In the Zone (Portland Storm 5) (22 page)

Maybe he hadn’t been the best hockey player out there, but he’d had the most heart, the most grit. No one had doubted his courage. His masculinity. He’d fought harder on the ice than anyone he’d played with or against. No one had ever picked on Shane the way we’d teased Garrett. We would never have dreamed of it. Garrett had been the so-called sissy boy who’d chosen dance over hockey, the “queer” who would rather wear sparkles and rhinestones under disco lights than smelly hockey pads in a cold rink. He’d been the easy target.

Garrett might have been easier to pick on, but it was Shane who was gay.

Only I hadn’t known.

He’d seen how my friends and I had tortured Garrett, and he’d been too afraid to let anyone know. It was only after Garrett had killed himself that Shane even came out to our parents, but he’d made them swear they wouldn’t breathe a word about it to me. And that was when everything between me and my family had gone to hell. They all blamed me for Garrett’s death, much as I blamed myself. But they also had Shane’s secret to protect.

I only found out a few summers ago when Gran had let it slip. That was when I’d asked Shane to come and stay with me for the holidays. So I could try to do anything I could to make sure he knew I loved him, no matter what. That I’d never meant any of the things I’d called Garrett. That I’d only caved in to peer pressure. That I knew I was a worthless piece of shit, but that I was going to do everything possible to make a better man of myself.

He hadn’t come then, but he was here now.

“Hey,” he said. He looked at me with a one-shouldered shrug, holding out a hand to shake.

“Hey.” I took his hand and pulled him in for a hug.

It was an awkward hug, one of those back-slapping guy hugs during which neither party is comfortable with what’s happening but doesn’t want to be the first to end it. I was the one, in the end, to pull back.

“Good to see you,” I said, feeling as awkward and gangly as I had as a fourteen-year-old with pimples trying to ask Tasha O’Neil out on a date.

He nodded and bent down to his carry-on bag. He opened an outer zipper pocket and pulled out an envelope addressed to me, then shoved it toward me. “From Mom,” he said. “She asked me to bring it to you.”

“Thanks.” I slipped it into my coat pocket. Whatever was inside, I didn’t really care to open it here. “You waiting on anything else?”

“Nah.”

“Let’s get out of here, eh?” My lips quirked up as soon as the
eh
came out of my mouth, taking me back in time. For years, that had been about half of our vocabulary. I grabbed the handle of his suitcase and headed out to the parking garage.

He helped me to put both his bags in the trunk and we got in without a word. It was only after I’d merged on the highway that he said, “So you never did answer me. Who’s this just-a-friend Brie? You sounded like you were desperate for me to be her.”

That was because I was.

I
WAS CRAVING
bacon again.

That always happened whenever I felt down in the dumps. The way I coped was to stuff my face with that smoky, fatty, crispy awesomeness. Having a couple of strips of bacon wouldn’t be a problem, of course. I wasn’t keeping myself on such a strict diet that I couldn’t indulge a little bit. No, the problem was that when I had a craving like this, a little bit would never be enough.

I didn’t want a couple of strips of bacon; I wanted a pound of it.

Never mind the fact that I didn’t keep bacon in the apartment just for this reason. I had to get rid of the craving, and the only way I’d found to combat bacon cravings was with pickles. I headed to the fridge and pulled out my jar of Claussen spears. It was close to empty. I said a little prayer that five spears that were left would be enough this time and took the jar with me into the living room, curling up on the couch as I started to eat.

It was a methodical process. I ate one bite at a time, spear after spear, until the vinegary acidity of the pickles had cut through the need for bacon. BC and Richie both jumped up to join me as I worked on the first piece.

I really shouldn’t be this upset. The reason Keith and I were stepping back to the friend zone was because I’d insisted on it, after all. But spending the night holed up in my apartment with my two cats instead of doing whatever it was he had planned for the two of us—followed by a night in his bed—definitely wasn’t up to par.

BC head-butted the pickle jar where I had it precariously perched on my lap, nearly sloshing a bunch of juice all over me. I scowled at him and scratched behind his ears with my free hand. “I know you love me, buddy,” I said soothingly amid the sounds of his purring.

But then again, it could be the dill and vinegar smells that he loved. You never could tell.

I kept eating my pickles until the cravings finally eased after four spears. I replaced the lid and got up, much to my cats’ displeasure, to put the sole remaining spear back in the refrigerator.

My cell phone beeped while I was still in the kitchen. I pulled it out of my pocket, hoping it would be Keith, at the same time dreading that it might be him. No need for either of those emotions, though. It was Tanya.

You okay? Can I bring you ice cream?

She’d forced it all out of me when I’d come back from walking with Keith this afternoon. She had even offered to see if she could get someone else to come in to cover for my last couple of classes of the day. That wouldn’t do me any good, though, so I refused. Sulking wouldn’t help anything. Burying my head and doing my work would. Besides, Devin and I’d had another session scheduled this afternoon, and I couldn’t miss that even if I wasn’t in the greatest of moods.

I typed a response.

Me:
I’ll be fine. No ice cream required.

Tanya:
Chick flick then? I’ve got every Reese Witherspoon or Sandra Bullock movie ever made on DVD. I can be there in ten minutes.

Me:
Legally Blonde? Miss Congeniality?

Tanya:
You got it. I’ll bring both. See you in a few.

I wasn’t entirely sure that a chick flick or two was the cure for what ailed me, but it couldn’t hurt. Neither would having company. I got up and tidied a few things that I’d left lying around. Richie took that as his sign that it was time to hide. Cleaning things up wasn’t always a sign of company, but it could also mean the vacuum cleaner might appear. There were few things in this world that terrified him more.

I’d barely finished straightening my living room when Tanya knocked on my door. “I brought cupcakes,” she said the instant she came inside, thrusting a bakery box in my direction. She had a bag slung over her arm. “Sunshine Cupcakes. They’re the best in Portland, so you might as well familiarize yourself with them now.”

“I don’t need cupcakes.” But I took the box anyway, carrying it into the kitchen.

“Honey, if ever there was a time to have a cupcake, it’s when your heart’s broken.” She followed and took a seat in one of the barstools. Then she pulled a bottle of red wine out of her bag, along with a corkscrew. “They’re triple chocolate or something. Perfect for the occasion.”

I’d just eaten a meal’s worth of pickles to keep myself from overindulging in bacon when the bacon hadn’t even been around for me to dive into. Now I had cupcakes and wine tempting me. This couldn’t end well.

I leaned on the bar, resting my chin on joined hands propped up by my elbows. “I’m not sure I should be eating things like this when I’ve got that performance…”

“Speaking of which, your routine with Devin is coming together nicely.”

It was, especially since I’d started trusting him to be strong enough to lift me. “He’s pretty amazing.”

“You’re not too shabby, yourself.”

I shrugged the compliment off. “Well, it’s turning into a good partnership. One that I never would have come up with on my own.”

“Shannon is planning to bring the costume in tomorrow for a final fitting. Have your new bras come in yet?”

“Just this afternoon.” I hadn’t even opened the package yet, in all my self-pity.

“Good. Be sure you wear one of them so we can see how things will really look on the night of the performance.”

“Not sure they’ll make such a huge difference but whatever.”

“Not a huge difference?” she scoffed. “Have you paid any attention to the way you look since you went shopping with Sex on a Stick that day?”

“Please don’t call him that.” It only made me think about what I’d given up, which wasn’t going to help anything.

“Fine. Keith, then. Don’t evade the question.”

I rolled my eyes. “They fit well.”

“They fit you amazingly. And you look great. And your confidence is definitely up, and it shows.”

“A makeover isn’t going to change anything about me.”

“Hmm,” she said, but she left it at that.

“How come you aren’t out on a hot date tonight?” I asked, hoping to move our conversation away from me. Since I’d met her, I’d never known Tanya to date the same guy twice but she was always going out.

“Because I still haven’t convinced Devin Shreeve to ask me out, and you needed me.”

“I don’t know that I
needed
you tonight.”

In answer, she pointed to the wine and cupcakes.

“Fine.” I laughed. Even if I wanted to fight it, it
was
nice to have someone to commiserate with. “Devin, huh? That’s who you’ve got your sights set on now?”

“Well, I figure Sex—I mean, Keith—is off the table, even if you’re not jumping his bones. So yeah. Devin it is. There’s something about that long, curly hair…”

“Want me to poke around while we practice and plant some seeds?”

“You really needed to ask?” Tanya sighed dramatically. “I even brought chocolate to butter you up.”

That she had. I straightened up, turned to the cabinet, and took down two glasses.

She grinned. “I’ll take that as my cue,” she said, opening the bottle. She poured two rather full glasses while I took out saucers and forks for the cupcakes.

“Forks?” Tanya laughed with the question.

“They’re huge, and they look sticky.”

She shrugged “More to lick off your fingers. But fine,” she said with a drawn-out sigh, picking up a saucer and fork. “Have it your way.”

We took our wine and cupcakes into the living room, me carrying a big stack of napkins just in case, and settled in for a double feature.

D
URING THE REGULAR
season, I lived for overtime. It was five minutes of four-on-four skating and lots of open ice, perfect for someone who played like I did. I could hit, I could use my speed to stay with my guy and force him off the puck, I could defend in my own end like a motherfucker, and I could sneak in on offense and surprise teams with my slapper if they forgot about me. In overtime, teams tended to forget about trailing defensemen all too often. All the better for me.

Needless to say, it didn’t hurt my feelings at all that we were on our way to overtime right now in our game against the Minnesota Wild. We’d come out of regulation all tied up at two, but Bergy wasn’t quite as happy about the state of things as I was. He and Webs had pulled out a whiteboard and dry-erase markers, and they were drawing up a play. They had all the forwards gathered around them.