The Inside Edge: Chapter Seven
Gaining the door to her office, Brianne hesitated before unlocking it
and pushing the heavy structure open. Just as she’d suspected, Shana was
situated in the chair beside Brianne’s, working on the weekly schedule.
Gritting her teeth,
Brianne pretended not to notice her second-in-command as she pulled out her
chair and plopped down. Waking up her computer, she bent her attention immediately
to the task ahead of her…or at least, she hoped that’s what it looked like. Letting
her eyes run down the facts and figures staring back at her, she tried to concentrate
on what she’d been doing earlier…
“So, are you and that
guy dating or something?”
Whipping her head up
at the unexpected words, Brianne turned to stare dumbly at Shana’s grinning
face. “What?” Unbidden, an image of Mitch floated across her mind: the gleam in
those dark eyes intense when he’d cornered her in the back hallway, his short
hair spiking up a little in the front, a byproduct of his fingers worrying it
as he’d spoken about the boys, his broad shoulders illuminated in the dim
shadows of the corridor. “Mitch?”
“Oh, is that his name?” Shana
giggled. Wagging a finger at Brianne, she glared mockingly. “You minx. You never
said anything and he’s hot.”
“Oh good Lord, he’s
not––”
“The man looks able to
carry a girl over his shoulder and right through to the end of a romance novel.”
Brianne rolled her
eyes, but she also chuckled. “All right, all right, calm down.”
Shana smiled dreamily.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”
“There’s actually a
very good reason for that,” Brianne assured her, wondering if she wasn’t making
the wrong choice. After all, it’d be easy enough to allow Shana to think what
she liked.
“Oh?”
“We aren’t dating.”
“Oh.” Face falling, Shana
pursed her lips. “Then how…?”
Brianne cleared her throat. “Those
boys…actually the whole Junior Varsity hockey team has been, well, teaching me
how to skate.”
Shana’s eyes widened. “What?”
“It was sort of an
accident,” Brianne felt compelled to explain. Within minutes she’d shared the
story of her meeting with the team to an utterly rapt Shana. Though her face
felt a bit itchy in the telling, Brianne only straightened her back and forced
a firmness to her voice she didn’t quite feel.
Mitch had been right.
It wasn’t weird. Not unless she made it so. And besides, she figured Shana
would be the perfect audience to test this theory out on. Not much of a poker
face and a woman who loved to rib others, Shana wouldn’t have the least compunction
in informing Brianne that she was a weirdo.
But the first thing
out of Shana’s mouth was only indignation: “So, did leather jacket ever come
back?”
“Ah, no,” Brianne
admitted bemusedly. Truth be told, she’d hardly thought about him again. “He hasn’t.”
“If he ever does, you better
rub your newfound abilities in his face. Skate circles around that creep!”
“Okay,” Brianne
sounded out slowly. “Let’s just remember that the creep is still a teenager.”
Shana snorted. “A jerk
teenager.”
Laughing in relief,
Brianne conceded the point. “Fair enough.”
“It’s sweet though,
that they came in tonight to tell you they won their game.”
“Yeah, it is.”
And that, it appeared,
was the end of Shana’s fascination. Blinking in surprise and abject delight,
Brianne watched her manager turn smartly back around in her chair and, without
further ado, continue work on her schedule.
No snide comments.
No jokes at Brianne’s
expense.
Which decided Brianne’s
decision to speak next: “They’re pretty great kids. I’m, ah, I’m actually going
to need to cut out early on Thursday. I’m going to their next game.”
Shana nodded easily. “Okay,
that shouldn’t be a problem. I’m here at two o’clock anyway, so I can cover the
odd hour before the closing supervisor comes in.”
***
Tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket, Brianne hitched up
her shoulders as she entered the arena. Blinking, she felt slightly disoriented
at the mass of bodies spread across the stadium seats, the sight of a Zamboni
making a last sweep over the smoothly polished ice-rink, the buzz of activity
and anticipation zipping across the cold air.
She was used to empty
benches. She was used to the quiet of only a few people milling about. Moving
quickly, her head bending low, she gained a narrow staircase to one side of the
circular arena, slowly climbing the concrete steps until, halfway up, she spied
a more-or-less abandoned area. Slipping inside the narrow aisle, she shuffled a
few steps down the row before plopping down. Shifting slightly, her gaze peered
cautiously, quickly around—what she could only assume where parents sat grouped
together, the wives sipping coffee as they gossiped, the men cheering and
jeering one another with a camaraderie that spoke of long-standing friendships.
Settling firmly in her
seat, she tried to look inconspicuous, but she had a feeling that she was being
watched. The lone, unknown entity in a tight community where everyone knew
everyone and it had all to do with hockey.
When the blessed sound
of an announcer’s voice suddenly blasted over the loudspeakers, Brianne took a stabilizing
breath. Finally, something to focus upon. Feeling her fingers curling into
tight balls in her jacket pockets, she promised herself she’d leave after the
first period. That was only twenty minutes, after all. Then, on Sunday she
could assure the boys that she had, indeed, gone to one of their games.
She’d show Mitch that
she wasn’t the fickle, superficial woman he clearly suspected her of being. She
wouldn’t disappoint the boys. Not after all they’d done for her.
One period. Twenty
minutes… Watching absently as the players, one-by-one, entered the ice from
their respective boxes, their names being individually called out until both
teams stood in a long line facing one another, Brianne tried to memorize
numbers to names.
Charlie was number 31.
Cory was 5.
Lucas, 14.
“…this seat taken?”
At the question, asked
loudly in Brianne’s right ear, she jerked around to see a woman standing beside
her. Wearing a red-and-white flannel shirt over a thick turtleneck, the lady
appeared to be in her mid-forties—and her hair, testament to eighties fashion,
seemed to be stuck in her favorite decade, her bangs high and puffy, her
bottle-blonde hair mushrooming off her face thanks to a heavy-hand of
hair-spray. Her makeup, including a dash of blue eyeshadow, only further
pointed to this fact.
At Brianne’s lack of
response, the woman nodded pointedly. “You waiting on someone?”
“Oh.” With a start,
Brianne shook her head. “No, no…”
“Yeah, I figured as
much,” that woman said as she settled down beside her. “I can always spot ‘em.”
“Them?”
The woman laughed, a
loud hacking sound. With a smile, she nudged Brianne. “I suppose I should say
‘us.’”
Brianne’s eyebrows
furrowed. “Pardon me?”
“Listen, these
cake-eaters may have gotten to keeptheirhome, but we have just as much right to
be here as they do. It’s ours now, too.”
“I’m not sure I’m
following you.”
The bottle-blonde
cocked her head to the side. “Don’t tell me you’re originally from West Scott?”
“Me?” Brianne laughed
softly. “I’m not even originally from the area.”
The lady frowned, her
smile faltering just the slightest bit. “You with the visiting team then?”
“Ah, no…not, not
exactly.”
The woman pursed her
lips. “Well then? Which is it?”
“Listen, I don’t…I’m
just a fan.”
“Huh?”
Feeling her cheeks
pinken with the confession, Brianne shrugged stiffly. “The thing is—I just came
to support the kids. All of them,”
Brianne hurriedly assured her. “See, I come here on Sundays, during the open
rink hours, and well, I was having trouble stopping on the ice and—”
“Wait a minute.” The
woman snapped her fingers together, another rough bark of laughter erupting
from her throat. “You’re that
woman—the one the boys are teaching to skate?”
At the ringing blare
of that woman’s voice, Brianne felt her eyes helplessly prowling the bleachers,
checking to see just how much attention they were attracting. Thankfully, no
one seemed to be paying them the least bit of interest.
Ducking her head,
Brianne nodded. “Yup.”
“What’s your name
again, honey?”
“Brianne. Brianne
Kelling.”
“Sure, sure. Charlie
told me about you. Didn’t tell me you were coming to watch him play, though.”
The woman smiled. “Nice of ya.”
Another bout of silent
relief flooded her system at the words. Okay, so even the parents of the players
thought it was normal, kind even, that Brianne had forged a bond with their
kids. It wasn’t pathetic. It was nice. But all Brianne said in response was,
“You’re Charlie’s mom?”
“That I am.” With a
quick movement, that lady held out her hand. “Danette. Pleasure to meet you.”
Shaking her hand,
Brianne felt a helpless grin pulling at her lips. “You too.”
“No wonder you looked
so out of sorts,” Danette said, nodding her head. “And here I thought I’d found
an ally.”
“A what?”
“Well, when the school’s
merged together…listen, these jerks from West Scott, they basically bullied all
of us East-enders right out the damn door.”
“Merge?”
Denise nodded. “Yup.
Used to be two high schools.”
“Oh.” And suddenly, it
all made sense. Mitch’s easy acceptance of her presence on Sundays, Brian and
Frank’s amazement at the team-building that she seemed to inspire in those
young kids.
“Been a bit of a rough
transition. For the kids and the parents.”
“I’m sorry to hear
that.”
Danette shrugged.
“Just sad, that’s all. They act like we don’t belong here.” She snorted. “As if
we asked to become one of them.”
And sitting there, Brianne suddenly knew she’d break the promise she’d made to herself. She’d watch the entire game. Beside Danette.
The post The Inside Edge: Chapter Seven appeared first on LitLiber.
