Center Ice (6 page)

“Psycho!” I said loudly, and I sat up and tried to bend my arms. I sucked in a hissing breath and stopped trying. Instead I just sat there like some sort of demented bird with my wings stretched out to the side and waited to see what happened next.

“Damn it,” Natalie said. She crouched down beside me, gently lifting and twisting my arms to see first one elbow and then the other. “These are nasty.” She frowned at me. “Do you want me to clean them up, or do you want to go to a doctor?”

“A doctor? They’re not that serious, are they?” I tried to twist my arm around to get a better view, but all I saw was a red blur.

“I don’t know. They might scar, I guess…” She looked at me as if trying to make a decision, then said, “Miranda, get a clean towel from the laundry room. Get two.” She patted my shoulder. “I’ll call Doctor Huddleby. He’s a friend of the family, and he’s very good about getting us in without an appointment.” She looked over her shoulder and spoke more sharply. “Miranda! Let’s go! Get some towels.” She pulled out her phone and started looking for the number, and Miranda kicked herself into gear and started toward the house. “And get my purse,” Natalie called after her. Then she turned to me and shook her head. “This can’t continue,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You two need to figure this out.”

“She’s psycho,” I told her. “Seriously, you should get the doctor to check
her
out.”

“Stop it, Karen.” Then her smile returned as she spoke into the phone. “Wendy, hi! It’s Natalie Beacon. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m hoping you can help us out. We’ve got a teenage girl with some bad scrapes on her arms… I just wanted to get them checked and properly cleaned out, if you could fit us in.” Her smile got a little tighter. “No, not Miranda. It’s my stepdaughter, Karen. Yes, she’s just come to live with us.” She looked away from me, out the open garage doors as if she, too, was wishing she could just run away and leave all this behind, but she managed to say, “Yes, of course, it
is
wonderful. There’s some adjusting to do, but you’re right. It’s wonderful.” She looked back at me as if she wanted to collect her reward for such a compelling performance, but I just raised my eyebrows.

Yeah, it was wonderful. So wonderful I was bleeding all over her garage floors. If things got any more perfect, I might not be able to survive.

Chapter Eight

- Tyler -

“Looking good,” the team nutritionist said with a smile, “but I’d like a few more pounds of fat on you, if you can manage it. You’re too lean right now… Are you trying to impress the girls with your six-pack?”

“I’m eating all I can. There’s only so many hours in the day, and I spend most of them either on the ice or chewing.” I didn’t want to sound defensive; the nutritionist was there to help. But, damn, it was getting old, not being able to do anything right.

“Let’s add a shake,” she said easily. “Mostly protein, with a bit of fat. Mix it up and drink it right before bed.”

“I already have one in the morning…”

“Then I won’t bother giving you instructions on how to mix it.” She smiled again. “Seriously, a bit more fat would be good for you. Your growth has slowed down, but I expect you’ll end up with another inch or two—”

“He’d better end up with more than that,” my dad interjected from behind me. “He’s barely six-one, now. I’m hoping for six-four or so.” There wasn’t much for anyone to say in response to that little bit of delusion, so he continued, ignoring me and directing his attention toward the nutritionist. “So he’ll eat an extra shake. What else? He runs in the mornings; is that burning too many calories?”

After two years, the nutritionist was used to my dad. “We generally prefer to increase food intake rather than decrease exercise,” she said smoothly. “The shakes should work. He’s not at a dangerous level, just not optimal.”

“He needs more muscle, too,” my dad insisted, “not just fat. He’s too damned small.”

“You can talk to the trainers about building muscle,” she said calmly. “But I think they’re already aware of the issue. And I don’t think they consider him too small. As you said, he’s six-one, and his weight is good for that height.”

My dad didn’t look convinced, but he let her go on to talk to the next player. Then he stared at me and said, “You’re too damned small.”

“I can’t make myself grow, Dad.”

“Not taller. But you can get bigger. You just need to work harder.”

“I’m working hard. The trainers are happy—”

“
I’m
not happy,” he barked, and heads swiveled to stare at us. He was already the only parent in the room, having pushed his way in halfway through the testing. He didn’t pay any attention to anyone else, though, just shook his head at me with an expression of disgust on his face. “You need to get serious about this, boy.” He frowned at me, then jerked his head toward the exit as if he’d made an important decision. “Come here. I want to talk to you.”

I didn’t bother to point out that he already
was
talking to me. I held up my hand to the coach, fingers outstretched, asking for five minutes, and he nodded reluctantly. I knew he was just hoping to get rid of my father.

We made our way out to the parking lot where my dad leaned against his SUV and said, “I want you to start taking supplements.”

“I already take supplements,” I said cautiously. “Vitamins, and the protein shakes, and—”

“Not that kind,” he said impatiently.

I stared at him and let the idea sink into my brain. “You want me to take
steroids
? Is that what you’re saying?” He just stared at me. “Jesus, dad, that’s insane! They test us, you know. Random testing. They suspend players. And you know that steroids stunt growth, right? You want me to grow more, you shouldn’t be pushing that shit at me.”

“Bullshit.” His voice was clipped. “I’ve talked to some people, and there’s ways around all that. You can’t think nobody else is doing it. Don’t even pretend that some of your teammates in there aren’t on the juice…”

“Yeah, some of them are,” I admitted reluctantly. “The
desperate
ones.”

“Well maybe it’s time you got a little more
desperate
. You’re not big enough, you’re not fast enough, you’re definitely not working hard enough… You need to pick it up, boy.”

It was strange how
I
wasn’t allowed to suggest that maybe I didn’t have the size for the NHL, but it was fine for him to do it. And the steroids were just a new wrinkle in a fabric that was already crumpled up in a dirty ball. “I’ll work harder,” I said. “I can add another few reps to my weight training, maybe.”

“You could stop running,” he said firmly.

I had no idea why I was hanging on to the running as tightly as I was. Partly for Karen, I guess—I was looking forward to seeing her again and wasn’t sure where else we’d meet up. But also for me. I liked the way I felt when I was running. I wasn’t in a race, wasn’t trying to beat a time… I was just running, covering ground because I could.

I knew what my dad expected; he expected me to do the same thing I always had. I’d argue at first, but he’d keep at me, and eventually I’d give in. He didn’t care about the running itself, he just wanted to be sure he was still in charge. It was driving him crazy that I hadn’t caved yet, and I knew he was just going to keep up the pressure until I did.

But I thought about Karen, her body strong and quick as it darted through the forest, and I thought about myself and how good it felt to do something just for me, and I said, “I’ll drink the shakes. The nutritionist said more calories, not less exercise.”

My dad shook his head in disgust. “I am about out of patience with this shit, Tyler.”

I didn’t really know what to say to that.

“I’m going to ask around. See if I can get some samples or something.”

“Of steroids?” I shook my head. “Dad, seriously, they test us all the time. You think the scouts are going to want someone who’s been busted for juicing?”

“No steroids?” He stepped in closer, right into my space, and said, “Then you’re done running outside. You want to run, you do sprints and intervals on the goddamn treadmill, you don’t go for a jog in the goddamn woods. You’re acting like a little kid. This is your
job
, Tyler. It’s your
life
, a chance to go somewhere and do something.”

“Yeah, it’s
my
life,” I responded. I understood the steroids, now—he wasn’t actually expecting me to take them, just using them as a threat to get me to knuckle under. “I have to get back in there—the coach gave me five minutes, and I don’t want him to think I’m taking advantage.”

I started for the building. I heard him coming up behind me, and I lengthened my stride. “The running is
over
, Tyler. As of now. You hear me?”

Yeah, I heard him. And I knew there was no point in arguing. But I didn’t think I was going to listen to him.

Chapter Nine

- Karen -

The doctor gave me painkillers, and I was able to pretend that I was so doped up on them that I couldn’t talk. I lay on my bed with my arms bandaged up and stretched out to the sides like I was about to make a crooked snow angel, and I stared at the ceiling. The scratches on my arms stretched from the top of my elbow to halfway down my forearm, and once they scabbed up, it’d hurt like hell to change the angle my elbows were set at. The doctor had suggested keeping them almost straight, just bent a little, until they scabbed, so I was trying to do that, even if I looked like an idiot. And even with all of that to worry about, I still had a good chunk of my brain that was wondering about Tyler and why he hadn’t been in the park that morning, and whether I’d somehow scared him off.

I dozed off at some point, and when I woke up Sara was sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a paperback.

“Hey,” I said groggily.

She smiled up at me. “Hi. You were asleep, but I wanted to be here in case you needed anything.”

I knew I should stay strong, but I was drugged, and hurt, and, damn it, the kid was really sweet. So my words were as gruff as I could make them, but my tone was way gentler than I’d intended when I said, “I’m fine.”

“Do your arms hurt?”

“Not right now, no. I think they might if I tried to move them.”

She beamed. “That’s why I’m here! So you don’t have to. I already asked Mom, and she said it was okay to bring the TV in here from the rec room, if you want. We’d have to keep it by the door, I think, because all the hookups are in the other room, but still…we can if you want.”

“Is she trying to keep me out of the rec room? In case Miranda goes in there?”

Sara’s eyes widened. “No! It was my idea. I just thought you might be more comfortable in here. But you’re not in jail. I don’t think you’re even grounded…but I don’t really know about all that.”

What the hell would
I
be grounded for? I was the victim here. “Where’s Miranda?”

“Working on the garage,” Sara said. “Mom said she had to do half, and you could do the rest when your arms healed, but Miranda said there was no way to just half do it because she had to take
everything
out to get it organized right, so Mom said fine, she should do the whole thing. I helped her for a bit, and so did Matt, but she was being so crabby we both quit.” Sara stopped talking just long enough to take a deep breath, then said, “She’s not normally like this. She’s just…” She shook her head. “She’s having trouble adjusting, Mom says. But I think there’s something more.”

“Look, Sara…” It was surprisingly difficult to sit up without changing the angle at which my elbows were bent, but I managed it. Abs of steel. “I appreciate it that you’re trying to make me feel welcome. And I know you love your sister. But she doesn’t like me, and I don’t like her. I don’t care what she’s upset about, I just want her to shut up and leave me alone. You know?”

“Yeah, but you guys are
both
nice, really. Right? You could get along if you would just stop being so…” She stopped talking when she saw my expression and grinned nervously before making her face serious again. “
Both
of you,” she said in a quiet, firm voice that reminded me of her mother. “You’re
both
‘having trouble adjusting,’ and you’re
both
mad about stuff, and it’s making
both
of you say stupid, mean things.” She checked over her shoulder and then leaned in. “Did you seriously pour a bag of birdseed on her head?”

“She started it!”

“And who would
she
say started it?”

I flopped melodramatically back onto the bed. “Oh my god, you’re like a tiny guidance counselor. Leave me alone.”

She giggled. “Mom’s trying to help, too,” she added. “It’d be…” she stopped, then rolled onto her knees and crouched there at the side of the bed like she was getting ready to say her prayers. “It’d be good if you could stop talking about…you know. About Daddy. It’s just mean things people say; it’s not true. But it still hurts her to hear it.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I was walking, breathing evidence that he’d fooled around on his wife at least once. And if he’d done it once, why wouldn’t I believe that he’d done it again? But Sara was just a kid, and she loved her father and wanted to believe the best about him. “I’ll try,” I finally said. “Hey, if you hook me up with some other stuff that will bug Miranda, I can focus on using that, and leave the cheating out of it.”

“Or you could focus on being
nice
to her,” Sara said firmly. “That might work.”

“I thought you said you were here to
help
me?”

“With watching TV, or holding a book for you or something. Not with finding better ways to be mean!”

“Fine. Let’s watch TV.”

“Do you want me to bring it in here?”

I really did. But I knew the answer she was hoping for. “No. Let’s go out to the rec room. I shouldn’t hide in a cave, right?”

She beamed at me. “Right.”

So we staggered out to the big leather couches in the rec room, flopped down, and watched TV all afternoon. It was kind of fun, actually. When Natalie came to the top of the stairs and peered down at us, her expression was cautious, but not angry. “Dinner in five minutes, you two.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Sara chirped. She turned to me. “Can you wash your hands by yourself?”

“Yes. But I have to pee, first. Are you ready to help me with that?”

She made a face, but then said, “You’re sure you can’t do it yourself?”

I laughed and wanted to tweak her ponytail. “No, I can. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yell if you get stuck,” she said kindly, and scampered off upstairs.

Dinner was about as tense as you’d expect, and of course Natalie insisted that Miranda and I have a talk with her and Will afterward. But honestly, what was there for anyone to say? I bitched some, and Miranda bitched and then cried, Will looked completely out of his depth, and even Natalie seemed exhausted by it all. She ended by saying that she was going to set up family counseling, and all of us, even Will, stared at her, hoping she was joking.

“In the meantime,” she said, ignoring our reactions, “you are both on
very
short leashes. There will be no more violence. There will be no more insults. Until you can behave yourselves, I recommend no more interaction; just stay away from each other for a while. School starts on Tuesday, and hopefully things will settle down when you’ve got more to occupy your time. I expect the counselor can help us all find more appropriate ways to express ourselves.” Now she turned to look at me. Her face was gentle, but she was still way over the line when she said, “Hopefully the counselor can help you deal with your terrible loss. We know you’ve been through a lot, and we’re absolutely ready to give you space
or
support you, or whatever you need. We just hope you can get a little better at letting us know how to help.”

If my gaze produced heat, the encyclopedias I was staring at would have been ablaze by the end of her little speech. I kept my eyes pointed in that direction for as long as possible, then flicked a quick look toward her as I said, “Space? That’s an option? Excellent. I choose it. Give me some space.”

I expected she was disappointed, but I couldn’t really confirm that without looking away from the bookshelf again, which I wasn’t going to do. It wasn’t like her reaction mattered, anyway. This was about me, not about her.

“Okay,” she finally said. “We’re here if you need us. And I think Will wanted to talk to you for a while, too.” She looked meaningfully in his direction, and he stood up obediently. “Miranda, you stick around, please,” she added when her daughter tried to get out of her chair again. Then they all stared at me until I stood up and followed Will out of the room.

I kind of wanted to laugh. We both had to have parental heart-to-hearts, but Miranda was stuck with Natalie and I got Will. He’d be easy. I should probably just ask him about golf and sit back until the requisite time was up. No need for soul-searching here. But I was kind of curious, so I didn’t say anything. I just stood there in the hallway with my arms hanging at weird angles, and I waited. This was my father. What the hell did he think he had to say about my life?