Page 64 of The Tape Job
“What?” I prompt.
“I don’t know. But I think I’m going to estrange myself from my parents. So, Johnny is all I’ve got.” I roll over, locking eyes with her once again. “Neither my dad nor my mom makes me feel very good about myself. When I spoke briefly with a counsellor back home, she made me realize that I have control over these things and can take action,” she says.
“You have me too, you know,” I say, and before I know it, I’ve pulled her into me. I’m holding her to my chest, and it feels so normal.
I wake up hours later with Vicky wrapped around me. I have no choice but to wriggle free and tuck her in because I can’t risk Ryan catching me in the morning.
She stirs slightly as I lean down and kiss her forehead. “See you tomorrow.”
“Lee?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Chapter 17
Vicky
My head is pounding. It’s one of those headaches you get when you haven’t had enough sleep and you’re thrown back into consciousness before you’re ready.
After Liam left, I laid there reflecting on our encounter and wishing I had said different things. And it wasn’t long before my mind jumped to the conversation I’d had with Jen earlier that evening. There’s no way in hell I can let her pay for my fuck up, so I did the only thing I could think of. I got out of bed, put the light on and went rummaging through my wardrobe. I picked out the most valuable items I own.
As I lay them out on the floor, I realised I didn’t even know what sort of number I was working towards. Gathering the letters that had steadily piled up, I took a deep breath and opened them all, one by one. Some of them were reminders, so could be discarded; but once I got the unique ones picked out, I grabbed my phone and opened the calculator app.
It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to face—but I did it. Then I burst into tears. I carried on sorting through my things and listed a load of them online. Finally, I added a post to my Instagram account, making out that I was clearing my collection of previous seasonal wear to make space for new. I fired out a message to Jen anyway, hoping that her phone was on silent, telling her not to pay anything.
I pop two paracetamol pills in my mouth and take a gulp of water, willing my headache to disappear. It’s loud as fuck in the rink today, and the GM is floating around so I can’t duck out early. He’s invited some reporters in from the local newspaper, and I’m tasked with hosting them. They want to interview Liam and Ryan about the current season and their experience playing here.
As I wander around, I try to ignore the fact that my dad, Jayne, and Cody are here, watching from the stands. What I can’t ignore, however, is the smugness I feel upon hearing that Coach Adams has given Johnny a big fat ‘no’ to Cody joining in morning skate; an idea my dad probably concocted last night.
“We’re not insured, anyway,” Coach Adams had said when I overheard Johnny asking him for his permission. I felt ecstatic, knowing how angry my dad would probably be. Then I saw Johnny talking on his phone with his brow furrowed.
My elation is short lived when the GM brings Dean, the journalist, over to stand with me. Dean has written for us in the past but hasn’t visited the rink recently. He usually goes off the match night reports for his write-ups.
Dean and I exchange greetings briefly before he asks about Liam and Ryan. “Where are the twins, Vicky?” He cranes his neck towards the ice before looking at his watch. “I need to get an interview. Could you snap a few pictures of them together, too? There is a shortage of photographers at the paper.”
“I’ll see if I can find them.” I give him my signature smile and take my leave.
Tapping on the dressing room door, I don’t have to wait long before it swings open and Danny steps past, nodding in greeting. Ryan is standing at his cubby, and Liam sitting at his, taping his stick. His practice jersey is still hanging up behind him. The sight takes me back to when he first taught me how to do it.
“Can you teach me?” I’d asked him, reaching for the roll of white tape he’d placed on the kitchen counter.
“To do what exactly?” He’d wiggled his eyebrows at me and moved his hand along the shaft of his stick.
“Cut it out,” I laughed, swatting him with my hand then he spun me around so I pressed my back up against his chest. I was painfully aware of how much I was shaking, but he handed me his stick, flipping it so the blade was in the air.
“Here. Just do it how you think it should be done. Because I’m pretty sure you watch me every time.”
“What if I don’t do it the way you like?”
“I’m sure I’ll like how you do it.” I heard him suck in a breath and then, he tugged the tape away from my palm and found the end. “Just give it a go,” he whispered.
Placing the first strip of tape on, I bent the loose end over the heel of the blade. Then I placed the roll over my index and middle finger and begin. Up, down, up, down, up, down, like I’d seen Liam do so many times.
“See, you’re a natural.”
When given the opportunity, I’d tape Liam’s stick from then onwards.
