Out of Play

by Jolene Perry

  “I’ll push it over for you.” The car’s at the end of the garage, but it’s a slight decline.

  “If only one person could do it, I wouldn’t need your help. If you wanna push, let me hold this end steady.” She doesn’t sound pissed, but maybe a little annoyed. She stands in the front like I’m actually going to need her help with this thing. I can be a little annoyed, too.

  “It’ll be fine,” I tell her before getting behind it and pushing. Seriously, how many people does it take to push a toolbox?

  “Whatever you say.” She stands back and smirks, like she knows a private joke I’m not a part of.

  Holding my end I start to walk. The thing slides as easily as it should and I start to wonder if she really just wanted an excuse to talk to me or something.

  I keep pushing and walking, when suddenly the front wheels fall off and the thing to comes to a dead stop.

  Unfortunately for me, I don’t have super breaks and can’t stop that quickly. My head rams right into the stupid metal box in front of me. “Shit!” I grab my nose, which pulses with pain.

  “Oh my God!” The Snow Queen steps toward me, but I hold my other hand up to tell her to stay put. I definitely don’t need the “I told you so” from some Alaskan chick I just met. Especially someone as smug as she seems to be.

  “I told you to let me help. Are you okay?” She’s cocking her head to each side like she’s trying to look around my hand. There isn’t nearly enough concern in her voice considering I probably just broke my nose. Our publicist is going to freak if Don’s stunt ruins his promo photos for our next tour.

  “I’m fine.” Then I feel something running down my wrist. Nice. I’m bleeding. I ran into a toolbox, broke my nose, and now it’s not only bleeding but I look like I’m crying in front of the Snow Queen. I should have packed a few more pills. I had no idea there would be so much stress up here.

  “Tilt your head back and come inside. I’ll get you cleaned up.” Still no worry. Like this is no big deal and people break their noses in her garage all the time. But then she glances back and I think there might be a little concern in her eyes.

  Part of me wants to tell her I’m not going anywhere with her, but it’s cold and my nose hurts so I follow her out of the garage, around the front of the house and through an unpainted metal door. When we walk inside, the only light comes from a small window lighting up racks of helmets and black duffel bags of who knows what. Snow gear hangs from a bar on the wall and almost every other surface. The floors and wall are wooden, and there are about five refrigerators down here. That’s strange as hell.

  Maybe it’s where they keep the bodies.

  Fucking Don and his need to get me up here—he’ll be sorry when I end up in pieces in someone’s freezer in a crazy house in Alaska.

  I pause when my eye catches the back corner of this big open space. It looks like there’s an old trailer stuck inside the house. A trailer. Inside the house. Definitely crazy people.

  She jogs up the open wooden stairs, and once again, I follow. The stairs stop in the kitchen, which is really just half the upstairs with a huge-ass picnic table in the middle of it and windows all along the front. I can see Gary is still outside, that same grin on his face. God, they talk more than teenage girls.

  My eyes are still watering, but this is the craziest house I’ve ever been in. I blink a few times. The other half of this floor is full of old couches, an ancient TV, and has a few dead animals on the wall. It’s creepy. I need to get my ass back to California.

  “Sit,” she tells me, and I find myself plopping onto the bench, resting my weight against the table. I drop my head back and she gives me a towel. “Pinch it.”

  “I know what I’m doing.” The last bloody nose I got was when I got in a fight my freshman year. I pinch my nose like she says anyway, though, and look at the wood ceiling. Maybe I should tell these people it’s possible to make houses in something other than wood.

  “I’ll be right back,” she says.

  I wish I had stayed in the cabin and let the walls close in on me.

  She stops close when she comes back, and something like vanilla mixed with oil and gasoline drifts around me.

  “This might suck a bit at first.” She chuckles before cramming something up one of my nostrils.

  “What the fuck?” I yell, pushing forward.

  She doesn’t even flinch or apologize or anything. “I know it sounds crazy, but all the hockey players use tampons for bloody noses. They’re the most in-demand item in the first aid kit.”

  “So you help with the team or something?” I’m trying to be nice here, but it’s a struggle.

  She frowns and shoves something up my other nostril, harder than the first.

  Wait. “Tampons?”

  “Feel better?” She gives me a fake smile that tells me she knows damn well I don’t feel better and that I did something to piss her off.

  “Yeah, incredible. You’ve got an awesome bedside manner. Thinking about being a doctor?”

  She looks like she wants to punch me, which is kind of funny and strangely hot.

  “Absolutely. Everyone likes doing stuff they’re good at, right?” She gives me a small smile like she’s having fun with me, not mocking me. Yeah right.

  I don’t know how to react to this and, honestly, I’m done playing games with her. My feet are soaking wet and cold, I’m covered in blood, my nose aches. Oh, and I have feminine products shoved up my nostrils. “Listen, thanks for…” Breaking my nose? Actually, I’m not sure I have anything to thank her for.

  I stand up. It feels like the bleeding is completely stopped, I might admit it could be the tampons, which are coming out the second I leave this place. Now all I want is something good to eat and the lumpy cabin mattress.

  Not that I’ve been sleeping or anything. Long days and longer nights when my eyes won’t stay closed and my brain feels like it does on stage.

  “I’m going to head back. Do you have the number for any delivery places?”

  The smirk is back. “Delivery? Didn’t anyone tell you, you’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto?” Then she does it. She laughs and even though it might be kind of funny, it pisses me off. She must be able to tell because she says, “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I swear.”

  “Nice. Thanks for the hospitality, Snow Queen.”

  I still hear her giggling as I walk away and head down the stairs. I’m going back to my stupid cabin, and taking some ibuprofen because of my broken nose. Hopefully along the way, I’ll forget I ever saw this chick. I’m just about to close the door when I hear. “Catch ya later, Bishop Ripe.”

  Did I mention I fucking hate Alaska?

  …

  “The fresh air is nice, isn’t it?” Gary nudges me with his arm.

  “No. Not really. It’s cold. Why are we walking again?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see him shake his head. “Do me a favor and take a deep breath.”

  I huff.

  “Humor me, Bishop.”

  Since there’s no point in pissing him off, I do as he asks.

  “What do you smell?”

  We’re walking down a deserted Alaskan road in the winter. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to smell. “Nothing. Cold, I guess.”

  “There you go! That’s good.” He nudges me again. “Did you know you could smell cold?”

  Looking at him, I roll my eyes. “Honestly, it’s not something I’ve put a lot of thought into.” But you can smell the snow and frost in the air. It freezes the inside of my nose. “Why does this matter again?”

  Gary doesn’t answer that. “Look around and tell me what you see.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I see this being a stupid fucking thing to do. “Trees, a road, more trees, painted lines on said road, more trees.”

  “Troy used to climb these trees all summer when he was a kid. Not these in specific, but you know what I mean. His parents told me they could always find him climbing. He built his
own tree house, too. I’ve seen it. Of course when he got older, he stopped. How many adults go around climbing trees for fun, right?”

  “Right.” Shrugging, I hope that’s the right answer.

  “When we came up here after rehab, you know what we did?” There’s a sentimental tone to Gary’s voice that I don’t understand.

  “I give up. What did you do?”

  “We climbed trees. We built another tree house. Sounds crazy, I know. But he enjoyed it. It took him back to a time when things were easier. When were things simple for you, Bishop Riley?”

  Instead of replying, I cross my arms. This is fucking stupid. It’s not like I don’t get what he’s trying to do.

  Suddenly, Gary’s foot shoots out, playfully. I don’t realize it in time, though, and I stumble with his mock attempt to trip me. “Come on. You’ve had enough for today. Let’s go get the car, drive to town, and buy you some boots.”

  “Finally!” Without another prompt, I turn and we head back toward the cabins. The chanting in my head has been replaced by Gary’s voice.

  When were things simple for you, Bishop Riley?

  Chapter Four

  PENNY

  I sit in the kitchen with my coffee, staring out the window at the cabins. It’s probably rude to always be watching, but I can’t help it. These guys don’t ski. They don’t have snowmachines. They don’t seem to know anyone up here. They walk. Like every day. Normal people don’t go on walks in the winter when there are a million better things to do outside, all of which are faster.

  If I had to guess, I’d say Bishop is pretty pissed about the whole situation because I have yet to see him without a scowl. That Gary guy’s always going to his door to stand and chat for a minute, and then leaving. There’s something about the situation that feels off, and I want to know what it is. I dug through all Mom’s paperwork for the cabin business, but all I came up with was Gary’s name on the cabin rental, his name on the VISA, and nothing else.

  Bishop steps outside and lights up another cigarette, reminding me how seriously hot he is. He really has the whole dark, brooding thing going on. I’m sure part of it is because most of the guys I know my age, I’ve known for a while, or I know their family, or am friends with their cousin, or something. This guy is all new, felt all new when I patched up his nose, and he looks…misplaced up here. But more than that. He looks misplaced inside. That’s not something easily fixed. And maybe that’s where the whole brooding thing comes from.

  “How’s my button nose this morning?” Gramps grins at me from across the table. His blue eyes are so bright, and his face so filled with his kid-grin, that he looks like an expectant three-year-old.

  There’s no way to hold in my smile at something he’s said to me since I can remember. “My nose is not a button, Gramps.”

  He reaches across the table and lets out a loud beep as his finger makes contact. “I beg to differ.”

  I wrinkle my nose, but I’m glad he’s having a good day today.

  “Why are we looking so introspective this morning?” he asks.

  “The guys. In the cabins.” I jerk my chin. “Just trying to figure out their story.”

  Gramps gives me his pro eye of suspicion. “Trying to learn, or harassing that boy?”

  I freeze for a moment and scramble for something to say that won’t give up the fact that I’ve maybe been watching Bishop more closely than I should, and maybe enjoyed fixing his nose more than I should. “What?” I wonder how well I pulled off innocence.

  “He left here bloody with a tampon in his nose. You need to stop doing that.” He chuckles and stands, heading for the fridge.

  “What? They work great! It’s not like I gave him the bloody nose or anything.” Like I’ve been known to do.

  He shakes his head.

  And yes. Okay. The tampon might not have been totally necessary, but I wasn’t lying when I said it’s one of the most used things in our first aid kit.

  “You got an offer from Boston University to check out their rink.” He reaches into the fridge. “Possible scholarship.”

  Another college. I’m good, but I didn’t think I was good enough to get so much attention for it. They’re the fourth team this month, and if I wanted to leave state, and if I wanted to play on a women’s team, they’d be worth listening to. Time to change the subject. “Gramps! You’re not supposed to open other people’s mail! It’s a federal offense,” I tack on for added seriousness.

  He snorts. “Distraction may work with your mother, Lucky, but it won’t work with me.”

  “I’m sticking around.” I shrug. “No point in running all over the country when I know where I want to be.”

  “Penny.” He turns and leans against the counter. Gramps is all here and all serious. “I’m going to live or die whether you’re here or not, and so’s your mom.”

  “That’s not the point, Gramps.” I stick my chin out. I can’t miss it. Him. Gramps can’t always take care of himself, and with Dad gone, Mom can’t take care of him, either. She barely sleeps. Just works, eats, and lately, is only doing the occasional stop by home.

  “The point is that you have some serious talent, and it shouldn’t go to waste.” Gramps mimics my set jaw, which makes me immediately pull mine back in.

  “I’ve got a good thing going here, Gramps. Both UAF and UAA have seen me play enough to take me on the men’s teams, and I could probably be an assistant coach at my high school.” Every one of those things is something I want to do. Why would I leave? I hate that they try to push their choices on me.

  His brow wrinkles in worry. “College players are a lot bigger than the high school boys, Penny. Even Chomps. Maybe playing on a men’s team isn’t a good idea.”

  “Is that what your son would say? Dad’s the one who got me playing with the guys in the first place.” I shove back my hair and push out a breath. Gramps blinks a few times, hopefully reading me well enough to change the subject.

  He rubs his thumb across my chin, tilting his head to the side one way and then the other way until I can’t hold in my smile. “Why don’t you work on your car today?”

  I’m surprised he didn’t ask if we were both working on my car. For Gramps, it’s like therapy. It’s something he has yet to have a hard time remembering how to do. “For a while. I’ve got practice today.”

  “Sunday?” His brows go up.

  “Semifinals are coming up.” We barely lost state last year. I’m determined to make it all the way this year. Semifinals, and then finals, and we have to go all the way.

  …

  My Corvette sits here. Just like it has for years. I got it running last summer, but it never worked right. The car was my dad’s project until someone left a party after washing a handful of pills down with too many drinks and hit him while he was out riding his motorcycle. I was ten.

  I suck in a breath and shove the thought away. Normally, it’s a good thing to be in the room with this car, but sometimes it just makes me miss Dad more. Puts an ache in my chest that I don’t think will ever totally go away.

  I run my hand up the side of the body toward the hood. The car is ugly now, but it’ll be perfect when I finish. 1975, buffed out and ready to paint—once I get some more money and decide on a color. It’s the engine that’s still giving me fits.

  I lean under the hood and stare at the same problems. We’re basically rebuilding a rebuilt engine. Not easy. And as I stand here, the puzzle that I usually can’t wait to get my hands on doesn’t feel like it wants to be touched. So much for this distraction before practice. Gramps is napping anyway, and it’s not the same working without him here.

  Instead of cleaning, or trying to get the wheels back under my toolbox, I sit in the driver’s seat, which reminds me that I have to find a steering wheel that’s in better shape. The top is off the T-top. No one appreciates T-tops anymore, but I think it’s perfect. Especially for up here. It’s not like there’s months and months of time when I could have a convertible top down.
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  Sliding my hands across the wheel turns the ache in my chest to hurt over missing Dad. There’s too much stuff in my head today. Gramps telling me I need to get out of town. Some guy who looks like a rock star with a tampon up his nose. Mitch with a girlfriend he actually seems to like, and who doesn’t seem to mind putting up with him.

  I slump lower in my seat, feeling like with the end of hockey season, and the end of my senior year, things are going to change a lot more than I want them to.

  …

  “Where’s your ball and chain?” I shove Mitch from behind as we warm up on the ice.

  He frowns. “She’ll be here later.” Mitch hates me harassing him about her. She’s just…such a girlie girl—preened and high-maintenance, with her dark hair always shiny and smooth or done up in tiny curls. My stomach flips. I have no idea how to make myself that way, or even if I’d want to.

  Mostly, I hate that he hates me teasing him about this. It means, again, that whatever I feel for him is not something he feels, and that he either doesn’t care that Rebecca’s starting to come between us or hasn’t noticed. I’m not sure which is worse. I push around him and start doing laps while I wait for the rest of the guys to get on the ice. It’s like silk today. Smooth and fast. Almost fast enough to make me forget the one thing I shouldn’t be thinking about today with the mess my head is in.

  Mitch got wasted after we lost in the finals last year, and it was my first time drinking more than one beer. Our kiss hadn’t been perfect. It was sloppy and forced because we’d been drinking, but the point is that we both wanted it. He kissed me. I kissed him. Mutual. Mitch and Penny, just like it was supposed to be.

  I woke up practically in a minefield of bodies in Chomps’s basement because no one was in a position to get their keys back the night before.

  “I’m sorry Penny. That was out of control last night. We shouldn’t have…you know.” Mitch looked down with this weird grimace like he’d been waiting for me to wake up and was bracing himself to tell me.