Tomboy

by Avery Flynn

  Gina nodded. “Also, you did give up a weekend off to go nurse the most-hated man in Harbor City as a favor to Lucy.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said, slouching a little bit more with every brush stroke as the uncomfortable awareness that she wasn’t fighting the good fight even if it was for a good cause broke through. “I’m Mother Teresa. Everyone agrees.”

  “I don’t know.” Gina giggled. “I never heard about her threatening to pluck the balls off a doctor who kept cornering the candy stripers in the supply closet.”

  “You’re definitely somewhere between Mother Teresa and someone who uses people for their own gain,” Tess said.

  Yeah, there was no overlap in that Venn diagram. “You do realize there’s a lot of room between those two.”

  Tess shrugged. “The world is full of gray.”

  “Speaking of which,” Fallon said, glancing up at Larry, who stood in the front of the room giving them the evil eye. “If we don’t start adding gray paint to this picture, Larry’s going to start threatening to not let us in again, even though we come so often we practically pay the light bill.”

  Tess and Gina looked over at Larry and gave him matching guilty smiles before going back to their sad lettuce leaf on canvas.

  Fallon dipped her brush in more gray paint, but the droopy feeling that had made her shoulders sag didn’t go away—not even when she was back in her car on the way home to watch the hockey game. She had been using Zach, just like that fake nurse and her poisoned muffins. The fact that she was doing it to raise money for the clinic instead of to gain another fifteen minutes of fame didn’t change the fact that she was basically using his belief that she was Lady Luck to her own advantage.

  That had to end. There had to be another way to help the clinic raise money, and she’d figure it out. She had to because, while she was nowhere near being at the Mother Teresa end of the line, she didn’t want to be this far on the opposite end.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The locker room at the L.A. Sequoias Arena was jubilant. Some teams wouldn’t be ready for the champagne after only three wins in a row. Those teams weren’t the Ice Knights, and it wasn’t just the wins that had Phillips standing on the wood bench scream-singing a song that was about a million years old that had everyone yelling along to “doing it their way.”

  Hair damp and his suit back on—Coach Peppers really needed to get talked out of this whole formal-when-they-traveled thing—Zach headed down the underground hall that led to the private parking lot where the bus would be waiting. There were a few non-Ice Knights folks hanging around, family members and friends, but no one stopped him on his way out—something he was oh so grateful for.

  After two brutal, hard-fought games in three days, the last thing he wanted to do was chitchat. Nope. His ass was headed for the bus and then the plane for a few hours of dead-to-the-world sleep on the cross-country trip back to Harbor City. He’d have to deal with catching a ride with Stuckey home from the airport, but after that, he’d collapse in his bed. The only thing that could make it better was if Fallon were there.

  The thought hit him out of nowhere like an illegal check to the back of the head, and he came to a dead stop halfway to the exit.

  What. The. Fuck.

  “Hey there, Zach.” The words came from off to his right side. It was a voice he would never not recognize, in part because it was low for a woman, thanks to her decades-long smoking habit.

  And despite knowing better, he couldn’t help but be drawn to the fake warmth of it. God knew, he’d been responding to her call since he’d been born. He pivoted, spotting his parents standing next to a water fountain. Both were dressed in some kind of low-key designer clothing that made it look like they were the kind of people whose lives were filled with golf at the club and dinner at home, where the silverware really was silver and always sparkled.

  His mom spread her arms wide. “Come give your mother a hug.”

  He didn’t move a muscle. “What do you want?”

  “Don’t you embarrass us in front of your teammates, Zachary,” Mom said, her voice sharpening to Wounding Level Three.

  If she wasn’t up to Level Six yet, then she hadn’t started drinking.

  “Listen to your mother, boy.” His dad looked the part of a wealthy old guy, but there was no getting rid of the Midwest nasal accent tinged with bitterness the old man had gained growing up angry and poor so far from town that he couldn’t even see the streetlights. “Your mother and I don’t want to make a scene.”

  But they would, being the implication, and after all he’d done to avoid publicity about what they’d done, he wasn’t about to let it happen now.

  Zach glanced around. There was no missing the curious glances players and others were shooting their way. Cold fury washing over him, Zach put that shit on lockdown as he turned back to focus on the vipers who’d made him, both as a human and a hockey player. His mom’s smile grew even as it iced up, and she winked.

  They had him, and they knew it. If he ignored them, they’d make a fuss and people would get to wondering out loud about why they weren’t his managers anymore. He’d worked too hard—and paid his parents too much hush money—to make sure no one ever found out the truth to give it all up now.

  He stepped into his mom’s embrace like a man about to eat ground glass. She squeezed him tight. He did the awkward pat on the back thing and untangled himself from her as fast as possible

  His dad kept his hands shoved in his pockets, so they exchanged a barely tepid chin nod. Fine with him. Better that way, really.

  Zach stayed close, not because he wanted to be near them but because he didn’t want anyone to overhear. “What do you want?”

  “Why, to see our darling boy,” his mom said. “It’s been too long.”

  He used to believe her. Hell, part of him still wanted to. That’s what pissed him off more than the money or the potential for public humiliation hanging over his head like an anvil. Sure, he’d been stupid, naive, and trusting, but he’d fought his way free of that, and he wasn’t going back to being that guy who believed.

  “I’ll only ask one more time.” He kept his voice low, even though he wanted to roar the words at them. “What do you want?”

  “What do you think?” his dad asked, the words coming out like a punch.

  He had to clamp his mouth shut and count to ten before he could answer. “There’s no more money.”

  “Zachary, there’s always more,” his mom said, her tone as warm as her eyes were not. “Sometimes you just have to get creative.”

  Yeah. That’s how they saw what they’d done to him. They’d gotten creative. He had no clue how in the hell they’d managed to go through everything they’d creatively skimmed off of him and then his shut-up-and-go money already. It made sense, though. With the Ice Knights winning and the sports talking heads no longer saying his name with an edge of what-the-fuck, his star was back on the rise, and that meant one thing to his parents. Money.

  “Understand me,” he said, fighting to keep the emotion out of his voice. “There is no more money. None. It’s gone, and I still owe millions. Every dollar I earn goes to paying down the debt you created, so I can avoid bankruptcy and keep all of our names out of the news.”

  His mom brushed the platinum-blond hair off her shoulder. “All publicity is good publicity, son.”

  “No. It’s not.” He took a step back, willed himself not to yell out the rest of what needed to be said. “Go back to wherever it is that you’ve come from and leave me the hell alone.”

  He started to turn away, to go join his teammates, but his dad’s voice stopped him.

  “You don’t want to turn your back on us, son.”

  Zach knew that to be the truth, but he’d had more than enough interaction with his parents for one night. Hell, he’d had enough for a lifetime. They’d given him life. They’d turned him into one of the top-rated draft picks in the league. Then they’d taken what they saw as their just reward.


  “Trust me, I learned that lesson the hard way, Dad,” Zach said, embedding as much disgust as possible into that last word before turning and striding to the exit, hoping like hell the snarl on his face would keep the rest of the world the fuck away from him.

  …

  Keeping his head down and his snarl in place, Zach was one of the first players on the plane. He walked all the way down to the last row by the bathroom, the one spot no one ever wanted, and sat down, tossing his backpack on the empty seat next to him.

  “Dude,” Stuckey said, stopping in the aisle beside Zach’s row. “Move your shit.”

  “Seat’s taken,” he said.

  Stuckey chuckled. “By your backpack?”

  “Yeah.”

  Stuckey let his head fall back and let out a deep breath as if he was barely holding on to his California surfer boy patience. “Well, fuck you, too.”

  Then he muttered “asshole” under his breath as he pivoted and strode back up to the front of the plane where the rest of their line was sitting. Zach watched him go, ignoring the little voice in his head confirming that he was, indeed, an asshole.

  Good. It was about time he returned to form. He may not have wanted to see his parents, but it was a good reminder of how the world really was. It wasn’t just sexy nurses and blocked goals. It was disappointment and a constant slog. And if the reality of that put him in a bad mood, made people hate him on sight? Excellent. Then that would be one less user to deal with.

  His phone vibrated as a text message came in.

  LL: Great game tonight.

  He stared at the message from Fallon for a full thirty seconds, fighting off the urge to enjoy the interaction before he could shoot back the bare minimum.

  Zach: Tks

  Her answer popped up almost immediately.

  LL: The check you put on Vartnan was a thing of beauty.

  He sent a thumbs-up emoji in response.

  If he was an asshole before, he was a gaslighting dickhead now. Still, it was what needed to be done. So the silence from the other end of the phone was both an indictment and a confirmation. He should have known better, though. Fallon didn’t let things go.

  LL: Are you okay?

  Zach: Fine.

  For someone who couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to go to shit. His parents hadn’t shown up for pocket change. They wanted more, and they would figure out a way to get it.

  LL: On the plane yet?

  Zach: Yep.

  He was doing the right thing here with the short answers and refusing to be drawn in. She was his Lady Luck, but self-preservation wasn’t something to be fucked with. Things with Fallon weren’t easy in the regular sense—she was too much of a pain-in-the-ass scrapper for that—but they were at ease together, their snarly personalities fit.

  LL: So about the fundraiser…

  Zach: I’ll talk to the guys on the flight.

  Yeah. That was not gonna happen.

  LL: No. You don’t have to come.

  He stared at his screen. This was good. It was fucking great. So why was he in danger of crushing his phone in his tight grip?

  Zach: You don’t want me there?

  LL: That’s not what I said.

  Yeah. It was. And, again, he should be doing the happy dance in his chair. He wasn’t.

  Zach: The fuck, Fallon?

  LL: You don’t owe me any quid pro quo. I’ll show up to the games. I’ll keep my word.

  That stopped him, and all he could hear was the rush of his pulse pounding through his ears. She didn’t want any quid pro quo? That was how the world worked—thanks Mom and Dad for that timely reminder. What she was really saying here was that she didn’t want him. He might get paid to move a puck around the ice, but even he could grasp that truth.

  Zach: And my word to you isn’t important?

  LL: That’s not what I said.

  Zach: That’s exactly what you said.

  He would have showed the text stream to Stuckey, who would definitely agree, if he hadn’t all but told the defenseman to fuck off.

  LL: Don’t be obtuse. All I’m saying is that I don’t want to use you. If you want to come to the fundraiser tomorrow afternoon of your own free will, great. If you don’t. Fine.

  That hit a little too close. Why would she… And that’s when it hit him.

  Zach: Is this because of the other night? Because you want to do it on the regular?

  LL: What, all the hot sex? You think a few orgasms turns me into someone who has to have a man?

  For the first time since he left the locker room, the corner of his mouth kicked up. Holy hell, they really were two peas in an uncomfortably tight pod. Exposed soft underbelly? Cover that shit up with a titanium plate.

  Zach: Stop doing that.

  LL: What?

  Zach: Getting defensive because you feel vulnerable.

  LL: Look who’s been reading all the self-help sites.

  Ouch. That was a direct hit. Still, it just made him snort-laugh. She wasn’t wrong. His yoga teacher had recommended a few sites for mindfulness, and he’d overheard one of the other guys talking about this personality quiz he’d taken at his girlfriend’s insistence about some kind of love languages thing. So yeah, he was a Googling motherfucker, but that didn’t mean he wanted anyone to know.

  LL: That was bitchy. I’m sorry.

  How did she make that look so easy? It literally took her thirty-five seconds to go from explosion to apology. Him? He usually stewed and held grudges and plotted revenge that he’d never carry out. But this time, he needed to try something different.

  Zach: I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have been an ass when you first texted.

  LL: It’s a little awkward now, I guess after the sex.

  And there was his Fallon—who really wasn’t his, and that was starting to make his stomach cramp—blunt and to the point.

  Zach: It’s not that.

  LL: What is it?

  Did he really want to go there? On text? Screenshots lived forever, as one of his old teammates found out when some chick put him on blast after they’d broken up. Some dudes really shouldn’t take dick pics.

  But this wasn’t someone with a grudge. This was Lady Luck. No. This was Fallon.

  Zach: My parents were at the game.

  LL: Oh, that’s nice.

  Zach: Not at all.

  LL: Oh. I don’t want to butt into your business. I know how it feels to have an overbearing family that’s always too involved in your life.

  Yeah. That wasn’t his problem—unless by business she meant bank account.

  Zach: There was shit that went down.

  LL: I’m sorry. You don’t have to say any more. Just know, whatever it was, that it sucks, and I’m sorry it happened.

  Most people would want every detail. Hell, he would, too. Yet, Fallon kept her nose out of it. He should be thankful. He should move the conversation in another direction. He didn’t.

  Zach: I’m millions in debt because of them. They were my managers and didn’t pay my taxes when they told me they had. They signed me up for loans I didn’t know about, and some that I did, but I didn’t realize how predatory the terms were. I just signed because my parents said it was a good deal. They siphoned off money in addition to their salaries from my first paycheck to the last one before I figured everything out. Too late. Dumb jock for the win.

  By the time he finished and hit send, he wasn’t sure if he was still breathing. Everything hummed and burned and felt great all at the same time.

  LL: You’re not dumb.

  Zach: I was for trusting them.

  He should have known better. He should have seen what they were really like. He’d been an idiot.

  LL: How have you kept all of this on the down low? This is huge. They should be in jail. I want to fly out there right now to yell at them at the very least.

  Of course she did. She was Wonder Woman in scrubs, out for truth and justice. The mental image of her in a metal breastplate
and thigh-high boots while holding a lasso put a different spin on his mood. Yeah, he’d totally be putting that in his pocket to think about later when he could be alone.

  Zach: Lucy stamped out any hint of it in the press. Coach Peppers helped make sure the team took care of my basic necessities. Kyle worked out a payment deal with the banks and the IRS. They’re the only ones who know. And now you. I don’t want anyone to know. Ever. I just want to pay off my debts and get free from underneath all of it.

  The conversation bubbles on her end appeared and disappeared five times before her next message came through.

  LL: Why did you tell me?

  He didn’t even have to think about it. He knew the answer the same way he knew which way an opposing player was going to move or if there was a hole in their defense that needed to be covered.

  Zach: Are you gonna tell?

  LL: No.

  Zach: That’s why. I trust you.

  More appearing and disappearing text bubbles.

  LL: What are we doing?

  He didn’t have a clue, but he wanted to do more of it.

  Zach: I don’t know, but I’ll see you tomorrow.

  LL: You don’t have to come to the fundraiser.

  Zach: I know.

  There was no way he was missing out on a chance to see Fallon again.

  The plane was picking up speed when his phone vibrated with an incoming message. This time it wasn’t a text. It was a photo of Fallon on her bed. She was sitting cross-legged— wearing his Ice Knights hoodie above her bare legs. Her face was turned up toward the camera, but she was looking away from it.

  The words “Sweet Dreams” were written in block text across the top of Fallon’s picture. Yeah, he wasn’t about to have sweet dreams after seeing that pic—which was a clear quid pro quo for his being vulnerable with her. She hadn’t needed to send, but she did.

  And tomorrow, he’d show up at that fundraiser with every Ice Knight he could strongarm into coming. He couldn’t fucking wait.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was an hour until the official start of the clinic’s second carnival fundraiser, and it was total chaos. There were a handful of volunteers’ kids who were already running through the clinic, which had been transformed into a circus midway, with balloons and tickets for games. There were clowns everywhere, along with balloon animal makers and face painters for the kids-oriented circus-themed clinic fundraiser, but no Ice Knights—and definitely not one in particular.