by Julie Cross
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “The guys won’t say anything. Hockey secrets and all.”
The moment ends too soon. We both slide several inches apart. “I haven’t seen you play anything but goalie in years.”
“I play defense sometimes, on the pond. Offense if I’m on Hammond’s team. He makes me look like a pro at assists.” Tate gives me that half smile, and then it fades. He looks at his hand. “My mom’s making me visit SMU this weekend. Hammond and me.”
Takes me a second to catch up. “Wait…like, as in visit your dad?”
“I’ve been putting it off forever.”
I don’t care. Put it off longer. My stomach twists with nerves. “Jake’s going with you?” He nods. “What about Jody? She’ll be back tomorrow. Can’t she come?”
It seems better if Jody’s there, but I can’t really pinpoint why.
“She might come.”
More protests try to work their way out, but I hold my tongue, and we stand there silent for a couple of minutes. I stare at the side of Tate’s face, his dark hair and serious expression drawing me closer. “I think I’m starting to understand that whole let’s run away together expression.”
He turns, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I’m gonna help you tonight with that party-prep stuff…” He glances sideways, checking to see who’s watching before leaning closer. “And then we’re going somewhere. Alone.” I lift an eyebrow. “For at least five minutes. Maybe six…”
“Don’t push your luck. Plus, we’ve got about a thousand taquitos to roll.” I give him a shove in the direction of the ice—the kids are preparing to head back out. “Now go teach sticking or tripping or whatever.”
I try to keep the smile on my face, but I know it vanishes the second Tate is too far to see me. I have a bad feeling about this trip to Minneapolis.
Chapter 29
–Tate–
“Jake Hammond…” Coach Redeck says, glancing over the contents of a yellow folder resting on his desk. “A 3.0 GPA. Impressive.”
Jake and I both look at each other, but neither of us has an answer to the looming question: What the hell is this?
“Um…yeah—I mean, yes sir, that’s correct,” Jake says.
Dad stands in the back of the office, arms folded over his chest, not an ounce of concern on his face.
Coach Redeck flips a page in the folder. “Please tell me the two of you managed good ACT scores? And be honest. I like to know upfront what I’m dealing with. I can only do so much if I don’t have all the facts.”
He stares at his paper for a moment and then at me, one eyebrow lifted. “A twenty-nine?”
I turn around, looking at my dad for help—he does nothing—before facing Coach Redeck. “I’m taking it again. I haven’t even done the prep course yet—”
Dad’s boss releases a low whistle. “A thirty-two on math and science. Keith, whatever you’re doing with your boy, it’s working. And a 3.4 GPA. Taking trig and honors physics and English courses. Since when is Juniper Falls grooming academic scholars?”
Since forever. My sister is one. Claire O’Connor is another. But neither of them is a hockey player, so I guess he wouldn’t know about that.
“His mom makes him study,” Dad chimes in. “She’s always been serious about education.”
Another shared look with Jake, and we’re no more clear on this little meeting than we were several minutes ago.
Coach Redeck folds his hands on top of his desk and glances from Jake to me. “How would you boys like to see the ice rink, meet a few of my players?”
I wait for my dad to object or make up an excuse for why we can’t stay any longer, but he doesn’t. Jake and I have no choice but to follow Coach Redeck out of his office.
In the hall, we bump into two of the Hawks’s top players. Coach introduces us, and Jake and I just stand there awestruck. Both dudes look way bigger in person than on TV.
“You guys wanna try out the ice?” the Hawks’s leading scorer asks us.
“Sure,” I say at the same time Jake says, “Really?”
I text Jody on the way to the rink. She hasn’t even made it to the library yet.
ME: we r gonna grab our skates and try out the ice if u want to come
JODY: pass. The library is huge. And empty
“Tate,” Coach Redeck calls after Jake and I have been on the ice for a few minutes, skating around in our jeans. “Since you’re here, why not let Penbrook take a few shots.”
And this.
This is why I don’t want Jamie and Leo playing for this team. It isn’t just Dad dancing around a gray area.
I look from him to Dad. “So…you want me to watch him shoot?”
Coach Redeck leans forward and lowers his voice. “I want you to block his shots.” He looks at Dad. “If that’s all right with you, Keith?”
Warning bells sound inside my head. Bakowski prepared us for recruitment from day one. I’m familiar with all the rules. “I don’t have my gear.”
“We’ve got plenty of gear.”
Dad stares at me, sending a silent message—do what he says; don’t fuck this up. My hands shake and my stomach feels sick, not from nerves but from all the wrong. We’re treading into official territory, and that’s not okay. I mean, technically I came here on my own dollar, so to speak—my mom gave us gas money. If I could trust my dad completely, I wouldn’t worry about this, but I can’t.
Some guy whose name I will never remember leads me over to a giant closet full of hockey gear. He starts handing me stuff to put on, and then Jake appears in the doorway. I shake my head, silencing him until we’re alone.
“Are you… I mean, did they tell you to—”
“Yep.” I tug furiously at my shirt, yanking it over my head. “Do me a favor?”
Jake nods, checking over his shoulder.
“Make up some emergency in a few minutes.” I hand him my phone. “Text Jody and tell her we need to go home today.” We were supposed to stay overnight at my dad’s place.
He takes my phone without question and follows behind me. I’m sure Jake doesn’t get everything going on with my dad, but he gets why it’s not easy to just tell them no even though Coach Bakowski has made it clear—no visits until senior year, coaches go through him, we don’t talk to a college or pro coach without our parents. He has his own system, one our town backs 100 percent. My dad might be here, but my mom isn’t. Neither is Mr. Hammond.
“Looking good, Tate.” Coach Redeck taps the SMU jersey I’ve been loaned as I take the ice. I give Dad one more long look and shake my head. I can’t believe he’s doing this. “Let’s see what your boy can do, Keith. Besides math equations.”
All I can think about, when I take my place in front of the goal, in the arena where so many hockey greats have played—it’s Juniper Falls’s Wall of Fame times ten thousand—is how long I’ve imagined a moment like this and how it’s completely tainted now.
Chapter 30
–Claire–
I’m dumping the last of the late-night dishes when I spot a familiar pair of legs poking out from under the stove.
“Tate?” I walk closer and give his sneaker a little kick. “What are you doing here?”
He’s supposed to be in Minneapolis right now. Both he and Jody sent me a text when they left town before nine in the morning. And if I recall, an overnight stay was supposed to be part of the trip. Even if it wasn’t, it’s two in the morning. Not a typical hour for stopping by unannounced.
Tate slides out from under the stove. Black grease speckles his face and hands. He glances down at his fingers and then wipes them on a cloth resting beside him. “Your mom let me in before she left. She mentioned the stove was messed up the other day. Figured I’d stop by and check on it. I think something is wrong with the gas line.”
“Okaay…” Still doesn’t explain his change in plans or the late-night visit. I lean against the counter and watch him work for a couple of minutes. Obviously his being here at this hour
isn’t just about the stove, but when Tate doesn’t supply any more info, I decide to give him space. “I’m gonna go lock up, okay?”
He stays hidden from me. “Yeah, sure.”
Once the doors are locked, I crank up the radio at the bar. I sing along to whatever song comes on while I get the tables wiped down and reset for tomorrow and the floors swept. After a while, even with music blaring, the loud clanking of metal hitting metal comes from the kitchen. I rush in there in time to hear Tate string eight different swearwords together.
He emerges from under the stove and kneels in front, craning his neck to look at a pipe or something. “Fuck.” He shoves a hand through his hair and then tosses a screwdriver onto the kitchen floor. “Fucking hell.”
“What?” I demand.
Tate gets to his feet and grabs the towel. He attacks a smudge of dirt on his forearm with such force, I decide to keep a few feet between us. He kicks the pipe-looking thing gently with one of his boots. “See that part? It’s gonna need to be replaced. I thought I could patch it.”
I’m not sure what to do. He wants to talk. That’s why he’s here. But how do I open that door between us? He’d been so good at this when it was me, half drunk on the storeroom floor.
Maybe I should give him a bottle of whiskey.
He releases a breath and continues the battle with the grease on his hands. “I never should have told your mom— Jesus, that’s, like, a three-hundred-dollar part—”
In two quick strides, I reach him and rest my hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. “Hey, forget the stove, okay? What happened, Tate? Something happened in Minneapolis, didn’t it?”
His eyes close briefly, and when they open again, he’s studying me, maybe trying to decide if he can tell me. He takes my hands from his face and gives them a squeeze. “There’s one more thing I can try…”
I sigh but move over to let him under the stove again. “Tate.”
He’s buried beneath the stove only seconds later, but he takes my hint and starts talking. “Coach Redeck, my dad’s boss…he showed Jake and me around—the locker room, the ice rink, the training room and gym.”
“That’s good, right?” I have no idea what Tate wants to do after high school. Why have we not talked about this before?
“Sure.” Sarcasm drips from his voice. I sit down on the kitchen floor beside his boots and wait. “Assuming no one will count that as an official visit. Because that would be illegal. At least until the first day of my senior year.”
“But your dad works there,” I argue. “Isn’t that, like, a special circumstance or something?”
“Probably.” He reaches for a tool beside my leg. His fingers brush up against me. “Except the innocent-visit claim went out the window when Coach Redeck asked me to suit up and play goalie for a couple of the top SMU Hawks.”
I sink back on my heels. “It didn’t go well?”
Tate laughs, the tone derisive and angry. “Nope, it went great, actually.”
“What?” I grip his ankle, squeezing it tight. “So you could get a scholarship? Did they offer you anything?”
He drops the wrench and sits up again, facing me. “Everything went exactly how I’ve always imagined a big tryout to go. I could have turned into a total head case and I didn’t. And Coach Redeck…he flipped out over my and Jake’s grades, our ACT scores. He said we’ve both got the whole package.”
I sit perfectly still, waiting for him to explain his obvious anger over what should be good news.
“It’s tainted,” Tate continues. “All of it. Anything I do in terms of pursuing college hockey—it’s all ruined.” He shakes his head. “I should have walked out of there; it’s partly my fault. But my dad just sat there and let it happen. He knows better than anyone that this could come back and bite me in the ass. He could make it bite me in the ass if he wanted to. That’s the big problem; he’s not exactly on my side. He’s on his own side.”
My stomach flips over, Tate’s worry falling quickly onto my shoulders. “What about Jake? Did he play, too? And Jody? Where was she when this was happening?”
“Jake didn’t play, and he won’t say anything,” Tate replies so firmly I push aside those concerns. He knows his teammates better than I do. “Jody went to the library. I couldn’t tell her what happened.” He wrings his hands and stares at his lap. “I told Jake to make an excuse that we had to head home tonight instead of sleeping over. I couldn’t stay there…”
The guilt from the other day, when I witnessed Keith and Tate’s little showdown on the ice, doubles in size. It’s like a sour apple sitting in the pit of my stomach.
“I hate him. I hate him so much it makes me hate myself.” He whispers the words with his eyes still closed, like it’s wrong for him to say them but yet he needs to. Of course he needs to.
“God, Tate, I’m so sorry.”
He sighs and goes back under the stove. “Okay, so I patched this temporarily. I’d say you’ve got three, maybe six months before you need the part replaced. Or do you want to get it right away?”
I’m too busy stewing over the other stuff to respond to Tate. Eventually, he sits up again and looks at me. “Claire? The part?”
“Oh.” I shake my head. “Wait. Definitely wait.”
He nods slowly, probably forming more questions regarding my family’s finances. Tate gathers up the tools, tossing them in a box, and then he rights the stove back to its before-repairs state.
Turning, Tate looks at me and shifts from one foot to the other, his gaze flitting to the door and back to me. “I’m keeping you here, aren’t I?”
“No, no, it’s not that. I’m just so…” God, how do I explain what I’m feeling? Conflicted? Guilty? Obligated?
“Busy?” Tate supplies, looking guilty himself.
His biceps flex in response to him pushing off the floor. I let my eyes drift from his arms to his chest and abs, where the formfitting long-sleeve shirt he’s wearing displays perfect outlines of muscles. Tate catches me staring, and the sexy half grin slides over his features. “Checking me out, huh?”
My face flames. “No.”
“It’s okay.” He laughs. “I had a great view of your ass from under the stove.”
I shove him in the chest, but of course he grabs my hand and brings me closer. Not even a second later, his mouth is on mine, and I’m drowning in Tate Tanley and his soft lips and gentle hands.
“So this is why you stopped by,” I say, breathless, my legs turning to jelly.
“No.”
He wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me up onto the counter. I must look shocked or surprised because he freezes a few inches away from me. “Is this okay? I mean, I know we haven’t really said what this is, and you’re leaving in January…”
I think it’s the mention of January and what I still have to face from canceling my registration that has me spilling out words I’d been trying to sort through for careful insertion into the conversation. “You have to tell Jody.”
His forehead wrinkles. “About us? She knows. In fact, it made for a miserable drive—”
“About your dad.”
Silence falls between us. Tate’s entire body stiffens.
“Hear me out, okay?” I say, and his face changes. He gets it. He doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t stop me, either. “Maybe your dad popping up so much lately is a sign. You took all those feelings, that anger, and you’ve buried it. Didn’t you think that someday, you’d tell your mom and Jody everything?”
He’s already shaking his head.
“Tate, come on…your mom practically forced you to go to Minneapolis to see him. Do you think she’d do that if she knew what he was really like?”
“I don’t know—”
“And Jody’s oblivious to anything that you’ve been through. Wouldn’t you want to know if it were the other way around?”
“He would never treat Jody like he does me.” Fear is in his eyes now. I’ve put it there.
“Last year, you
were willing to tell my dad. For me. Because it was the right thing to do. I should have let you. I have to do the right thing this time. Even if it ruins my relationship with Jody.”
“This is insane.” Tate presses his hands to his face. “He’s never around. I can handle him now. Why would you—”
“You don’t have to do anything. I’ll talk to Jody. I’ll explain everything.” I touch his hand but he jerks it away. “It’ll be okay.”
“How do you fucking know that? He’s supposed to be at the game on Friday and…” He lifts his hands up. “I came over here to get away from that, not…I can’t do this right now.”
I call after him, but he still walks away, heading right out the kitchen door. I lock it behind him and then make my way to the office before sinking down into the desk chair. I bang my head against the wooden surface a few times and then remove my phone from my apron pouch. I send him a quick text.
ME: She’s ur sister. She should know the truth
TATE: and ur dad? U want him to know, too?
My heart practically stops. I didn’t think about that. I guess maybe with Dad’s situation now, it doesn’t seem the same as it did before. But why? Because he might not physically be able to kill Mr. Tanley? I wouldn’t put it past my dad to get ahold of a handgun and take his best shot. He does have one fully functioning side of his body.
ME: this is what we need to talk about. But u can’t just shut down on me.
TATE: We can talk. But I’m not gonna change my mind. It’s none of anyone’s business
ME: u don’t want to talk. That’s what u really just said
TATE: yeah. I guess so. But if you need to clear ur conscience…
ME: thanks for giving me permission. Thanks for listening and not getting pissed off
TATE: what do u expect? It’s my life ur screwing with. Of course I’m gonna be worried. Maybe pissed.
ME: Maybe pissed?
TATE: Yeah I’m pissed. Happy?
No. I’m not happy. But thanks for asking, Tate.
Chapter 31
–Tate–
“So your dad is coming in tonight?” Roger says from the other side of the table. We’re sitting around drinking root beer Roger brewed himself, killing time before the ball, while Mom and Jody are out picking up a tux for me, despite my protests against attending the dance.