Page 16 of Just My Puck
Beaumont shakes his head, mumbling, “It’s just hair.”
Everyone chuckles, and the conversation shifts back to hockey as we march into the gym to start practice.
We emerged exhausted from our on-ice practice and are now back in the gym for strength training and conditioning drills.
I’m working with Jasper, the assistant coach, but all I can think about is Jane. Since this morning, I’ve glanced at the clock more often than I ever have, wondering if she’s doing okay. I assured Garrett and the doctor I’d stay with her, and here I am, leaving her alone on her first day. But at the same time, I have to respect her wishes, and given everything that’s happened to her over the past twenty-four hours, I understand her reluctance to hang out with two girls she’s never met.
“Um, Hawthorne? You’re supposed to engage your core.”
“Right, sorry,” I stammer. “I was thinking about something else.” I exhale sharply, setting the barbell down. “Actually, do you mind if we take five?”
He frowns, not used to me asking for breaks. “Sure.”
“I’ll be right back,” I say, hustling over to the benches. I’m just going to give her a quick call, make sure she’s fine. It’s not too intrusive, and it feels like the right thing to do. I walk to my bag and grab my phone, but then I realize she doesn’t have one. Crap. I can’t call her. But even worse, she can’t call anyone else in case something goes wrong. Why didn’t I think of that?
I hurry out of the gym and knock on Coach Martin’s office door, my breaths coming in quick huffs. I can’t wait another two hours. I need to get out of here—now.
7
"Aye, captain. Looks like we have a new name.”
Jane Doe
After taking the longest shower of my life—literally—I slip back into yesterday’s clothes, leaving the button of my jeans open and relishing the fact that they now have the same clean-cotton smell as Caleb’s clothes. I need to write down the name of his detergent. It’s heaven.
As I brush my teeth, I study my face in the mirror, but nothing is familiar. How do I not know who I am?
I close my eyes, then open them again. “Hi, my name is—”
Nothing. Taking a breath, I start again. “I’m—”
I try again and again, until tears brim in my eyes and my head is pounding so violently, I have to stop. All I want is to smash that stupid mirror into pieces. Why me? With so many people at that hockey game, why did it happen to me? Have I done something horrible in my life that I deserved to be pummeled by a stray hockey player? Just because I wasn’t in the police database doesn’t mean I’m not an awful person. After all, no one seems to be looking for me so far.
Something familiar washes over me, like I’m used to feeling this way. Powerless and persecuted. Or maybe it’s just because that’s the only mode I’ve known since I started forming memories again.
I’ll be fine. I just have to get through this. I’ll go to therapy on Monday, and everything will work out. It has to.
The fact that no one has reported me missing doesn’t mean anything. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet, and I’m not a kid. I’m actually not sure how old I am. I don’t look too old, but I just spotted a couple of gray hairs in the mirror. My best guess is I’m in my late twenties—probably close to Caleb’s age.
Staying cooped up in my room feels weird, so I go back downstairs. I’m kind of curious to peek in his room, and he did offer his bath, but it feels too intimate to check it out when he’s not here. Even more intimate than being in his house alone.
Speaking of the house, it’s beautifully decorated, and I can’t help but notice that he has a lot of models built out of LEGO. They truly look like works of art. I wonder if he builds them himself. Moving on, I scan the walls and coffee table, but I have yet to see any personal photos. He mentioned he had a sister, but I’m not seeing any images of her, or the rest of his family. I do recall seeing some trophies in the family room downstairs when I grabbed my laundry, so I head back down.
The spacious family room takes up almost the entire floor, except for the laundry room and a half bath. Dark-blue built-in closets with golden handles line most of the room, including under the stairs. There’s a huge U-shaped couch situated in front of a massive TV. On the coffee table, I notice a chess set, also made of LEGO, and some kind of gaming console with the box of a game entitledNHL Master. That makes me smile. Caleb has been so serious since yesterday, I didn’t expect him to be a gamer. Further in the room, I find another dining table, and on the far wall, a china cabinet packed with trophies. There are some photos scattered across thespace as well. One features Caleb in a red-and-black jersey with the number nineteen, a “C” stitched on the front, shaking hands with a tall older guy with blond hair. Next, there’s him holding a huge trophy that looks like a cup, wearing a smile so bright it stirs something inside of me.
I continue exploring the trophies and pictures, until I finally find one unrelated to hockey. Five people are posing in front of a Christmas tree, smiling. This must be his family. He’s the spitting image of his dad, with the same strong jawline and easy grin. He has his mom’s eyes, but hers have a softer expression, and his two sisters share that resemblance, with long brown hair, brown eyes, and matching bright smiles.
I wonder if I have a picture like this displayed somewhere. Is there anyone looking at it right now, worried about me, hoping to find me? As strange as it might sound, I don’t think there is. I don’t feel like I’ve ever had this in my life. There’s this weird tugging at my heart when I look at Caleb and his family. Jealousy. Not over the fact that he knows about his family and has all these memories, but over the fact that he has people in his life at all. Why do I feel like such a loner?
I’m startled awake by noise coming from upstairs, and I realize I fell asleep watching a movie on Caleb’s TV.
“Jane? Are you down here?” Caleb calls, his voice becoming clearer. Footsteps barrel down the stairs at lightspeed, and he sighs when he sees me. “Ah, there you are. Are you okay?”
“Aye, matey,” I say, then immediately regret it.Why? Just why?“It’s not like I have anywhere to go. And I’m fine. The meds are helping with the headache, and the eye’s a bit better.”
“Good, good.” He scratches the back of his head. “Listen, I’m sorry I went out without giving you a phone. I left practice early to get you one,” he says, handing me a shiny new smartphone. “It’s ready to use, and I already put my number in it.”
Our gazes cross for a second, and I’m pretty sure that’s genuine concern I see in his eyes. At least, I think it is. Maybe I’m misreading the signals. Can’t really trust my brain these days. “Oh, thank you,” I say, taking the phone. “You didn’t have to do that.”
