Page 17 of Mind Pucked

Sometimes I feel a little bit crazy still trying to look for answers when everyone keeps telling me there will never be any. Isn’t that the definition of insane—doing the same thing and expecting different results?

“Well, I think I got a job. I’ve been meaning to tell you about it. It’s kind of complicated, though,” I tell her, looking away and sipping my coffee.

Brooks giggles and points to my face. “What the hell is that?”

I look back at her and squint.

She snorts, causing a couple people to look at us. One of them is the barista, though he gives her a little sideways grin like he thinks it’s cute.

Then I burst into laughter. “He seems to think you’re pretty cute. It’s so sweet.”

Through the giggle, she says, “Just about as sweet as the foam that’s on your lips.”

I groan and wipe at it. “Better?” I ask her.

She nods and takes a few deep breaths before she regains her composure. “Now, tell me about this job?”

Something about the way she’s looking at me and expecting me to tell her everything makes me blush. It’s not so much about embarrassment as it is about nerves. Anxiety. My face always gets hot when I feel nervous about something. That in and of itself is embarrassing.

“Come on,” Brooks says. “Spill, before I start psychoanalyzing you over this behavior. Is your boss hot or something?” She leans forward, her tiny stomach pressing into the table.

I lean forward too, almost afraid that somebody might hear me. I don’t know who the hell in this coffee shop would even care what I’m up to. I sincerely doubt Jackson is an Italian coffee drinker. I doubt he would come to a place like this at all. But I just get so anxious at the idea that word could get back to him before I have a chance to ask any questions or look through his computer. Or…I don’t know what. I really don’t have a good plan, now that I think of it. I just hope that by being around him I’ll get some good information and ideas. Like some kind of osmosis.

“Okay, look. If I tell you this, you can’t tell anybody, got it?”

Brooks gasps. “Oh my God, is he like some hot single dad or something?”

My face and demeanor are deadpan, but a weird tingle shoots through me. If I’m being honest, Jacksonishot. I’ve always known that. Hell, every woman knows that. But the thing is, he could also be a murderer. Or at least, he could be devious in his dealings. He’s not someone I need to be getting involved with or even noticing his good looks.

“No.”

I lean back in my seat, no longer feeling so forthcoming.

She wiggles her hand at me against the table, almost knocking my drink over. “Come on. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But maybe it’s time for you to start living your life for you. You’ve spent a lot of your life kind of locked up, but I know there’s a wildcat inside of you waiting to get out.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” I tease, pursing my lips.

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’ll finish our coffee, and then we’re going to go and buy some cute bikinis and hit the beach.”

“You want to go to the lake today? Isn’t it a little late in the day?”

She shakes her head. “Never too late to go to the lake. And that is where you’re going to tell me what the hell you’re hiding about this job.”

I know there’s no point in fighting over it. She’s going to pull it out of me one way or the other. So, I just nod my agreement and pick up my coffee. I swirl it around a little with my finger, then lick the whipped cream off the top.

What is she going to think of me when I tell her I’m still dwelling on all of this? Hopefully, she’ll separate the professional and the personal, because I can’t handle hearing her psychobabble about this right now. Not when I’m so close to getting what I need.

Just like she promised, we finish our coffee, grab some bikinis at a little shop across the street, and drive to the lake. It has the beautiful backdrop of the city, and sand just like any other beach. The difference is, it’s a lake instead of an ocean. But I’m partial to it.

I love the fact that I can just turn around and see the hustling and bustling of the city. The cars going across the highway. Life happening. Beaches at the ocean sometimes just feel too quiet. I know some people enjoy that, but I don’t. It makes me think strange thoughts. I shouldn’t be by myself so much. Maybe Iamgoing crazy.

We’re lying across blankets on the sand, and Brooke turns to me. “Okay, you promised. It’s time to tell me what’s going on.”

I lean back and allow myself to relax, and I look up at the sky. I do the thing we all did as kids where you look up at the clouds and try to figure out what they look like. While I look, I start to spill it all out, like paint onto a canvas. I tell her everything about how long I’ve been holding on to what happened to Preston. Not that she doesn’t know my family is still all hung up on it and grieving in our own way. But she doesn’t know the lengths I’ve gone through for this.

“So let me get this straight. You’ve been basically pseudo-stalking Jackson so you can find some kind of information about what happened to Preston? And that’s because you think Jackson is responsible for what happened to Preston because they were some kind of petty hockey rivals?”

The way she says it does make me sound a bit insane.

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