Keane: Her Ruthless Ex: 50 Loving States, Massachusetts

by Taylor, Theodora

  “Yeah, you can have an autograph.” He took the card from her and immediately flipped it over, before the younger him could give him any grief. Yeah, technically he made more money off the ice than he ever did on, but pictures from when he was whole still hit him like a puck to the chest.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, giving her lots of eye contact.

  “Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for my dad. He got called away on business, but he’s a huge fan still. His name is Gary.”

  Well, shit. He scribbled his name across the card and asked bluntly, “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-three,” she answered, dipping her head in a way she probably practiced in the mirror. It was wicked cute. “How old are you?”

  He handed the card back to her. “Thirty-three. You coming back to my place for dessert after this is done?”

  He watched her calculate out a response. The younger women knew how to put on event make-up like nobody’s business thanks to YouTube. But they couldn’t hide their feelings for shit when it came to sober, in person come-ons. He knew her answer way before she carefully gave it. “I’d like that. I’d like it a lot.”

  Huh…nothing.

  Keane liked winning. He’d built a hockey career and then a multi-million-dollar real estate investment group on winning. But this didn’t feel like a win. There was no victory flare, no stirring in his pants. Just a whole lot of hollow numb. Same as before the blonde had walked up to him, right before he ordered his usual pre-speech drink.

  Speaking of which. “You want one?” he asked, beckoning over the man bun tending the bar in a crisp white shirt and bow tie.

  “Yes, thank you,” she answered, laying a hand on his arm.

  Without warning “More Than a Feeling” started blasting, flooding him with memories of the last girl who had made him hear that song with just one touch.

  Logically, Keane should have been on top of the world. His two years at Boston Glenn couldn’t have gone better. They’d won the state championship twice. He’d yet to go more than three or four days without pussy. And now here he was dancing with the hottest girl in school with a crown on his head. He’d morphed from a South Boston peasant recruit to king of the school, with little to no off-ice effort required.

  “Babe, I’m going to blow your mind tonight,” Cordelia whispered in his ear, giving him even more reason to show some gratitude for getting named prom king along with his current girlfriend.

  If he had to listen to her talk for more than a few minutes, Cordelia annoyed the hell out of him, but she fucked like a porn star. Always down for head. Knew how to give him plenty of eye contact and seemed to have been born without a gag reflex. She kept everything bare, didn’t even have hair on her arms. And she knew what she was doing when she got on top. He could already see her taking her pretty blonde hair out of that princess bun, and swishing it back and forth as she rode him like the horse she boarded in the Boston Glenn stables.

  Yeah, euphoria should be running through his veins, like the good stuff he was known to peddle at college parties when his funds ran low.

  But instead he continued to psycho stare over Cordelia’s shoulder. Not at another girl, but at Band Nerd, who was dancing with some skinny Jewish-looking guy. Keane had never seen him before, but he had his arms wrapped around Band Nerd, and was dancing just as close to him and as Cordelia was to Keane.

  Band Nerd was gay. That motherfucker had been letting Lena pay Keane five dollars every school day for two years, but then couldn’t even wait until after prom to come out of the closet. Couldn’t even take her instead of that equally band nerd looking fuck.

  Anger continued to rise, filling his body until it became so rigid, his normally self-absorbed girlfriend, leaned back to ask, “Are you all right?”

  Instead of answering, he walked away from her.

  “Keane? Keane? Where are you going?” Cordelia demanded.

  He ignored her as he headed straight toward Band Nerd with his fist balled. Nearly two years, he’d been whacking off to fantasies of Lena Kumar. But he’d never touched her. Never let himself approach her. Because she was already taken. And now her “boyfriend” was here with another guy? If this fucker thought, he was going to get away with this…

  Unfortunately, Con popped up in front of him halfway through his beeline. “Hey, hey,” he said, following the direction of Keane’s gaze. “We’re all pissed about that fag showing up with a date, but hockey season’s over, bro. If you say or do something to him, the gay student coalition’s going to shit a sheep. The school will kick you out just to be PC and that could put your place on the UBoss’s hockey team in danger. Think, bro, think.”

  Keane did think about it. True, if he kicked Band Nerd’s ass, the school would probably expel him. Now that they’d gotten what they wanted; they didn’t need him anymore. He understood that. But with his record and NHL trajectory, he doubted much would endanger his hockey team placement at the University of Boston—or UBoss as the locals called the division one school.

  Still, he held only three basic truths to be self-evident since discovering hockey.

  Don’t get assholed.

  Do whatever it took to make it to the NHL.

  Don’t let shit come between you and the NHL.

  He went back to his girlfriend. Let her fuck him good for making her prom queen dream come true.

  But was that enough?

  Did he stop obsessing over Lena? Or the fact that she was free? Had been free this entire time?

  No, no…he didn’t.

  By Monday morning, he’d decided to do something nearly as fucked up as Band Nerd showing up at prom with a guy on his arm.

  He arrived earlier than usual to school the Monday after the big dance, with a plan to ask Lena Kumar out. Thanks to the Mindfuck gods, all the other seniors’ lockers had been grouped right up the hallway from the hockey players’ this year. That meant he’d been gifted season tickets he didn’t want to the show of her and Band Nerd, laughing together, like besties since September.

  Keane had figured his chances of putting her in the monthly pussy rotation were zero to negative, which was why he’d stayed away. Yet watching them had made his chest burn funny. He couldn’t keep his interest up for a girl more than a few weeks, much less the two years Lena and Band Nerd had been together. And despite himself, his heart had pounded at the thought of someone like Lena being as sweet and loyal to him as she was to her weak as fuck boyfriend.

  But lucky, Con had stopped him from bashing Band Nerd’s face in, because that shit had been a total illusion. Apparently, Lena had known all along that “her boyfriend” was gay and had volunteered for beard duty to make his life easier.

  Con had sounded especially pissed when he reported all this back to Keane on Sunday. “I knew that guy was a fag, but I let him get away with it, while we were still on hockey god status, because I thought what he had with Lena was for real.” He’d shaken his head bitterly. “I should have trusted my gut and beat him down.”

  But Keane couldn’t figure out whether to admire her for her loyalty or go bitter, like Con over the wasted opportunity. Did she know…did she have any idea what he would have done to her if he’d known she was free?

  He knew now, and his heart pounded louder than ever as he strode from the front entrance of the school toward the senior lockers. He could see her at the end of the hallway, laughing with Band Nerd. So yeah, Con must have gotten it right about her not being mad.

  Keane headed straight toward her. No pretending not to see her today. No more sneaking looks.

  “You’re here early!”

  His heart went from pounding to a full-on sink when Cordelia appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his arm. Latching on to him like a fucking leech. Seeing the two of them walking down the hall together, people started calling out congratulations. Hell, if it didn’t feel like prom night all over again. Especially with Cordelia waving back, like she was still wearing a tiara.

  But fuck that. “Cord,
we need to talk,” he said, figuring in public would be as good a place as any to dump her. Less chance of her making a scene.

  Instead of answering, Cordelia’s scrunched her face and asked, “What’s that girl doing at your locker? Is she…is she trying to give you a love note?”

  Keane blanched when he saw Lena standing at his locker with an envelope in his hand, obviously preparing to slip it between the front metal grate.

  Fuck!

  Before he could stop her, Cordelia rushed over to her with a “Ew, what are you doing?”

  Then she snatched an envelope Keane had gotten to know well out of Lena’s hand. Over the years, Lena had gone from handwriting her made-up slogan to printing it out in a pretty-legitimate-looking capital letter font with a logo and everything.

  He could see the orange-and-black SCHOLARSHIP KIDS HELPING OTHER SCHOLARSHIP KIDS logo from here, but instead of chuckling like he usually did at the sight of it, he cursed himself.

  “It’s…it’s nothing,” Lena answered Cordelia, reaching for the envelope.

  But Cordelia held it back, her perfectly made up eyes flashing angrily as she said, “No, you’re going to tell me why you are putting envelopes in my boyfriend’s locker.”

  “Cordelia, seriously, just give it back—”

  Instead, Cordelia opened the envelope like she was auditioning for Mean Girls 2: Over the Top. Probably expecting to find a love letter she could read out loud to the crowd of kids that had gathered to watch this post-prom show go down. However, she scrunched her face even tighter when she saw the five-dollar bill. “Money? Why are you putting an envelope with money inside my boyfriend’s locker? Is this some kind of joke?”

  Keane cursed himself for letting that lunch money shit go on for so long. It had never been about money really. His dad was mafia for Christ’s sakes. Low down on the totem pole, yeah, but still, Keane could make $500 in the time it took her to put her Abe Lincoln in an envelope and slip it in his locker. All it took was one call to the any of the many uncles he wasn’t really related to, and a trip to a frat house on any one of Boston’s many college campuses.

  He’d thought about telling her to knock it off a few times over the past two years, but he’d never been able to bring himself to do it. The lunch money was stupid, yeah, but it was the only connection he had with this girl he’d been obsessing over.

  “Yes, it’s a joke,” Lena answered Cordelia, her voice sounding weak and scared.

  Cordelia had a way of inspiring that reaction in other girls.

  “Just a joke, right, Keane?”

  The gazes of all the students staring at them felt like bugs crawling over his skin. In an instant he was transported back to his first real deal hockey summer camp. He’d had to take a T and two buses to get to Marlborough. Those rich kids had pointed at the Southie in second-hand skates covered in duct tape, and they’d laughed every time he fell. Teaching him how things worked here at this elite summer camp, just as they had in South Boston. Here and everywhere you went you either assholed or got assholed.

  Don’t get assholed. As his original truth rang even more self-evident in his head, everybody was staring at him, waiting for his answer. Including Lena.

  Christ, Lena…. She was stupid loyal, wasn’t she? Too damn loyal to guys who didn’t fucking deserve it.

  He slammed his hand against the row of lockers, hating her for her stupid loyalty as she jumped at the unexpected sound of his hand bashing into metal. Hating himself even more for what he was about to do.

  “I told you to quit doing that shit! Listen, you gotta stop stalking me! You psycho freak! You can’t pay me enough to put my dick in you. So, stop trying.”

  He put all his anger into making his words sound convincing, and fuck…it worked.

  She flinched, shocked hurt widening her eyes. But instead of laughing at Keane for being poor, everyone around them started laughing at her for being a psycho.

  He wanted her to protest. Maybe even hit him. He deserved that and it wouldn’t matter. Everyone would believe him and maybe he could explain in private.

  But she did something even worse than hitting him. Instead of getting angry, she turned and ran. However, not fast enough for him not to see the way her eyes welled up right before she took off down the hallway. An ugly hollowness lodged in his gut and his heart pounded. Still terrified for some reason, even though he’d successfully dodged the reputation killing bullet that would have been admitting he’d been letting Lena Kumar give him “scholarship” lunch money the entire time he was here.

  Band Nerd glared at him, then took off, too, calling her name as he ran to comfort her.

  No, his name wasn’t Band Nerd, Keane finally admitted. It was Vihaan. And it didn’t matter how short and skinny he was or who he’d brought to prom, in that moment, he was a much bigger man than Keane.

  Keane would continue to think about what happened in that hallway for years to come. Replaying it in his mind, and wishing he’d said something else. Done something else. Defended her instead of standing by while those rich assholes teased her for the rest of the year. It had become so bad, he’d never been able to figure out how to approach her privately to explain why he’d said what he had. Con and a bunch of the other hockey players even coughed, “psycho!” under their hands as she walked across the stage.

  No, like the coward who figures out a comeback way too late, Keane eventually constructed the perfect reaction to that envelope moment, sometime around his first year at UBoss.

  He could have kissed her. He could have kissed her there in that hallway in front of everyone, including Cordelia, and let them all figure it out.

  That he didn’t want Cordelia, he wanted Lena.

  That the money didn’t mean shit, it had always been about keeping Lena close, even when he thought she was with somebody else.

  That they were just background.

  Hockey and Lena were all that mattered.

  He got to keep hockey, but he lost Lena the same spring morning he’d set out to claim her.

  “Ah, Keane, I think they’re calling for you to go up on stage.”

  Keane blinked out of the memory, realizing that the song wasn’t coming from the blonde. He could now see Bono on stage waving him forward while the Hawks’ unofficial victory song poured out from the speakers on either side of the stage.

  “Be here when I get back,” he bit out, like the blonde was one of his minions at DGK.

  Then he went to give a very short speech, which would be followed by a long night of trying to fuck Lena out of his system. Again.

  He hated that this was still happening sixteen years after their eyes first clashed. Hated that it was still Lena—and only Lena—who made him feel like a victory song whenever she touched him.

  Chapter Two

  Some friendships fade and some friendships pick you and your son up from the airport at four in the morning.

  Lucky for Lena and Max, her friendship with Vihaan turned out to be the latter. They found him waiting for them in the baggage claim area when they came down the escalator after getting off the red-eye they’d flown from California.

  “Welcome home!” Vihaan gathered her and Max up in a tight hug before stepping back to watch as she lugged their suitcase off the baggage claim carousel.

  He kept up a perky stream of chatter as they walked out to his car. Like she hadn’t divorced his brother since she saw him last.

  Same old Vihaan, she thought later as she struggled to heft the bag into the trunk of his electric Fiat. Lucky his bubbly nature made up for his lack of chivalry.

  “Want me to help?” Max asked.

  “I got it. Why don’t you climb into the back seat?” she answered.

  “Are you nearly as tall as me now?” Vihaan demanded as he, too, took her up on her invitation to get in the car. “I thought we agreed you were going to stop growing so fast the last time I saw you.”

  “Sorry, Uncle Vi,” Max answered, his voice as good-natured as Vihaan’s had be
en indignant.

  Vihaan was right about how too fast Max had been growing. His joggers looked more like capris these days, she noted as she watched him contort his already long and strong body to climb into the backseat. Luckily, he’d decided to start exclusively wearing hockey jerseys after his first season of house league hockey, or she’d probably have to replace all his shirts, too, this summer.

  Vihaan started talking about his life, and exclusively, about his own life as soon as Lena sat down in the front passenger seat, like it had only been a few days since they’d seen each other last. Not years.

  But Lena couldn’t have been more grateful for his continuous stream of me, me, me. Therapist mode was her safe space, and Lord knew she did not want to talk about herself or her failed marriage with his brother. All she wanted right now was to get home to her father and get some z’s in so that she’d be well-rested for a weekend of packing up his convenience store.

  Plus, she loved hearing about the trials and tribulations of working in a swanky Charlestown digital marketing firm filled with adults—it was a nice break from the schoolyard and family drama most of her patients wanted to talk with her about. Though she was sad to hear that he’d just dumped a workplace boyfriend of “too many” years.

  “Another Jonah,” he confessed with a huff. “I need to switch it up. I don’t know why I keep falling for the Jewish version of me. I should have figured out by now it starts off nice, but only ends up so effing boring.”

  “It does sound like a pattern that’s not serving you,” she agreed, keeping any and all judgment out of her tone. Who was she to talk anyway? Kids she could handle, no problem. But it had taken her eight years to realize that no matter how much her father loved Rohan, the only real adult relationship she’d ever had was just never going to work out.

  “That hair guy from that makeover show mom likes used to date a rugby player,” Max offered from the back seat.