Page 70 of The Tape Job
“Are you still weighing up your options?” I asked, testing the waters. He mentioned a few weeks ago that he was questioning if there was more to life than his NHL career. He’d said it in a state of thinking aloud; and when I pressed him, he’d shaken it off fairly quickly. That was until a week later when he mentioned Germany in passing. In all honesty, that wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned it either, but he could never set his mind on a plan, always defaulting to carrying on as normal.
“I’ll just see what Ronnie has to say,” he shrugged, reaching for the TV remote and switching the games console off.
I watch him flick through the channels for a while, building up the courage to come out and ask him the million-dollar question.
“I need to cash in on that favour,” I asked. Ryan froze in his seat. It’s something that I never thought I’d actually want to be repaid. But right then, I couldn’t think of anything else.
“What do you need?” he replied, but little did he know I was about to change the course of his future entirely.
“How’d you feel about playing with Johnny next season?”
I’d kept my focus on the TV, doing my utmost to avoid eye contact.
“Ha. You’re kidding, right? He’s in—”
“I’m not kidding.” The TV flicked off, and Ryan leaned forward, giving me this look that I’d only seen a few times before: serious mode activated. “I wouldn’t ask unless I absolutely had to. Please.” I swivelled my head towards him, and his expression matched mine. “Please, Ryan.”
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I made a bet with Johnny, so I’m sort of fixed on it. I can’t let Johnny down now and since you—”
“A bet? What kind of bet?”
I didn’t have an answer, so I came up with some crap and prayed it would be enough. I threw the word ‘playoff’ in there and said I’d been tipped off that I was likely to get called-up. All crap but I said it—and then I waited.
As a family, we have this thing about bets, and I knew Ryan would have a hard time saying no. Besides, if anyone could take a year out of the NHL and go back, it’s him. He works ten times harder than me, and I remember thinking that it might humble him. Maybe he would discover that there’s more to life than hockey. And he did.
Now I’m sharing a dressing room with my brother and Johnny again, like we did when we were kids; and Vicky Koenig is still driving me fucking crazy. All because of the fucking plan I made up on the fly.
She’s standing there with her hands on her hips, and her chest heaving with an effort to remain calm. Her last words lingering in the air.
Vicky
“Lee?” I drop my hands from my hips and glare at him.
“I shouldn’t have come here. What the fuck was I thinking?” He shakes his head and droplets of water slide from his damp hair onto his neck.
“Please don’t say that. You’re having a great time, aren’t you? Your brother is here and Johnny—”
“You’ve been watching. You must have noticed that my game is off. I’m under-performing. This isn’t me. Fighting and… this whole fucking situation is a mess. It’s probably a good thing that this is my last season.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I really do. You don’t get it, do you?” He turns his head, so his eyes meet mine. “I can’t stop myself when it comes to you. You’ve got this fucking hold on me, and I can’t figure out how to get out. Everything I do, even hockey. I’m …”
He raises his voice, and I can see the anger in his eyes.
I take another step towards him. If I have such a hold on him, why is he doing such a good job of keeping me at arm’s length? Aside from the bathroom incident, of course, but now’s not the time to mention that.
I reach out and set my hand on his arm, and he looks at my fingers, then towards the door. He breathes in as his fingers drum against the wood of his cubby.
“Lee—” I whisper, not sure of what I plan on saying.
“You broke my heart, Vicky!” It’s almost a yell. “You broke my heart, and why? What the hell for?” He shifts hisconcentration to my face, and he’s looking at me as if his life depends on it. He’s waiting for an answer.
“I was scared,” I say.
He scoffs. “Of what?”
