Breakaway (15 page)

The last one is Liam MacArthur. He low-fives Amy as he walks by.

“Obviously you’re not injured anymore,” I say.

He looks at me, surprised. “It was just a sprain, Hockey Girl. I didn’t know you cared.”

Kathy crows as she cracks open a beer.

“I thought we weren’t drinking tonight,” I say.

“Lighten up, McIntyre.” Whitney takes a can from one of the guys. “It’s just beer. I told them not to bring any hard stuff.”

“Beer or not, this still breaks Bud’s rule about drinking on a game weekend,” I say.

“So you’re going to narc on us?” Whitney demands, sipping her beer. “I should’ve known.”

I stand up and wipe my hands on my thighs. “I’m going home. Anybody coming with me?”

The Rookies look at one another.

One of the guys drapes an arm around my neck. “You should relax. Have a couple of beers. See what happens.”

“No thanks.” I pull away and move towards the stairs. “Last chance, Rooks.”

The Rookies start gathering their things.

Kathy squawks like a chicken.

“You’re wrecking the party,” Whitney says.

“No, Whitney,
you’re
wrecking the party.” I reach for my jacket which is lying on the sectional.

A brown hand grasps it first.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Liam holds on, forcing me to yank helplessly on the sleeve like a dog at the end of a leash. “If I’d known
you were going to react like this, I wouldn’t have come.”

“Right.” I take a deep breath, remembering my promise to Amy to be nicer to him. “Now please let go.”

“Can’t we talk about this for a minute?” he pleads, releasing my jacket.

“No. I mean – no thank you.” I’m trying to look very adult and self-assured. It doesn’t help that my right sleeve is turned inside out, and my hand won’t go in all the way. I start flailing like an idiot.

“Let me help you with that,” he says.

I see the leers the rest of the guys are giving me. Some things never change.

I rip off my jacket and start down the stairs with the Rookies right behind me. When I realize I left the rest of my gear upstairs and stop, they pile into me, sending me flying.

I bounce down the stairs.

Carpet.

Ceiling.

Carpet.

Ceiling.

Carpet.

I end up in a heap at the bottom, head throbbing, staring up at a sea of terrified Rookies. For some reason, there are twice as many of them. That’s when Carla and Kathy take over and push everybody back.

“Give her some air!” Kathy says.

Larissa manages to slip through. She kneels down and peers concernedly into my face. “How many fingers?” she says, holding up a blurry hand.

Somebody starts demanding my mother’s maiden name. Somebody else insists I start counting backwards from one hundred. Kathy’s threatening to kick Rookie asses all the way back to Estevan.

“I’m okay,” I say groggily. “Let me up.”

“I don’t think she should move yet,” Liam says, pushing past Kathy. “She probably banged her head.”

“Does anything hurt, Jessie?” Larissa asks.

“My cheek.” I explore the tackiness with my fingertips.

“Nobody’s ever died from rug burn,” Whitney says.

After a couple of minutes Liam and Larissa pull me up and help me walk to the living room, where they make me lie down on the couch.

“Should I call 9–1–1?” Carla asks from the doorway.

“I don’t think so,” Larissa says, “but she should see a doctor.”

“Your dad’s a doctor,” I tell her.

“Good for you.” She peers into my eyes. “Do you feel nauseated?”

“I don’t think so.”

“She’s okay then,” one of the guys says. “Let’s go drink beer.”

“She’s definitely not driving home,” Larissa says.

“You’re overreacting,” Whitney says. “She’s obviously not hurt.”

“I’ll take her to emergency,” Liam says.

“I’m not going,” I say.

“I’ll call my dad to meet you there,” Larissa says. She puts two fingers against my throat and uses the clock app on her phone to take my pulse.

“Where did you learn to do that?” I ask.

She winks at me. “You have a vehicle?” she asks Liam.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll bring Jessie’s car home tomorrow,” Kathy says.

“Quit talking about me!” I sit up on my elbows. “I’m fine!”

“Do you want me to call your parents?” Larissa asks.

“No!”

“Jessie should go to the hospital,” Kathy says. “And Liam should take her, right Rooks?”

The Rookies bob their heads in agreement, just like those little toy dogs some idiots put on their dashboards. It makes me dizzy.

Liam leans over and slides his hands under my waist and thighs.

“No way,” I tell him. “I walked in here by myself, and I’m leaving the same way.”

“Does that mean you’re going to let me drive you to emergency?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He removes his arms and straightens. “Let’s go then.”

I get up slowly. My head does feel better. No nausea. No dizziness. No blurred vision. But my cheek stings like a bitch.

“If your dad’s not at emergency, I’m going home,” I tell Larissa.

“He’ll be there,” Larissa promises. “Have you got your purse? You’ll need your health card.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say.

One of the guys shouts from the top of the stairs. “Straight home, MacArthur!”

–
Chapter Twenty-one
–

I
don’t talk to Liam
during the ten-minute drive to Estevan although he keeps up a steady stream of conversation. He turns west just outside the city limits and takes the back road to the hospital.

“I’m sorry, but my truck stalls at red lights and stop signs,” he apologizes. “I try to avoid them.”

He starts to pull up to the emergency entrance, but I point to the visitors’ lot. When I try to open the truck door, I can’t move the handle.

“It only opens from the outside,” he explains. He gets out and runs around to my side. My head is feeling better as we cross the parking lot, moving towards the main entrance, but I think I have some pulled muscles in my back.

Inside, I give the receptionist my health card and the info she needs to type up a pink form. I don’t recognize anybody in the waiting room. Just the same, I position myself in my chair so my cheek is facing the wall. I can’t pretend to check my phone because I had to turn it off as soon as we entered the hospital. Liam and I sit there in awkward silence.

“You can go back to Whitney’s if you want,” I tell him after a while.

“I’ll wait until Dr. Bilkhu’s checked you over. You’ll need a ride home.”

“My dad can come get me.”

“Sure.” He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Do you want me to go outside and call him for you?”

Imagine how excited Dad’ll be about
that.

“No, I’ll wait until after I see Dr. Bilkhu.” I touch my cheek for the hundredth time. “How bad is my face?”

He places his fingers on my chin and gently turns my head so he can see the burn. “It’ll heal,” he says.

I turn my face away, and he pulls his hand back.

“Is there anybody else you want to call?” he asks. “Your boyfriend maybe?”

“No. I mean, not now.”

We sit in silence for a long time. We pretend to look at magazines. We watch the clock. I try not to think about giving a blood sample.

He sits back and stretches his legs in front of him, crossing his boots at the ankles. “Can I tell you something?” he says at last.

“No.”

“I get along with most people,” he continues, undeterred. “You are a glaring exception.”

Why didn’t I phone my dad when I had a chance? Then I wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.

Liam takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Amy thinks you’re awesome. She says you’ve gone out of your way to make her feel welcome on the team.”

“I like Amy,” I say.

“Can’t we be friends too?” he asks. “I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but I’d start over if you’d let me.”

“Why do you want to be my friend anyway?” I ask.

He smiles. “Remember that time in Grade Eleven when Mr. Lazar had us do math presentations?”

I nod.

“Most of them were yawners. I don’t even remember what I did, but yours was on that Greek guy...”

“Pythagorus,” I say helpfully.

“The very one.” He smiles. “The girls in that class were determined
not
to show how smart they were, and there
you
were, getting all breathless and dreamy about a
2
+ b
2
= c
2
.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Oh yes, you were.” He pauses and heaves a heavy sigh. “And that was the moment I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I was smitten.”

I blush, making my cheek burn even more.

“Jessica McIntyre!” the admitting nurse calls from the doorway.

The words strike terror into my heart. “Come inside with me!” I beg.

He laughs.

“I’m serious!”

“You’re afraid of Dr. Bilkhu?”

“No, I’m afraid of those people who take blood samples.” I smile at the nurse, who’s frowning at me, clearly impatient to get my show on the road. “Please come with me!”

“Only if you’re nice,” he says.

“I promise.” I get up and move towards the entrance to the emergency ward.

“Now, I get it,” he says, following me. “You’re on medication for a split personality.”

A few minutes later Dr. Bilkhu is clucking around me like a mother hen, manipulating my neck and shoulders, dabbing antiseptic on my rug burn, and asking a lot of questions. It’s natural for him to be concerned. Larissa’s at the party I just left, and he doesn’t want
her
to be his next patient. I give him an abbreviated version of the events leading up to my arrival, leaving out the part about the five guys and the twenty-four-packs of beer.

He cocks his head as I describe Liam’s role as paramedic.

“So how did
you
come to be at this slumber party?” he asks Liam.

Liam looks at me.

“I invited him,” I reply. “He’s my...friend.”

“That’s right.” Liam displays his gap-tooth.

Dr. Bilkhu smiles knowingly. “Ah.”

“Not like that,” I quickly add.

Dr. Bilkhu takes a closer look at my pupils. “No hockey for you tomorrow, Princess.”

“But I’m okay, aren’t I?”

“Best not to take any risks within twenty-four hours.” He smiles and pats my hand. “I’ll be watching tomorrow.”

As we leave the hospital, I realize we never called my parents, which means Liam has to give me a ride home. On the way, he tells me about his older brother Russell, who has Down’s syndrome.

“As long as I can remember, he’s been there for me,” Liam says, pulling into my driveway. “It feels strange to not have him around the house, but he likes his roomies at the group home.”

“What does he look like?” I ask.

Liam describes him briefly.

“Yeah, I’ve seen him at Sarcan,” I say. “I’ll say hi to him the next time I’m there.”

“He’d like that,” Liam says.

I know I should be getting out of his truck, but for some reason, I don’t want to. “I’m sorry I’ve been rude to you.” It feels good to roll out that apology. “I was angry at myself – if you want to know the truth.”

“For what?” he asks.

“For jumping to conclusions at the talent show. And that day at Sarcan, I didn’t know about Russell.”

“Ah,” he says, in a perfect imitation of Dr. Bilkhu.

I laugh. “What will you do now? Will you go back to Whitney’s?”

He shakes his head.

We don’t say anything for a while. But it doesn’t feel awkward, this quiet. It feels okay.

“Tell me about high school rodeo,” I ask him.

The world he describes for me is very different from my experience. In the arena, individuals compete tooth and nail, then bail each other out when equipment breaks or a horse pulls up lame. Liam has dabbled in all the events, with the exception of bull riding, but lately he’s concentrated on training cutting horses.

“I’d like you to come out to my place,” he says. “I’ll introduce you to my favourite girl.”

“One of your horses?”

“You’ll see.” He pauses. “What do you say? No strings attached. Just a friendly visit.”

“Maybe. Sometime.” To distract him, I ask about football.