Madison couldn’t help but smile as she watched him explain his intentions. He had this genuine look on his face, so even though his voice sounded plastically charming, he meant what he was saying. And the more he spoke, the faster he got, as though he wanted to make sure to say everything that popped into his mind in case he forgot. It was actually pretty cute.
And sweet.
Her eyes were drawn upwards, back to the cut on his forehead. More blood had accumulated and was going to start to drip down his face if he didn’t get a band aid on it soon.
“You realize this is Newport Beach and not, like, Compton, right?” she teased. She felt her eyes sparkle and realized that perhaps she actually liked Alec Schumacher. Not romantically or platonically, but in general. As a person.
“Hey, I learned how to fight because I’m from Newport Beach,” Alec said.
“Really?” Madison sounded doubtful.
“Yeah. My mom signed me up for ice skating lessons when I was probably four. She loved skating; she nearly made the Olympic Team when she was in her twenties, but that dream never panned out. Anyways, when I got good at skating, my mom asked if I wanted to play hockey. I had seen other kids practice the sport and I had always been interested in learning it, so my mom signed me up.”
“So hockey taught you how to fight?” Still doubtful.
He gave her a dry look. “I haven’t finished yet,” he said, feigning annoyance. “I had always lived in Newport Beach my entire life. I think the team – the Gulls – were formed after I was about a year old, right? But my mom was used to the rink in Anaheim, so that’s where I learned to skate and that’s where I played Pee Wee Hockey. Now, when you’re from a place like Newport and you play hockey at a place like Anaheim, you get picked on. Anaheim is actually not that bad a place to live in, but when you compare it to a wealthy place like Newport… Well, let’s just say that there’s more diversity in Anaheim because people feel more comfortable in Anaheim rather than Newport. Do you get what I’m saying?”
“People, kids, feel more comfortable with other kids from the same financial background as they do,” Madison said. “Same feels more comfortable with same.”
“Exactly,” Alec said with a curt nod. “Newport kids felt that they were better than Anaheim kids because they came from money while Anaheim kids felt they were better because they didn’t. It was rare for a Newport kid to skate in Anaheim just like it was rare for an Anaheim kid to skate in Newport.”
“But you were a Newport kid and you skated in Anaheim,” Madison pointed out.
“Yeah, I know,” Alec said. “But you know kids, they get their attitudes from their parents. My mom took me to Anaheim. And trust me, those kids let me know that they saw me as different. At first, my hockey team ignored me. When I got good, they would go out of their way to pick on me. There were many fights that I got into – some of them I started, some of them I didn’t – in order to stick up for myself. And the thing is, when I first started going to Anaheim, I wouldn’t have realized there was a difference between me and those kids. It was that they sort of made me feel different when I realized there was an imbalance between us. I was the rich kid and I got beat up a lot for it.” His tone had been serious, and the way he was looking at her with those midnight blue eyes struck her with such intensity that goosebumps burst out all over Madison’s body. But when he finished the sentence, he smiled. “So I learned how to fight and I got good. I don’t want you to have go through what I went through. So please let me walk you to your car.”
“Did you just say please?” she teased. He gave her a look. “All right, all right. Fine. You can walk me to my car. But only if you let me clean that cut on your forehead.”
A drop of blood rolled down the length of his forehead, hanging just above his brow.
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
Madison smiled in triumph, and turned back to head into the women’s locker room. When she realized that Alec wasn’t following her, she turned, her hand still resting on the door handle.
“What?” she asked.
“I don’t know if you realize this,” Alec said in a dry voice, “but that is the female locker room.”
Madison rolled her eyes. “Please. Like you’ve never seen the inside of one before.” She pushed her brow up. “And anyways, I was the last one in there. It’s completely empty, and I know where the first aid kit is. Come on.”
This time, Alec followed her into the locker room and took a seat on a bench between two rows of lockers while Madison flipped back on the lights. She headed over to the top locker on the wall of the room, and grabbed the first aid kit.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Alec asked as Madison placed the box on the bench next to him.
Madison looked up from what she had been doing. She pulled out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a band aid before shutting it. Instead of answering, she headed over to the sink where a paper towel dispenser was. She grabbed a couple and walked back over to Alec before kneeling down in front of him.
“So let me ask you a question,” she said as she poured some peroxide into the brown paper towels. “What was the deal with all the fighting tonight? I mean, besides the fact that the Sharks play a scrappy game and everything.” She pressed her lips together, pushing the damp paper towel on his wound, causing him to inhale sharply. “You can take the hit, but not the cure. Oh man.”
“What do you mean, what’s up with the fighting?” Alec asked through gritted teeth.
Madison pulled back, finished cleaning the wound. She locked eyes with him and said, “You got scored on three different times because of penalties. And it’s only preseason and I feel like these fights are turning ugly. You could get injured, and then what? Are these fights really worth it?” She turned, grabbed the band aid and placing it on his cut, smoothing down the wrinkles to ensure it stayed on and felt comfortable.
“Of course they’re worth it,” Alec said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Madison furrowed her brow and pushed up so she was standing. She stretched her muscles – kneeling too long caused her knees to tighten a bit – and then straightened. Alec followed suit.
“I don’t get it,” Madison said, grabbing her bag and then throwing away the trash. She came back over to put away the kit back in the locker. “My parents barely fight. I have two sisters and we were more catty with words than with our fists.”
“You are girls,” he said flatly. He opened the door and allowed Madison to walk through it before he followed suit. “Let me guess – you’re the middle child.”
“Actually, I’m the oldest,” Madison said with a smug smile.
The two headed to the exit, walking side by side. Occasionally, their shoulders – well, Madison’s shoulder and Alec’s upper arm due to the obvious size difference between them – would brush, which Madison made it a point to ignore.
“When I was seven, my mother died from melanoma,” Alec said. His voice was slightly hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to share this with her. Madison knew she probably should apologize for his mother’s death, but for some reason, she couldn’t bring her mouth to form the words. But it didn’t seem to matter because he decided to continue. “I never met my father and there wasn’t any family close by to take me, so I lived with my step-father. This was just after my first season of Pee Wee Hockey. I’m not sure if my step-father put up with me because he loved my mom so much or what, but even before she died, I kind of got the feeling that he didn’t like kids, and that was proven when he was forced to raise me.”
The couple decided that it might be safest to exit through the back, in hopes to avoid the crowd and the press. Alec, again, opened the door, and the two walked out together into the night.
“He was never abusive or anything dramatic,” Alec continued, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “But it was like he just didn’t care. He would take and pick me up to my games, but he never stayed and watc
hed. When I got an A on a paper or a test, he never congratulated me. I never had a curfew and when I was old enough to cook, he stopped making me meals. At the time, it was cool, but in my entire life, I’d never felt that lonely. So I started to get in trouble, just to get some kind of reaction from him. But it never worked, probably because he really just did not care. He wasn’t a bad guy, he just didn’t care.
“I kept up with hockey, though. And it was my senior year in high school when I met Ken Brown, who had come to a few of my games. I knew exactly who he was – I was a huge Gulls fan – but I was surprised that someone who built Sea Side Ice Palace in Newport would come to Anaheim, whether to scout for players or just to watch the games. After that game, Ken came up to me and invited me to training camp that summer for the Gulls. I don’t know what he saw in me, but after that meeting, I was at the Anaheim rink, working my ass off to be the best skater, the fastest, the best shot, because I knew I’d be in competition with people like Dimitri Petrov. I went to training camp, made first cut, and then, just before the season began, I made the team. And I’ve been on this team ever since.”
He paused, a nostalgic smile on his face. They could hear people shouting and talking near the entrance of the stadium, but there were only a few people in the back parking lot.
“I never felt like I was a part of a family unless I was on a hockey team,” he said. “So when I made the Gulls, I wanted to stay with them. I wanted this team to be my family. The great thing about Ken was that he viewed us, his players, as his family too. Rarely did he ever trade people unless the players wanted them to or if there was an issue that couldn’t be resolved. He always encouraged loyalty, which is probably the most important trait I look for in a mentor or a friend. I know we aren’t the best team in the league, but this is my family. And because of that, I would fight for them just like I know without a doubt they’d do the same for me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not the brightest kid. I never went to college, graduated high school with a C-average, but I would fight for the people I care about.”
“It’s no wonder you’re so popular with the ladies,” Madison said with a grin, just as they reached her car. “The story is very moving.”
Even though Madison had taken numerous psychology classes and could read people quite easily, but she couldn’t decipher the enigmatic look Alec Schumacher was now giving her. But she knew it meant something important, but she had no clue as to how or why.
“I don’t think so,” he said in that charming voice that didn’t match the serious look on his face. “It must be something else because you’re the only lady I’ve told it to.” He glanced away from her, and because they were away from the noisy crowd, the waves crashing into the nearby shore could be heard clearly. And then, he turned and said, “Good night, Madison.”
Again, Madison couldn’t form the words to say something she knew she probably should say. Should she thank him? Should she guarantee that she wouldn’t tell anyone this, even not and especially not Amanda, her closest friend? Instead, she unlocked the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and shut the door. She pulled out of the spot and waved to Alec before driving off.
Something changed between the two. But like so many other things when it concerned Alec Schumacher, Madison did not know what that was.
23. “Okay Dad, I’m sure you’ve told me this before, but what is a hat trick?” Emma asked as they left their seats. The game had just finished and the three players of the game had all skated out and dispersed their sticks to waiting fans. The Gulls had managed to beat the Sharks by one point, with the final score being five to four. Kyle Underwood had received the number one spot, and even though he gave his stick to a random person cheering in the stands, he turned around and locked eyes with her, giving her a smile. Like a secret smile shared just between the two of them. She responded with a miming of tipping her hat to him.
“I mean,” she continued, “I get that a player scores three goals in a game, but why is it called that? And why do people actually throw hats onto the ice?”
“Let me get this straight,” Jeremy said. “We’ve been going games since you were ten years old, and you’re still not familiar with what a hat trick is and the tradition behind it?”
“Dad, I was ten,” Emma said flatly. “I had books, an iPod, and food, and you never actually made me pay attention before.”
Jeremy explained just what a hat trick was and how it came to be that fans – including Jeremy himself – threw any sort of headgear onto the ice. After Kyle’s third goal of the game, Emma watched as hundreds of people tossed various hats onto the rink, including baseball caps, fedoras, and flat caps that normally adorned the heads of golfers. However, the majority of them were Gulls hats, some looking to be brand new, bought solely for the purpose of being thrown on the ice. It seemed like a waste of fifteen dollars to buy an already too-expensive hat just to throw it away because a player happened to score three goals in one game.
“You’re not appreciating the fact that for a player to score three games in one game is amazing,” Jeremy said. “It’s phenomenal. It’s cause to celebrate.”
“What happens when the player scores six points in one game?” Emma asked. “Do they get credited with two hat tricks or is it called something else?”
“You know, stuff like that never happens anymore. The Phantom – Joe Malone – played for a team called the Quebec Bulldogs way back in 1920 and he scored seven, count them seven, goals in one game. Can you believe that?”
Emma would have responded had someone not bumped into her. She had never seen the stadium this crowded before. Even with a win, fans filed out of the rink before the top three players were announced in order to get out of the parking lot before heavy congestion occurred. But now, fans seemed to hang around, discussing the game, the respective teams, and even Ken Brown’s murder and Brandon Thorpe’s absence. People claimed he was arrested, others claimed he was just brought in for questioning. Some people claimed the goalie was innocent while others claimed he definitely did it.
Just off to the side, Emma caught sight of two men shoving each other, and by the looks on their faces, she had a feeling the shoving match would only escalate. But along with the increased numbers of people in attendance, Emma did notice there was an increase in security, and not just any type of security, but security guards who probably moonlighted as bouncers at popular nightclubs that lined Pacific Coast Highway.
“Dad, is it just me or is the atmosphere tonight… different?” Despite the noise, Emma tried to ensure that her voice was quiet. She didn’t want the wrong person to overhear and cause any trouble with her and her father.
“Yeah, there’s definitely more tension than there normally would be, even with the Gulls playing the Sharks,” Jeremy said with a nod. “The fans are pretty nasty when we play them, but what with the whole murder thing and Thorpe being taken in for questioning, they’ve only gotten worse. And as much as I like to say that we have classy fans – which we do in most circumstances – even our fans seem to be turning against the team.”
“But what more do they want?” Emma asked. “When are they just going to be happy? Brandon Thorpe was just brought in for questioning even though the uncle is the main suspect. Do you think the police just gave in to pressure? I thought they didn’t really have anything on Thorpe.”
“I have no idea what they have on him,” Jeremy said, shrugging his shoulders. “They could have something, they may have nothing. It sounds like the latter since they only brought him in for questioning. But I wouldn’t put it past the cops to take him in because of that pressure from the residents of Newport Beach. They can be quite affluent, you know.” He gave his daughter a look and Emma rolled her eyes. Her father constantly told her how influential people from Newport Beach could be since, for the most part, everybody had or came from money.
“But it’s not even that,” Emma protested. “Not only is Thorpe down at the station – wherever that is – but the Gulls won. Without
him. Why are people still mad?”
“People are never going to be satisfied,” Jeremy said. “You give them what they want, they’re just going to find something wrong with it or ask for something else. If the police really don’t have anything on Thorpe, then they basically gave into these people who have no idea what’s really going on which means they did this because they wanted everybody to shut up. But people aren’t going to. They’re just going to want more or criticize what they did receive.”
As they walked out the doors of the stadium, Emma nearly toppled over because another group of people ran into her. No one from the group had apologized or helped steady her. They kept talking as though they hadn’t even noticed her, hadn’t noticed bumping into another human being. Luckily, Jeremy reached over and helped his daughter regain her balance. Emma noticed the warm brown of her father’s eyes darkened which usually happened when he was upset with something.
“Watch it!” he called after the group.
It was the first time in a while that Emma felt herself get embarrassed by something her father did.
“Dad,” she hissed in a quiet voice. “Come on. It’s not a big deal.”
“They didn’t even apologize,” he muttered.
It wasn’t long before they managed to get to their car, but both knew it would be at least fifteen more minutes before they got out of the lot due to the number of pedestrians and other cars trying to get out as well. Emma rested her forehead on the cool window, her eyes sculpting the remaining crowd. The press was still there, hoping to get a comment from someone important – like Seraphina Hanson or a player or even a coach – but probably settled from a fan’s point of view on the current situation the Gulls’ were in.
“Honey, you know how people are,” Jeremy said. His tone was filled with annoyance but Emma knew it wasn’t because of her. Jeremy looked tired; whatever case he was working on was really getting to him. “The fans want the Gulls to win and at the same time, they want Thorpe to take responsibility for Ken’s death. They need to blame someone for the death and it’s easy to target Thorpe because of the fact that he wanted more money in exchange for remaining on team. Fans were already turning against him.”
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