by Julie Cross
“What?” He glances down and tugs on the front of his hunter-green thermal beneath his unzipped jacket. “Someone who wears earth tones?”
“No! Th-that,” I sputter, blowing hair off my face, “tall and…not skinny… And the voice…”
His eyebrows shoot up, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh. That. My mom calls it puberty, but she’s just a nurse. What does she know?”
I relax a little. Something about Tate mentioning his mom is a familiar comfort. “Puberty is when you lose the ability to look a girl in the eyes. And when you discover internet porn. This is something entirely different.”
Mom bumps her hip into mine. “If you’re gonna chitchat, take it back in the kitchen. Tell Manny he can come out here and serve. We’ll see if any creeps try to grab his backside.”
“Tate, get over here!” Leo says. He’s at the alumni table now, along with Jamie. Both look pretty comfortable there. “You’re missing the ninety-four-season story.”
Ninety-four…? Oh, right. The year Keith Tanley made the game-winning shot at State Finals.
Tate drops his gaze to the floor and swears under his breath. There’s tension and darkness in his expression that I don’t remember being there the last time I saw him. Clearly he’s changed. I glance down at his jeans—they hug him just right. Clearly.
He looks in the direction of his friends’ table. “I should probably get over there.” He turns to head toward their table but stops abruptly after seeing our newest customers walk through the door. Tiny blond Haley Stevenson, still in her JFH cheer uniform, her parents beside her.
I’m about to wave to them and thank them for bringing a casserole we probably won’t eat, but Tate is spinning me around. “Actually, let’s go have that chat in the kitchen.”
With him walking behind me, I’m even more aware of his height and broader build. I’m only a few inches shy of six feet myself, so I notice when guys are taller than me. I also notice when guys are so blatantly avoiding their girlfriends.
In the kitchen, Manny’s seventy-year-old body is hunched over the fryer, his hand gripping the basket handle. “Got a hen party for you to serve, Manny.”
Manny laughs and, without question, heads out of the kitchen. After he’s gone, I assess the orders pinned above my head—two horseshoes and a BLT.
“Careful, that’s hot,” I warn when Tate leans against the grill. I point to the empty counter on my other side, and he walks around me, brushing his elbow against my rib cage. I shake off the shiver that runs down my spine.
“When did you get back?” Tate asks.
“Last night,” I say right away. And then I’m silent for a couple of minutes, too busy tossing bacon onto the grill, while Tate tries to hide the fact that he keeps glancing out into the dining room. Eventually I say, “I saw your mom at the game earlier.” His eyebrows lift like he’s waiting for me to bring up our little moment of eyeing each other. “She was with…”
“The new husband,” he finishes.
I quickly assemble the plates and ring the bell before tossing them up to the counter. I wipe my hands on my apron. “How’s that going?”
“What?” he asks. “The stepfamily? Or living with Roger ‘The Critter Crusader’ Cremwell?”
I laugh. “Yeah. That. All of that.”
“It’s weird, you know? I mean, he’s an exterminator. Critter-killing supplies have taken over my garage. And then there’s Olivia…she’s always either refusing to talk, eat, or sleep, or she’s lying on the ground throwing a tantrum. I mean, she’s a little kid; I guess that’s what they do so whatever. It’s just weird. Especially without Jody here to offer her rational solutions.”
Jody’s away at college now. Just started this fall. I don’t even know how she’s liking it so far. It’s amazing how easy it is to get out of touch with people, even ones you’d like to keep in touch with.
Aunt Kay yells for me to go upstairs and get the giant boxes of toilet paper stored there. I roll my eyes but snatch the keys from the wall anyway.
He looks out into the dining room again and then quickly says, “You want some help?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind?” Soon we’re both outside by the Dumpsters, heading up the very staircase that supposedly caused Tate’s broken arm last year. I grit my teeth, hating Keith Tanley all over again.
When I open the door, revealing the apartment, Tate looks around, amazed. “What happened here?”
“My dad’s project last year after I left for school.” I head straight for the unfinished storage area and open the door so I can crawl in and get Aunt Kay’s toilet paper. “We’re trying to rent it out, make a little extra income.”
After I toss out two big boxes, I emerge, dusting off my clothes as best I can. “This could be my new life now, refilling toilet paper. Especially if I keep abandoning my tables.”
“Sorry, I’m distracting you.” Tate picks up one of the boxes. “I just meant to ask you about…”
“What?” I prompt.
“Game night.” He smiles. “Next game night. You know the team dinner? Before the game. It’s been pizza two weeks in a row, and we’re all pretty sick of it, especially before a game. Maybe we can work out something with O’Connor’s and…”
The fact that it’s obvious he’s making this up on the spot is only drawing my attention to the fact that Tate is now a guy flirting with me. A guy who I thought had a loyal girlfriend, but maybe not anymore…?
“Nice playing tonight, by the way.” I stand and lift the remaining box. “What happened to Steller?”
He shrugs but says nothing. The dismissal isn’t unfamiliar. It’s incredible the fortress of secrets these hockey boys keep. Whatever. I’ll find out elsewhere. Mike and I were friends last year. I can ask him myself.
We’re outside again, on the landing. I’m digging for the key when someone whistles from below. Jamie and Leo are outside, probably waiting for Tate. Tate looks over at them and then sets down his box. “Maybe we can talk later…about the team dinner stuff?”
The part of my brain not in shock or still ogling Tate remembers the medical and credit card bills I sifted through this morning. Matching last year’s in-season revenue isn’t gonna cover those expenses, not even close. “Anything to drum up business during the off-hours is on my to-do list. I can call you if you want?”
He pulls out his phone at the same time that I realize I don’t have his number. With Jody always between us, there was never a need for it.
“Yo, T-Man, let’s go!” Jamie shouts up at Tate. “Stevenson’s gonna see you.”
Okay, so I’m beginning to think he and Haley are no longer an item? I glance down at Jamie and Leo again; they seem to be in a hurry, so I take Tate’s phone and quickly punch in my number.
“Thanks, Claire.” He gives me that familiar Tate Tanley smile again, but it’s so different from a year ago.
Or maybe it’s just my reaction that’s different.
Chapter 6
–Tate–
I glance back at the bar one last time before walking away. Claire is already inside, greeting the newest customers. When I turn back around, Jamie and Leo are both staring at me.
“What?” I demand.
“Dude, what the hell was that?” Jamie says, sounding both annoyed and fascinated.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “What do you mean?”
“Claire O’Connor,” Leo says. “You were putting the moves on her.”
“What moves?” I don’t have moves.
The wind picks up, and all three of us groan in unison, zipping our jackets.
“You did that leaning-on-the-counter thing. You found an excuse to touch her arm. Twice. And then you got her number,” Jamie rattles off like he was keeping a list.
Leo gives me this look that says, Seriously? “No offense or anything, T-Man, but you can’t handle that shit right now. We need you at a hundred percent.”
“He’s right, dude.” Jamie kicks a chunk of ice with his toe, send
ing it out into the road. “Look at how much this Haley stuff is fucking with your head… Plus, are you guys really broken up?”
“If it’s not common knowledge,” Leo chimes in, “people will talk.”
“Okay, I get it,” I snap. “It’s all about hockey. Thanks, Captain.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass,” Leo says, but he’s dropped the authoritative tone. “We’re just trying to help.”
I ignore Leo and wave at a truck slowing down as they pass us. It’s Kyle Stewart, one of our varsity defenders. We’re getting a ride.
Stewart rolls down the window and whistles at us. “Look at you boys, hot stuff! Get in the back and let me have my way with you.”
None of us hesitates. Once we’re in the back, Leo bangs on the window, signaling for Stewart to take off. He’s yelling something at us that sounds like, “We’re headed to Benny’s.”
We don’t bother trying to tell him that we already ate, because most people are just there to hang out. Plus, knowing Jamie, he’s probably twenty minutes from complaining that he’s starving. Again.
Sitting in the back of the truck might actually be worse than walking home. My entire body is numb by the time we’re tumbling out.
But a little while later, we’re thawed and seated in the middle of a crowded table. I must have been silent for too long because eventually Jamie snaps his fingers in front of my face.
“You okay, T-Man?” Jamie asks.
I dunk a fry into ketchup instead of responding to Jamie’s question. I think he and Leo got me paranoid. All I can do is replay my entire interaction with Claire tonight and think of a million ways I fucked it up. For one, I didn’t even ask her how Davin was doing. All my information on him over the past several months has been hearsay and third-party. Would have been nice to get it right from a reliable source. And was I flirting with Claire? Is she gonna label me as just another varsity player player guy? I promised her I wouldn’t be like that. Last fall, after the emergency room while we sat in the car talking.
“I promise. For you, I won’t turn into Pratt.”
“Why for me?”
“Because you deserve that.”
Stewart plops down at our table with a bag of burgers and fries. Stewart’s girlfriend is Haley’s best friend, so I’m already braced for Kayla to hop over here and glare at me on behalf of Haley for ignoring the calls and texts earlier.
“Tanley!” a guy from my trig class shouts from across the diner, interrupting my thoughts. “You’re the man!”
A few more yells of “Tanley!” echo the first, but before I can react, two girls from the volleyball team slide into the bench seat beside me. Leo nearly topples off on my other side.
“Hey, Tate,” both girls say in unison.
“Great game tonight,” the taller brunette—Jessica—says.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Jamie looks at the girls and then at me, lifting an eyebrow as if to suggest more.
The other girl, Renee, used to play rec hockey with me years ago. Her dad coached us for two seasons. He was pretty cool. Renee turns to me. “My dad would not shut up about your last-second save. He’s claiming he taught you how to use your glove.”
I laugh. “Um…it’s possible, I guess.”
I mean, I’ve had more than a dozen coaches since I started playing in kindergarten. One of them must have taught me how to use my glove.
“So what the hell is up with Mike Steller?” Jessica asks, leaning in like it’s a gossip session.
My eyes drop to the fries in front of me, Jamie stuffs a bite of burger into his mouth, and Leo stares out at the wall behind Jamie. Stewart is focused on Jessica’s cleavage. I kick him under the table and he jolts to life, lifting his head and searching the restaurant for Kayla.
Renee shakes her head. “Hockey boys and their secrets. Nothing changes around here.”
“Except Tate.” Jessica reaches out a hand and pets my cheek. “Look, you have facial hair.”
I try to lean back, but I’m trapped between two girls and Leo. I move Jessica’s hand from my face and look over at Renee. “Is she drunk?”
Renee shrugs. “Probably.”
“I’m just trying to figure out why Haley dumped him.” Jessica comes at me again, petting my face with both hands this time. “He’s so pretty.”
Jamie snorts and Leo sprays soda all over Stewart. If these are the “varsity perks” Jamie mentioned earlier, then I might ask for my bench spot back.
It’s well after two a.m. when Stewart finally drops me off. I figure Mom and Roger are in bed by now, so I tiptoe in, stepping over boxes in the kitchen.
I walk past Jody’s room and stop in the doorway. It’s been emptied out, plastic now covers the carpet, and a bucket of pink paint sits on the floor. My stomach turns over, Benny’s greasy fries rumbling around in protest. I guess I knew Olivia would need this room and her six-year-old tastes have to be different from my eighteen-year-old sister’s, but seeing it empty…it’s like it’s finally real.
My mom has a new husband, a new stepdaughter. My sister is moved out.
My parents have been divorced for years and all these other changes are happening inside my house and yet, I’m still stuck being “Little Tanley,” son of Keith Tanley. All because of a game we both happen to love playing. And our town happens to love watching.
Chapter 7
–Tate–
“I hate Saturday practice,” Jamie groans when the three of us come out of the locker room in our gear.
Yeah, Saturday afternoon practice sucks, especially following Friday night games. Especially when we’re forced into taking a long walk to retrieve car keys before practice.
Red and Hammond sidle up beside me, and I ask Jake, “You got your truck back?”
“Not without some Uncle Oz blackmail,” he says, keeping his voice low. “‘The sheriff’ can’t make me clean out rain gutters in exchange for his silence, but apparently my uncle can.”
“Sorry, man. That sucks.”
Jake Hammond might have more money than most of us in this town, but his uncle is the sheriff and his dad is a state senator. He’s not exactly allowed to get in trouble.
“You ready for this?” Leo asks, tapping a poster hanging on the Otter Wall of Fame.
My dad’s face is taking up most of the paper. A microscopic me is way down at the bottom. I suppress a groan. I can’t believe it’s almost time for the winter clinic already. Last year, Jake and his dad were the “featured pair,” but a couple of months ago, my dad and I were asked to be the poster pair this year. Should be a blast.
“Let’s go, boys!” Bakowski shouts from center ice. He pulls the whistle to his lips, blowing one short signal to start our sprints even before all twenty of us have made it out onto the ice.
There’s an extra layer of tension in the arena today. Bakowski obviously wasn’t kidding when he said we weren’t even allowed to think Steller’s name.
Throughout warm-ups, I keep telling myself to be nothing but focused. The puck. My glove. My stick. That’s all there is.
When Coach whistles for us to get into position, there’s a definite and dramatic pause while everyone stares at Mike’s usual practice goal. It isn’t easy for me to take my place at his goal. My stomach knots. Is he gone for good?
Is that what I want?
I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.
Jamie and Leo are watching me closely, probably anticipating that I’d have this breakdown. And they need me to be on. They’ve gotten verbal offers for college, but they haven’t signed anything. We need to make it to State. That doesn’t happen with a shitty goalie. Ever.
Playing in Mike Steller’s goal today, instead of at the other end with the second- and third-line guys, I’m up against some shots I’ve never seen before. Pretty soon, I’m drenched in sweat, my body aching, while I dive for pucks coming at me from every direction.
“Watch the five hole, Tanley!” Coach shouts after Hammond sinks one in the net.
I shov
e my knees together, causing the next shot to bounce off my leg pads. At the other end of the ice, Ty, the assistant coach, is calmly offering up tips to the JV sophomore who’s taken my place. I’m not used to Coach Bakowski breathing down my neck for an entire practice. It’s enough to jerk me out of my bubble of focus. That and the sight of Claire O’Connor entering through the far door of the rink with an armload of takeout containers.
I follow her with my eyes, and my glove hangs limply at my side while two pucks sail over my shoulder into the goal.
“Dammit, Tanley! Toss that glove in the garbage if you’re not gonna use it!” Bakowski’s face turns a shade of purple that we all recognize as his tipping point. “All right, that’s enough. Get the hell off my ice. All of you. Monday morning. Seven.”
Once my helmet is off, my eyes are glued to the ice. I hate being the reason for that pissed-off dismissal. Before I make it to the boards, Coach Ty grabs my sleeve. “It’s not you, kid. Relax, okay?”
It’s Steller. I get it. Coach is grieving the loss of his star goalie and taking it out on me. The problem with that is, it’s screwing with my head, and that’s screwing with my game. I mull over the possibility of Steller coming back. I need to find out one way or the other.
When I skate off the ice, Claire’s at the rental counter delivering food. Her gaze travels over to the poster on the wall, the one for the winter hockey clinic with the tiny photo of me at the bottom.
“The new poster boy, huh?” she says to me.
“Crazy, right?” I lift a hand to keep her from stepping in my direction. “Trust me, you don’t want any of this near you.”
Claire laughs but takes my advice and remains a couple of feet away. She checks out the poster again and then turns back to me. “Who’s providing lunch at the clinic?”
“Not sure. Last year I think it was Pizza Henry’s…” I scratch my head. “Maybe that was two years ago?”
“You think they’d let O’Connor’s do it?” Her face lights up in this way that makes me want to give her anything she wants. “That’s a Saturday, right? We’re always dead on Saturdays until late afternoon, so it would be a perfect time for catering.”