by Julie Cross
Leo comes over and gives Tate a loud pep talk, and then the clock starts again. My eyes are glued to the goalie. Tate stays moving and alert while his teammates are at the opposite end of the ice. And then Leo scores a goal. The crowd jumps to their feet and Northfield’s five players charge at us. Well, they’re charging at Tate, but they look huge and fierce and it feels like they’re coming at Betty and me. She reaches over and grasps my hand, her grip tight.
Two of Northfield’s players are screening Tate, blocking his view of number nine, who is about to shoot. I suck in a breath and lift my free hand, half covering my face. There’s a space near Tate’s left skate, but he quickly spreads his legs apart, covering the area, and then his glove rises, meeting the puck right on time.
The buzzer goes off, and the volume from where we’re standing magnifies to an almost intolerable level. The Otters pile on top of one another, tossing their sticks onto the ice while the fans in the bleachers cheer and dance to the school’s game-winning anthem the pep band is playing.
Betty releases my hand and then pats it once more before turning to face me. “Well, that’s a relief. Nothing worse than Saturday morning customers after a loss at home.”
I groan. “Nothing worse than Friday night drunks after a win at home.” It’s all coming back to me now. Of course I know that we need the business. The off-season is always hell for my parents’ finances, but add a huge stack of medical bills all during the slow summer months, and yeah, things are bad.
“Okay, you got me beat there, dear.” Betty smiles, and then it quickly fades. “How’s your father doing? Did he get the pastries I sent?”
He got the pastries. Not that he ate them. Or much of anything. When I left the house this morning, the entire island in our kitchen was covered in casseroles, baked goods, and freezer meals. Haley Stevenson, along with her mom, was walking over from their house two doors down, each carrying a large dish. When I get home later, all of it will probably still be there, untouched.
I plaster on my grateful for life’s miracles face. “He’s doing better, and he said thanks for the treats.”
While the guys celebrate the victory, I notice Tate still staring at the puck in his glove. Leo and Red skate over to him, ripping off his helmet and attempting to lift him off the ice. He allows his helmet to fall on top of the net but shakes out of their grip. Then he turns around to grab it, and suddenly his gaze meets mine.
I take a couple of steps backward. My heart picks up speed.
That’s definitely Tate. But it’s not Jody’s scrawny little brother with a mouth full of braces. That kid couldn’t have stood under these bright arena lights carrying the weight of all six thousand people in town like this new Tate did.
With his eyes on me, his mouth falls open, either in shock or because he’s about to say something to me through the Plexiglas wall. But then three of his teammates pounce on him, and before he can even anticipate what’s happening, he’s on the bottom of an Otters pileup. I guess his arm healed. I wonder if he ever told anyone about—
I shake my head and quickly exit the arena.
My dad is recovering from a supposed-to-be-inoperable brain tumor, enduring radiation and chemotherapy treatments, “just in case they didn’t get it all” during the surgery. My school friends are all knee-deep into the fall quarter without me. Northwestern fall musical auditions have come and passed already—no Claire O’Connor on the cast list. The only place I’m singing now is in the shower.
I can’t get caught up worrying about Tate Tanley and something that happened a year ago.
Chapter 3
–Tate–
Jamie Isaacs, one of our senior defenders, takes a foot off the frozen pond and steps in my direction. “Tanley, where’s the fucking chainsaw?”
I’ve got my cell in one hand, a can of beer in the other. I glance over my shoulder at Jake’s truck and then back at my phone, quickly reading a text from earlier.
HALEY: need to talk about NYE asap! call me back or I’ll find u after the game
I stuff the phone in my pocket and head over to the red truck backed up just feet from the edge of Juniper Falls Pond. I’m not responding to Haley. Even though I’m not willing to say it out loud, I’m still too hurt and confused to be around her. She’s the one who said two months ago that we needed a break, so why do I need to discuss New Year’s Eve with her? This is Haley’s thing. She doesn’t know when to give in. But tonight, it’s not working. I’ve got a different girl on my mind.
Claire O’Connor.
I’d heard she was coming home, but I haven’t seen her since last fall. Since that awkward moment in the car after my broken arm had been straightened out, when she called me cute and innocent and made me promise to stay that way.
“Get the tape measure, too,” Leo shouts, his skates slung over his shoulder.
The chainsaw is easy to spot in the bed of Jake’s truck, but the tape measure takes longer to find. I toss a rope around my neck, just in case anyone needs rescuing. A lot of beer combined with a possible—but not definitely—frozen pond can equal trouble.
“We had a half inch last week, right?” Jamie asks. “It’s gotta be ready.”
“Especially considering it’s fucking cold out here,” Red says while he blows on his hands. He’s not wearing a hat or gloves like the rest of us.
“What do you think Steller’s doing right now?” Jamie asks, out of the blue. “Think that trailer he’s been squatting in is heated?”
All of us stop to look at Jamie. Beside me, Leo tenses. So far Mike Steller has managed to stay out of tonight’s conversation. Leo shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. We can’t fucking ask him. We can’t fucking talk to him. Bakowski would kill us.” He looks around at each of us. “You guys got that?”
Another beat of silence hangs over us, and then Jake takes the chainsaw from me and steps a foot onto what appears to be solid ice. “The average temperature has been twenty-two for a week, so that should give us at least another couple of inches of ice.”
“Assuming we’ve had some wind and the snow hasn’t slowed things down,” I add. We need four inches of solid ice to skate, fish, or play hockey. Five inches and we can drive our snowmobiles on the ice. I’ve got an old beat-up one that sometimes runs. Jake Hammond’s got a brand-new one. I was on it last weekend. Not on the pond, though, since it wasn’t ready yet.
I live about three miles from here, on an inlet, so I’ve got my own ice to skate and fish on, but it’s not Juniper Falls Pond.
“I’m waiting for you two to start calculating mathematical formulations,” Jamie says, shaking his head at Jake and me. He reaches for another beer, pops open the can, and chugs half of it. “How about I just go out there and jump up and down a few times? If it holds, then it’s ready.”
“No,” Hammond and I both say automatically. Leo reaches out and grabs the back of Jamie’s jacket, just in case he’s drunker than we thought.
Jake is tipping back the last of his beer, preparing to start up the chainsaw, when we hear a new set of feet crunching through the snow.
“Good evening, boys.”
Both Red and I toss our beer cans into a bush a few feet away. Jake dives behind a tree. Leo and Jamie, who are standing a little ways from Hammond’s truck, tuck their beer cans behind their backs.
Sheriff Hammond strolls over to us, shining his flashlight in each of our faces. “I’m sure those weren’t beer cans I saw you tossing into the bushes, right?”
We all know better than to answer that question.
“And that wouldn’t happen to be my nephew cowering behind a tree, would it?” He points the flashlight accusingly in Jake’s direction. “I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do…”
We all hold our breaths as he spins around to face us again. “Hand over those car keys and walk on home, and we’ll keep this between us.”
Leo and Jamie also drove here but parked on the street. I rode with Leo. Red came with Hammond. The three guys with keys reluct
antly slap them into Sheriff Hammond’s palm. He grins at us like this is the most fun he’s had all evening. “Go on, boys, get yourselves home and come by the station around noon tomorrow to pick up your keys.”
My hands are freezing even with my gloves on, and we haven’t even started the three-mile walk home.
We distance ourselves from the sheriff—he’s busy returning the chainsaw to Jake’s truck. Jake points to the woods. “You guys want to come over?”
From here, assuming you cut through the woods, it’s less than a mile to Hammond’s place. Beats the three miles to mine. But Leo and Jamie shake their heads and Jamie says, “I’m not fucking walking through the woods at night.”
Jake shrugs, and Red turns to follow him. Those two usually stick together.
“See you guys later.” Jake gives me a nod. “Great save tonight, Tanley.”
I look out at the dark night in front of us and sigh. So much for varsity player perks.
Leo, Jamie, and I head on foot in the opposite direction, out onto James Street.
“You know what?” Jamie says, slurring his words a little. “We need fucking girlfriends.” Jamie zips up his letter jacket until it’s practically strangling him. “That’s where the rest of the guys are…with their girlfriends probably fu—”
“Tanley had a girlfriend,” Leo says.
Jamie laughs. “Haley fucking Stevenson…how the hell did you screw that one up, Tate?”
I roll my eyes. It’s not that simple. Haley didn’t really want to break up. But she wants me back on her terms, and I’m not willing to agree to them.
Leo looks at me and laughs. “Fort Knox, huh? The wound still fresh?”
I just shrug. I’m not getting into this tonight.
“No worries, man,” Jamie says, which means I must look upset or stressed. “You won the game for us tonight. You’re about to have a fucking line of girls who are completely into varsity guys. I bet pretty soon you’ll have too many admirers. Maybe you can send a couple of them my way?”
My silence only encourages Jamie to keep going on this topic.
“Let’s see…we’ve got Hammond, who’s too picky,” Jamie rattles off. “Red’s trailer-park ass is from the wrong side of the tracks. Tanley is apparently taking his time choosing a rebound girl.” He gives a nod in my direction. “And Leo’s a bit…confused.”
Leo’s face darkens, and he shoves Jamie hard, causing him to trip over a stick on the ground. “Dude, what the hell?”
I feel my jaw drop open and then quickly clamp it shut. This is one of those situations where it’s probably best if I play dumb or pretend I didn’t hear anything.
Luckily, when we walk through the parking lot of O’Connor’s, Jamie drops the topic in favor of his stomach.
“I smell fried fish,” Jamie adds. “Can we eat?”
I lift my gaze to the brick building and inhale the scent of fried food. Leo does the same and says, “Think they’ll let us in now?”
“Probably not,” I say. But honestly, I would love to see Claire again. See how she’s doing with everything. Or maybe she’s not even here. Maybe I imagined her standing there watching me at the end of the game tonight.
Jamie snorts. “Duh. We won tonight. They’ll probably serve us drinks, too.”
“Only one way to find out.” Leo is already heading for the door.
Chapter 4
–Tate–
Claire is leaning against the bar, loading a tray of beer glasses. Her long reddish-brown hair is falling out of its ponytail, and the many orders of cheese fries she probably took tonight have left evidence on the side of her T-shirt and on her black pants and green apron. My gaze follows her swaying hips and tall, slim figure as she walks the drinks out to a table of gritty-looking guys.
One guy whistles when Claire places the beer in front of him, which she completely ignores. Another dude openly stares at her ass.
“Don’t tell me that’s why you didn’t want to come in here?” Jamie says, watching me.
The thing is, part of me did want to see her, make sure she’s okay. And the other part of me is still humiliated from the events of last fall. A night I really haven’t been able to shake off over the past year.
My neck heats up, and I look away from Claire. “Didn’t know she was working here now.”
“Heard she dropped out of school,” Jamie says.
Leo shakes his head. “Just a semester off. You know, ’cause of her dad.”
“Oh, right.” Jamie looks over at Claire and back at me. “Didn’t she used to have sleepovers at your house?”
“Yeah. With my sister.” I bury my nose in the menu. “Should we get two or three horseshoes?”
Claire’s mom makes her way over to us, and we put in our orders right away. I want to ask her about Davin, but it seems too public here. Too intrusive. The second she’s gone, Larry Jones and the alumni table spot us. Of course they wave us over. Jamie and Leo jump at the chance to converse about the game.
“Look at the glove hand on that kid,” Rusty Lucas, an old teammate of my dad’s, says, whistling at me. “Little Tanley saves the game. Can’t believe Keith missed it.”
I grit my teeth and continue following my teammates across the dining room. Luckily my dad had only made it to a handful of JV games over the last two seasons. I have a feeling, with my playing varsity and his living a little closer now, that’s gonna change.
“Bet you’re glad to have him closer, though,” Larry says.
This statement has been made about a hundred thousand times since last fall. I bet I can guess what comes next. U Mich is too damn—
“U Mich is too damn far away,” Rusty shouts. “So is Minneapolis, but he was destined to be an SMU Hawk…”
We haven’t even reached their table yet and they’re already at the part where they go on and on about how unfair it was that my dad got knocked out and permanently injured before he even played one game for SMU, a top NCAA Division I team for hockey, and how no one deserved that scholarship more than Keith Tanley, blah blah blah. I’m at the point where I tune it out and remind myself that I want to play and how little that has to do with my dad.
I step toward Claire while she’s serving drinks to another table of whistling, ass-gawking dudes. I slow my pace, unable to look away.
“Come on, baby. Bet I’m better than that other pansy,” the whistling guy says. He mimes pinching her ass behind her back, then grabs it for real. My blood boils, my fingers tingling.
I’m behind the guy in two long strides, snatching his hand out of the air and twisting his arm behind him. Beneath my fingers, his entire body stiffens. I lean down, getting a whiff of stale beer and dead fish.
“If her daddy were here tonight, he’d do a lot more than break your arm,” I say into his ear. He tries to shove me back with his free hand, but I tighten my grip and hold him firmly in place. “Keep your hands to yourself. Got it?”
He glares up at my letter jacket from over his shoulder and attempts to throw a punch that might have hit my nose if I hadn’t dodged it. I keep my grip on him tight so he can’t even rise from his chair.
“Get off me, kid! You want to take this outside? I’m sure my friends will help me out.”
He nods toward the two guys at the table with him. They look way drunker than he is. From the corner of my eye, I see Leo and Jamie standing nearby, arms folded over their chests. The three of us combined aren’t exactly lacking brute strength. Not that we have any desire to engage in a bar fight with a bunch of idiot fishermen.
“Let’s get out of here,” one of the guys says.
“Great idea.”
The sound of her voice pushes away the cloud of anger. I glance up and see Claire standing there wide-eyed, her gaze bouncing between the ass-grabber and me. The whole place has gone quiet.
I’m startled when Larry Jones touches my shoulder. “All right, son, let the asshole go before you get yourself in trouble with Coach Bakowski.”
It’s always abou
t getting in trouble with Coach. Player eligibility first, criminal law second.
I release the guy, shoving him in the process. He nearly falls backward out of his chair. They each toss some bills onto the table and stumble toward the door. It helps that all five alumni guys are glaring at them, along with my teammates and me.
Larry clasps a hand on my shoulder. “Come and sit down with us.”
I shake my head, too much adrenaline rushing through my veins to respond. I turn to Claire, whose expression is now a mix of shock and exasperation.
Chapter 5
–Claire–
What the hell just happened?
When did Tate Tanley get such a deep voice? And when did he start rescuing girls from drunk creepers in bars?
And then there’s Larry Jones resting a hand on his shoulder and calling him son. Jesus Christ, a lot can happen in a year.
Larry Jones takes Tate by the shoulders, steering him toward their table, and then calls over to Leo and Jamie. “Come join us, boys!” He shoots a glance in my mom’s direction. “Anna, bring these gentlemen some food and put it all on my tab, will ya?”
Tate looks like he wants to protest, but it’s not easy to tell Larry Jones no. Pretty soon he and the other players, plus the alumni, are all seated at a table. Minutes later, my mom serves them drinks and our famous walleye horseshoes.
We fill up three more tables while I’m trying to eavesdrop on the hockey conversation, and I get pulled away to serve drinks to a few more fishermen plus a bachelorette party taking up two tables.
A tap on my shoulder sends me spinning around, and suddenly I’m face-to-face with Tate. “So…” he says, leaning an elbow against the bar. “Are you rich and famous yet? Headed for Broadway? I should probably get your autograph now before the paparazzi start chasing you.”
I laugh and then give him the full once-over for, like, the hundredth time tonight. This is getting out of hand. Jody would probably freak if she caught me looking at her little brother like this. “When and how did you become…” I wave a hand dramatically in front of him. “This?”