” She pulled the elastic out of her high ponytail and shook her long hair over her shoulders, there wasn’t a ponytail kink in sight. “Want to go for a swim?”

  I crinkled my nose as I glanced around the shoreline. Despite the marina being home to hundred-thousand-dollar boats and a small shop that sold three hundred dollar sweatshirts, it had a piddly rocky beach. Not exactly a relaxing swimming hole, and dodging wakeboard boats was not my idea of fun.

  “I think I’ll pass.” I checked my watch. “Dylan should be done with his shift soon and I don’t want to walk home in this heat.

  “Do you think he’d give me a ride too?” Paige asked. Her skin was the kind of porcelain that tanned like a perfectly roasted marshmallow, but I noticed a slight pink flush in her cheeks.

  “Come on, let’s go find him.” I set out towards the big corrugated metal building, and Paige followed me. As we reached the open garage bay, Dylan was leaning up against a Mastercraft, a beer in hand. The other mechanic, a guy named Ralph grinned as Paige and I approached.

  “Ladies,” Ralph tipped his oil-stained baseball hat at us.

  “Dirtbags.”

  Ralph clutched his t-shirt, “Damn, girl. That’s harsh.” He set his beer on the side of the boat and pulled me in for a squeeze. “Sorry for your loss, kid,” he whispered into my ear.

  I pulled back and pursed my lips, trying to hold in the tears. The accident had happened almost three months ago, but I was still running into people who hadn’t had the chance to say their condolences. “Thanks, Ralph,” I murmured, the toes of my Converse all of sudden seemed a lot more interesting.

  Dylan cleared his throat. “Speak for yourself, at least we don’t smell like the food tent at the fall fair.”

  “Are you ready to go home?” I ignored his comment, eyeing his beer.

  “Just have to finish this one.” He held up the can.

  “Can you give Paige a ride home too?”

  “Sure.” Dylan smiled past me at Paige. “You two want a drink?” Dylan’s Cheshire cat smile was unnerving.

  “Sure, I’ll take one,” Paige said and stepped up beside me.

  Dylan fished a Coors Light out of the cooler, opened it, and handed it to Paige.

  “Thanks.” She took a big swig and smiled at my brother. I knew for a fact that Paige hated domestic beer.

  “Jess?” he paused at the open lid to the cooler.

  “I’ll pass.” I held up my hand. “One of us has to be sober enough to drive.”

  “Oh, lighten up,” Paige said.

  “Yeah, listen to your friend,” Dylan grinned.

  I couldn’t believe that the two of them were ganging up on me, and somewhere along the line, my best friend and my brother were making eyes at each other.

  “You know what? I think I’ll just walk. Bye, Ralph.” I walked away, waiting for Paige to catch up. But, instead of rushing to join me, she waved and took a sip of her beer, and then turned back to face the guys, all while twirling the end of her hair.

  I hoped that my hat was enough to stop the late afternoon sun from burning my skin to a crisp. Unlike Paige, my skin went directly from white glue to lobster with no stops in between. Paige and I had been inseparable in high school, but I guess I couldn’t expect that friendship to maintain its bond after being away at the Academy. Somehow during that time, Paige had gone boy crazy, and now my goofy ass brother was on her radar.

  The cooling effects of the lake dissipated the closer I got to town. The cicadas hummed and the sweat had soaked through my baseball hat. The Volvo didn’t have air conditioning, and I would’ve been stuck to its seats, but at least I would’ve been home by now. I cursed Dylan and wished that I had grabbed the keys and made him walk home.

  A Mercedes cruised by, its tinted windows obscuring whatever famous or rich person sat in its air-conditioned sanctity, followed by three Range Rovers, and a Lamborghini.

  The year-round community of Laketown was small – everyone knew everyone or at least knew of everyone – the whole first degree of separation thing. Before the accident, I was known as that figure skater, and Dylan was known as the fastest guy on the Otters. Now, we were those poor Moss kids. Not in the monetary sense, the pitiful sense – we were the orphans, the kids whose parents were killed by the drunk driver. I used to hate being known only for my skating skills but being known as the kid with the dead parents, that was a million times worse.

  The hair went up on the back of my neck as I felt electricity brewing in the air. The sky had grown black and ominous behind me, and then a low slow rumble of thunder shook the windows of the ice cream shop beside me.

  I picked up the pace. Our house was only a few blocks away from Maple Street, the main street of Laketown, but the drops weren’t having it. They started plopping down from the sky, exploding into steam as they met the hot pavement. I rounded the corner as the heavens exploded and was instantly soaked through to my underwear. I gripped the wet straps of my backpack, put my head down, and continued walking home. I didn’t even bother avoiding the puddles, and as my shoes squished, I heard a car slow down behind me.

  “Took you long enough,” I shouted and turned, but it wasn’t the Volvo. It was a red Jeep.

  “Need a ride?”

  The man inside looked to be in his thirties, but I couldn’t be sure, the Otters’ hat he was wearing shielded most of his face.

  “I’m alright.” I blew a drop of rain off my top lip, then a flash of lightning lit up the sky.

  “You should get in.” The man stopped the car beside me. “It’s only going to get worse.”

  A BMW swerved around the jeep and plowed through a giant puddle. A tidal wave rolled over my feet.

  “Are you a serial killer?” I asked.

  The look of shock on his face turned to a smile. “Close, I’m a h
ockey coach.”

  I jumped as another rumble of thunder growled through the air. I grabbed the door handle and hopped in. “That’s worse,” I smiled at him. “Sorry about getting your car all soaked.”

  “That’s better than watching you get electrocuted.”

  The man’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. He was too old to be a player. “Are you the new coach for the Otters?”

  “New? I’ve been in Laketown for a year and a half.”

  Right, I had forgotten that life had gone one without me while I was away. “My brother plays on your team.”

  The man turned down the radio and glanced over at me. “Let me guess, Dylan?”

  “That’s him.”

  “You’re the famous figure skater then, Jessica, right?”

  “I guess so.” I picked at the frayed threads from my jeans cutting across my knees. “And you’re Coach Covington.”

  “You can call me Dean. It’s nice to meet you Jessica, and I’m sorry about your parents.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. My response was now on autopilot.

  The windows of the Jeep were fogging up and he cracked the windows slightly. “What are you doing walking in this?”

  “Well, Dylan was supposed to give me a ride home, but he was too busy drinking.” I resisted the urge to squeeze the water out my t-shirt, and instead, let it cling heavily to my body.

  “Really?” The coach concentrated on the road, but I could see that his jaw had clenched. “He was supposed to be at practice this afternoon.”

  Oh, shit. Did I just get Dylan in trouble? “I mean, he was at work, just finishing up.”

  “Jessica. Is everything okay with your brother?”

  I blinked at the coach. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “Shit,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I just mean he’s been missing a lot of practices lately.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” I replied, keeping my response simple and safe. I had already said too much. Dylan didn’t take the team seriously. He was a natural, the fastest on the team, and as long as the defensemen took care of him, his job was to skate fast and score goals, something he could do with his eyes shut.