Offside (3 page)

Damaged goods is what she was. Unusable.
Washed up.

“She’s got a point.” Gerald inserted.
“Besides, where would you shower?”

They both turned to Gerald and gave him ‘the
look’, which in turn, had him clearing his throat and offering a
weak grin. “It was a joke. Of course she wouldn’t shower with the
men…that would be inappropriate.”

“Are you for real?” Billie snapped. This guy
was a lawyer?

“Seems to me,” Gerald Dooley tried once more,
“you might utilize your time better by finding a job.” He looked at
her pointedly. “I could work something out at the law firm, there
might be a position coming up.”

“Seems to me…[i]
Gerry
[i],” Billie said
sweetly, “my job situation, actually, my life situation isn’t any
of your business.”

Besides, she had money set aside. Sure it
wouldn’t last forever, but her agent had worked damn hard to score
her a number of endorsements and she had enough to tide her over
until she decided what she wanted to do with her life.

She had a lot of options, just none that
appealed to her at the moment.

“Billie, you don’t have to be so rude.” Bobbi
was pissed. She tossed her thick curtain of hair and the expertly
straightened pieces fell like dominos across her creamy white skin.
Scarlet tipped fingers gripped the stem of her wine glass so
tightly her knuckles were white.

Good. Billie liked this pissed off version of
her sister a lot more than the wimped out Stepford Wife she’d come
home to. And the woman wasn’t even married—she glared at
Gerald—[i]
yet
[i].

Billie pushed her chair back and grabbed her
glass of wine. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Go ahead. Run away like you always do.” Her
sister’s perfect demeanor was starting to crack. Her voice rose a
notch and she tossed her napkin onto her plate.

“Now girls,” Gerald began.

“Shush.” Bobbi hissed at him and then glared
at her sister.

Gerald frowned but remained silent.
[i]
Pussy
[i].

“Run away? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Billie got to her feet. How the hell had a normal family dinner
disintegrated into a mess in under five minutes? This had to be
some kind of record.

“Oh please,” Bobbi said. “You’ve been running
away from here for as long as I can remember. Ever since the day
you put on a pair of skates.”

“Watch it, Bobbi. You’re starting to sound,
oh I don’t know…a bit jealous.”

“Jealous? Of you?!” Her sister
snorted—again—and stood as well. The two of them faced
off—identical versions of each other for the most part, and yet,
they’d never been so far apart. Billie had to clamp down hard on
the hurt that bubbled inside her. Where had all this anger come
from? Bobbi had never been so damn condescending. Or nasty.

Bitchy sure, but she’d never stood on a
holier-than-thou pedestal. Billie’s hands twitched as she set her
glass down and squared her shoulders. It was time she pushed her
sister off the damn thing but Gramps would have her ass if she
broke any of their late Grandmother’s crystal.

“Bobbi I hate to point it out to you, but
your perfect skin has taken on a new shade of green and it’s not a
nice color, like emerald or anything.” Billie leaned in for the
kill. “It’s more like that puke shade…you know, the one called
jealous.”

Her sister was now livid. If she were a
dragon smoke would be blowing out her ears frying everything in
sight.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Bobbi took a
step round the table, her fitted black blouse expanding as she
exhaled loudly, creating little gaps between the buttons. “Why
would I [i]
ever
[i] be jealous of you?” Her voice rose yet
another notch. “I’m proud of the things you’ve accomplished. You’ve
played in an Olympic tournament—”

“Actually, that would be two Olympics,”
Herschel nodded and held up two fingers. He waved them slowly back
and forth before resting his elbows on the table. “Two.” He added
once more with a quick wink.

“Whatever, Gramps.” Bobbi wouldn’t be
deterred. “My point is, you’ve had some early successes Billie, but
they’re behind you now and it’s time to get real. You had your fun
and honestly—”

“Yes,’ Billie’s heart was racing again and
she felt more than a little lightheaded. The knot in her stomach
twisted a little more. “By all means, let’s be honest.”

Bobbi arched her brow again in that way that
made Billie’s teeth crunch together. “Okay, I’m going to be
brutally honest.”

The room went quiet and everyone was focused
on her sister, who had the floor. Bobbi glanced over to Gerald as
if she needed his permission to speak and that one small gesture
left such a bad taste in Billie’s mouth that she nearly gagged.
When Dooley nodded, ever so subtlety, Billie’s fists balled and she
shouted. [i]
Why are you here
?
What have you done with my
sister
?[i]

And yet nothing came out.

“Like I said, you’ve had your fun and now
it’s time to grow up. I’m sick of being the only responsible Barker
triplet. I’m sick of Betty flying off every few months and we never
know when she’s going to come home. When the princess does grace us
with her presence, she sleeps all day and parties all night. She’s
like a damn vampire. If she wants to move out…then move out
already.”

Billie opened her mouth but her sister didn’t
let her get a word in.

Bobbi threw her hand up. “And don’t you dare
tell me she’s modelling all that time she spends away. I don’t
think she’s had a regular paying gig in a nearly six months. Her
nose isn’t clean and we both know it.”

Billie’s heart tightened a little more,
mostly because what her sister said was the truth.

“I’m pissed that for a lot of years I had an
absent father because he was always somewhere with you.” She threw
her hands in the air. “A hockey tournament in Canada. Another one
in Washington.” Bobbi’s voice was getting hoarse. “Hey, let’s fly
to Timbuktu and while we’re at it, let’s blow all the college fund
money on a stupid pipe dream that got you nothing but a wasted
education, a half-baked career in Europe and a body that you can’t
trust.”

Tears filled Billie’s eyes but she refused to
let them fall.

“Twins!” They all looked toward Gramps.
“Enough!”

Gerald looked confused, but Billie wasn’t
about to explain to him that their Grandfather had always called
them ‘twins’, even though they were three girls. Sometimes he went
weeks without using their names. He’d just shout out
[i]
twin
[i] or [i]
twins
[i] depending on how many were
present.

Billie stared at her sister, feeling utterly
defeated. “What happened to you?” she whispered. There wasn’t one
soft, approachable thing about her. It was like staring into a
mirror and seeing what Billie would look like if every single
emotion that made her human was gone. “You used to be fun and
easy…and real.” She gulped. “Badass. Leather, jeans, and too much
makeup.” Billie shook her head, trying to understand. “Now you’re
all perfect and manicured, fitted skirts and,” she glanced at
Gerald. “Three piece suits.”

Bobbi stared at her for a few moments, her
eyes glittery and hard. “Life happened, Billie. Dad being sick
happened. This house and the bills that go along with it happened.
[i]
They happened to me
[i]. While Betty was off modeling
lingerie and bikinis and you were in Europe living your dream, I
was here, looking after Dad and Gramps.” She paused. “And I did it
while working my way through night school.”

“I had no idea you were so bitter about
things.”

“It’s not about being bitter.” Bobbi looked
exasperated. “You don’t get it. For most regular folk, life isn’t
about dreams. It’s about working and putting food on the table and
making sure the bills get paid. It’s about being realistic. Not
everyone gets to reach for the stars no matter what dad told you. I
didn’t. My stars are here. In in this house. In this town that I’ll
never be able to leave.”

“It’s not my fault you stayed.” Billie was
breathing heavy.

“Someone had to,” Bobbi retorted. “So I did.
I was the responsible one and it drives me bonkers that you’re
moping over something as stupid as hockey. Did you really think
you’d be on the ice forever?”

Bobbi shook her head, disgusted. “You’re
twenty-five years old and you have no degree because you quit
college to move to Europe and play hockey. You followed a money
trail that dried up and kicked you to the curb the moment your head
hit those boards.”

Stunned, Billie could barely form words. “You
think I played hockey for the money?” Did her sister understand so
little of what make her tick?

“Yes I do. Money and glory go hand in hand
and you basked in it as long as you could, both you and Betty. The
two of you were always in the limelight, soaking up the attention
and not thinking about a future without it. Now you’re home with
nothing to show for all the sacrifices this family has made over
the years.”

[i]
Don’t cry. Don’t you dare
cry
[i].

The words were like a mantra in Billie’s
head. She repeated them, over and over again. When that didn’t work
she focused on the way Bobbi’s perfectly straight bangs hung like a
curtain over her brows, the edges wisped just so.

[i]
Breathe. Don’t cry
[i].

“Maybe that knock to the head did a lot more
damage than the doctors think. I’m not [i]
jealous
[i] of you,
Billie-Jo. I feel sorry for you.”

Those words nearly undid her, but Billie hung
on until the roaring in her head subsided and she was empty inside.
It was like taking a penalty shot in a big game. She made
everything disappear and focused, except instead of taking a shot,
at this moment she was just trying to hold it together.

For several long seconds, nothing but silence
filled the gaps between them. And the gaps were huge—they were wide
and deep—nearly insurmountable.

Gramps cleared his throat, his faded blue
eyes kind in their regard as he gazed upon her—maybe a little sad
even—and Billie had to look away or she would start bawling. There
was no way in hell she was going to give her sister that kind of
satisfaction.

Billie slowly exhaled and reached for her
wine glass. Gramps handed her the half empty wine bottle and she
accepted it without hesitation, though even a case of wine wasn’t
going to ease her pain tonight.

“Well, then. I have no idea how a
conversation about men’s hockey devolved into a discussion on the
sad state of my life, but thanks for your…honesty, Bobbi,” she
swallowed. “Much appreciated.”

Billie took a step back from the dining room
table. “Oh and Gerry?”

Gerald Dooley, who’d been standing near the
doorway for the last five minutes, unsure whether to flee the
Barker family madness or stay, looked a tad shell-shocked when he
met her gaze.

“You’re flying low and though it’s nice to
know you match your boxers to the color of your dress shirt, I
don’t need to see it.”

Billie paused by Gramps side and kissed him
softly on the cheek. His gnarled hand, brown with age and sun,
grabbed hold of her wrist. “She’s been having a hard time dealing
with your Dad. Bobbi doesn’t mean any of it.”

“Liar,” she whispered.

With a heavy heart, Billie pulled away. “I’m
going to sit with, Dad.” She tossed a dark look over her shoulder.
Her sister watched, from beneath lowered lashes and had the good
grace to at least look a tad uncomfortable. “Hopefully all the
screaming didn’t upset him.”

Less than a minute later Billie let herself
into the darkened master suite at the end of the hall upstairs. A
frail figure near the window tore at her heart and she watched him
in silence for a few moments as he read his paper, near the soft
glow from a lamp on his desk.

He seemed to have shrunk even more than the
day before, if that was possible. At six foot two, her father had
always been a big, brawny man—a person with wide shoulders and
generous hugs. A man who was confident enough to raise three young
daughters alone and tough enough to do it on his terms. A man who’d
always been there for her.

For the first time she wondered if she’d
truly stolen most of his time. And love.

She shook her head. It wasn’t possible, was
it?

He paused, glanced her way, and the play of
light along the sharp planes of his face made her heart turn over.
When had he gotten so old?

The sadness inside her doubled and the pain
was nearly unbearable. It was like a hard fist, twisting into stone
and it wouldn’t let her go.

“Chantal, is that you?” He smiled and
gestured, his fingers thin, nothing more than flesh over bone.
“Come closer darling, I can’t see you.”

She shook her head. “It’s me,
Dad…Billie.”

He cocked his head to the side and she saw
his confusion, but it was as if he’d never heard her. “Chantal,
when did you grow your hair?” He frowned and seemed to gather his
thoughts. “Never mind, doesn’t matter. I’m looking through the
local real estate. We’ll need a bigger house for when the babies
come.”

Her heart cracked a little more.

His frown deepened and uncertainty rolled
under his words. “Chantal, is that you?”

Billie nodded and moved deeper into his
circle of light. “Yes, it’s me.” She sat down beside the father who
didn’t know her and tried her best not to cry.

“So what are we going to do about that damn
Barker triplet?”

Logan Forest took a swig from his beer and
set the bottle on the bar before turning to the group of men a few
feet away. It was Friday night—Friday the 13th to be exact—and The
Roadside Grill was hopping.

He’d had one hell of a day, the kind when
nothing goes right and damned if he wanted to listen to a bunch of
grown men act like the world was going to end because a girl wanted
to play hockey in their league. Sure, he thought Billie-Jo was
going to get a lot of grief, but hell, if she wanted that kind of
trouble so be it.