By the time I’m leaving the office, the lights are off and I’m alone. I’ve rescheduled sushi with Claire for the weekend and have missed dinner so I’m starving.
I don’t click down the hall, confident in my heels as I normally do. Instead, I carry my shoes and walk in my purse-Tieks to the elevator. I push the button and sigh, leaning against the wall.
The walk home is nice, diverting and chaotic. The streets are full though it’s dark and past nine.
“Good evening, Ms. Snowdon,” Eric says as he gets the door.
“Jenny,” I say with a smile and head for the elevator.
When I fish out my keys from my purse, I see my to-do list with two things not yet completed.
Ben and Lawrence.
And I have no idea how to fix either one.
24 That’s not a girl
Wednesday, July 5
Lori
The locker room is quieter than normal, with only a few voices speaking in muffled tones, almost whispers, suggesting this room has become something tragic instead of a place where we normally amp each other up. We gear up as the disappointment of losing to the Senators in the playoffs lingers as if hanging out in the shower steam that rarely leaves. The New York Rangers do not take a loss well during regular season; the playoffs are hitting us that much harder.
The sound of a slap on bare cheeks echoes through the quiet room, but it takes a second to realize they were my cheeks. The hit is hard enough that the sting is delayed, but when it lands, I wince, nodding my head. It was a good one.
“Why you so quiet lately, Lori?” Brady’s voice booms over the awkward stillness of the room as he leans in rubbing his sore hand from smacking me that hard. “Red keeping you up at night?”
“No, your mom tired me out last night,” I retort, taking the cheap shot which matches my mood and my desire to avoid all conversations involving Jenny. Deep down, I like that he’s sensitive about his mom.
“Not my mom, bro!” He shoves me into the wooden shelves in front of me.
“Don’t fight it.” I spin, naked and smirking at him. “You gonna be okay calling me daddy from now on, bud?” I wink. “Because I think she likes me.”
His eyes widen and ferocity flashes in them. His fist balls and before he can contain himself the knuckles are flying. I leap to the right, leaving him to punch the wall where my head was. “Shit!” he shouts, cradling the injured appendage. “You fucker!”
“Eckelston!” Coach barks. “Coldwell! Quit grabassing. Get your gear on and stop dicking around.” He’s in no mood either. This fun-game nonsense is no fun at all.
Pretending to be fine and not dying from the rejection I haven’t told anyone about yet, I stagger away from Brady as he turns on me.
His lips are locked in a sneer and his eyes are slits. “I’m gonna beat your ass!” he says like it’s a deadly threat, but his tone is low because he too fears the coach.
My lips part to make another mom joke but a hand slides across them from behind and a voice whispers in my ear, “Quit while you’re ahead.” Matt cuddles me from behind. The fact I’m naked and he’s sort of spooning me in some of his hockey gear as Cap walks around the corner makes me laugh, despite Matt’s hand on my mouth and my heart broken.
“I don’t want to know.” Cap waves his hand at me and Matt. “Just get dressed, both of you!”
“Yeah, yeah.” I struggle free and saunter back to my gear, making a kissy face at Brady who nurses his hand. It’s reddening and swelling. “You bruised those knuckles, ya hammer.”
“I know!” he snaps and walks to the changing area where we always leave our regular clothes and starts stripping. “It’s fucking swollen already, Lori.”
“You did it to yourself, bud.” I begin dragging on my gear. It still smells like the loss of our spot in the playoffs. Blood, sweat, and tears. Matching how everything smells in my life currently.
“It’s the day after Independence Day. I should have my head in the toilet like everyone else. Why do we have to do this? It’s barbaric,” one of the guys asks from the far side of the locker room. I don’t turn to see who it is.
“Because we lost. You were at the same meeting I was, Mike. Maybe we’ll all play harder next year for the win so we don’t have to spend our summer like this.” Cap is not excited to be here or holding back. “The rink’s packed and I expect you all to show up. Play hard, be fun, smile, and get the crowd going.”
“Anyone know who the fun team is? That was missing from the email,” Mike shoots back.
“Coach just said it. Clean the shit outta your ears,” Cap barks. “They’re a rec league team made up of the guys who work for the PR firm. The office we were all at last week.”
“And apparently, they’re all right. So if they score, we’re all gonna wish we were dead,” Matt torments us.
I continue dressing as the grumbling and groaning become the background noise. It’s better than the miserable quiet, but it doesn’t take away the sting of knowing I’ll see Jenny at the barbecue after the game, something I’m dreading.
When I’m done dressing, I turn to see Brady glaring at me. I continue to bug him. “I’m telling Nat you hit me and that’s why your knuckles are bruised,” I torment him.
He rolls his eyes. “She’ll believe it too, ya shit.”
I shrug and sit, waiting for the coach to come in and read us the riot act. He’s barely speaking to any of us. He took the loss harder than we did and wouldn’t even come to Matt’s wedding.
“All right, boys,” Coach bellows as he reenters the room. “This is
