Shut Out (14 page)

Buck and I have discovered a mutual fascination with the Science Channel show
How It's Made.
The weirder the stuff, the better. I should be studying, but this show rocks, and also since Buck wants to watch it with me, I don't want to reject him. I'm getting to know the guys better, hanging out after practices and games, but I still feel like an outsider at times.

We're watching an episode that starts with frozen pierogies.

“What the fuck are pierogies?” Buck dunks a tortilla chip into salsa. We're treating ourselves with binge TV shows, junk food, and shots of tequila.

I gape at him. “You don't know what pierogies are?”

“Nope.”

“Jesus. Every Canadian knows what pierogies are. They're Ukrainian and they're fucking awesome.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I thought Canadians were French, not Ukrainian.”

One of the other Canadians on the team is French, Pascal Bouchard, known as Butch. I laugh. “You're bullshitting me.”

He grins. “Okay, I know you're not all French.”

“Watch the show. Let's see how they put those delicious little pillows of dough and potato together.” I munch on some chips. “I have to confess, I've never had homemade pierogies. My mom buys those frozen ones in huge bags at Costco.”

After the pierogies, we learn about diesel engines.

“What would you be if you couldn't play hockey?” I ask, then toss back another tequila shot.

Buck contemplates that. “Maybe a soccer player—no, a pilot. I've always wanted to learn how to fly.”

I nod in approval. “That's cool.”

“What about you?”

“I'd be an engineer. Maybe a mechanical engineer.”

Then they're showing us how golf clubs are made. “That's my backup plan!” I lean forward. “Pro golfer.”

“You any good?”

“Hell yeah.” I give him an offended frown.

“What's your handicap?”

“Five.”

“Huh. Same here.” Buck lifts his chin. “We need to play.”

“Golf's for the off-season.”

“Right. As soon as we win the Frozen Four, you and I are hitting the links.”

“You're on, dude.”

We watch a few more episodes, at which time I realize I'm staring blearily at the TV screen. The tequila shots have snuck up on me with motherfucking stealth.

“I'm wasted, man,” I tell Buck.

He grins, a loose, mellow grin. “Me too.” He stretches his legs out in front of him, feet on the coffee table, hands behind his head. “So tell me…why'd you come to Bayard?”

“It's a good school. Great hockey program.”

“Yeah, yeah, but why
any
school down here? If you were some hot prospect up in Canada, why wouldn't you stay there?”

It's obviously the tequila that makes me think it's a good idea to spill my guts to Buck. I spew a brief version of the story.

“That blows, man.” Buck gives me an unfocused but sympathetic look.

“You believe me?”

He frowns. “Yeah. Why wouldn't I?”

I shrug and pick a crumb of tortilla chip off the front of my shirt. “Lots of people didn't.” I don't want to tell him how much that hurt and pissed me off. “You don't even know me.”

He's silent for a moment. “I know you're not a rapist.”

This strikes me as funny and I start laughing. “That's high praise.” I guess from him it's better than nothing.

Surprisingly, he laughs too. “Yeah, that didn't sound good, did it?”

“So, now you know.” I almost don't want to give him this much power, but I say, “I'd rather no one else knows about this.”

Buck lays a hand over his heart. “I wouldn't fucking tell.”

I swallow. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Hey. I'll share my own ugly story with you. That way you'll have something over me too.”

“A good basis for a lasting friendship—blackmail.”

Buck laughs. “Yanno, Flash, I'm kinda getting to like you.”

“Gee thanks. Okay, what's your story?” I'm thinking he probably did something embarrassing with a chick, like pass out while he was getting a BJ, or accidentally text his mom something meant for his girlfriend.

“Okay. My dad was murdered when I was six years old.”

“Jesus.” I stare at him, my tequila haze suddenly vanished.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I don't remember a whole lot, but I know it was never really investigated and they never found who did it. All my life, I grew up thinking it was some kind of robbery gone wrong.”

I nod slowly and pour myself another shot. Then I pour him another shot.

“Thanks. Then about four years ago, I found out that it was actually my uncle who killed him. My mother's brother, not his own. Apparently they both had drug problems and my dad owed him money.”

My gut tightens painfully. This is awful.

“So my family life wasn't exactly all happy TV sitcom family.”

I know he's from Buffalo, but for some reason I thought he came from a well-off family, I guess because of how he likes to dress and the stuff he has.

“After my dad died, my mom didn't have much and I grew up in a pretty rough neighborhood with a lot of crime. I couldn't wait to get out of there. So that's
my
ugly secret that nobody knows.”

“And I thought mine was bad.” I frown. “You seem to have done okay, despite all that crap.”

“Thank fuck for hockey.” He grimaces. “It was my way out of that garbage pit life. I always knew I wanted better and I worked my ass off to get out of there.”

I lift my shot glass to him. “And you did it, bro.”

“Not yet, I haven't. I mean, yeah, I got out, but I want more. That's why I hafta get drafted. I gotta make it into the NHL.”

I nod. “Me too.”

“Why?” Buck eyes me with owlish curiosity.

“I just do.” I shrug. “Without hockey…I got nothin'.”

“Eh, you got golf, man! Or engineering. Hey! You could write episodes of
How It's Made
.”

I snort-laugh. “Right.”

“You got no worries, man. You'll be drafted, for sure.”

“Not so sure of that.” I grimace. “I had to pull out of the draft last spring because of all the shit that went down. What if I'm still in the bad books?”

“Seriously? A guy with talent like you have? Teams don't care about crap like that. They want someone who can score goals and win games. Make money for them. That's the bottom line.”

“So cynical for one so young.”

“Phhht. Realistic is what I am. Come on. You'll be drafted.”

“So will you.”

Buck reaches over and clinks his glass against mine. Tequila sloshes out, but whatever. We tip them back.

Next thing I know, there's a lot of hooting laughter and yelling.

“What? What?” I try to wake up and lift my head to peer around. Where am I? What's going on? Who's…? Jesus fuck, I'm cuddled up against Buck on the couch.

“You look so cute together.” Rocket is killing himself laughing. “You been hiding something from us?”

That's pretty hilarious, since we just shared our deepest, darkest secrets with each other in a drunken exchange. And then apparently passed out. I scrub a hand over my face, feeling out of it, my mouth all dry and stuck shut. “Yeah, now you know our secret.”

“Why him?” Soupy frowns at Buck. “I'm hotter than he is.”

“In your dreams, dude.” I smirk at Soupy.

Buck squints, then frowns at me. “You're dreaming about me?”

“Yeah, man. Every night.” I lean in and make kissy noises. The guys crack up all over again, Soupy collapsing into a chair. Tears run down his face.

“Get the fuck away from me.” Buck shoves at me.

“If that's what you want.” I shake my head and stand, a little wobbly. “I need more sleep. Hitting the sack.”

“Alone?” Rocket taunts me as I climb the stairs.

I show him my middle finger over my shoulder and he cracks up again.

The next morning Buck and I meet up in the kitchen, both grabbing bottles of water out of the fridge to wash down our painkillers.

“Shit.” Buck rubs his forehead. “What were we thinking?”

“We weren't. Fuck, my head hurts.”

“Mine too.”

Our eyes meet and we crack up.

Knowing Buck's past actually makes me like him more. He's had his struggles too, and I kind of get why he dresses so well, sort of like a costume or a mask, trying to escape the life he had growing up.

Seriously, nothing is a better bonding experience than getting drunk and then being hungover together.

Jacob and I are studying for midterms in the kitchen at my place. I'm struggling with quantum mechanics. Honestly, the talk of light waves being a combination of oscillating electric and magnetic fields makes my head spin. This shit makes no sense at all, and I want to pick up my textbook and hurl it through the window. As I imagine doing that, Jacob covers one of my hands with his.

“Relax, babe.”

I turn my gaze to his, pressure building inside me. “Easy for you to say.” He's already aced three midterm exams, apparently without even breaking a sweat.

He stands and moves around behind my chair. His big hands drop onto my shoulders and he starts massaging. “Jesus. You've got rocks here.”

I groan at the feeling of his hands on my tight muscles. “Oh my God.”

He kneads and squeezes, finding spots of exquisite pain that he gently works until they release.

“Wow,” I breathe. “You're good at this.”

“I love getting a massage. I guess I've picked up a few things.”

He digs his thumbs into my spine, down between my shoulder blades. I whimper.

“Okay?”

“Oh yeah. More than okay.”

He continues to work on me, up my neck, back to my shoulder. “You're killing yourself, Sky,” he murmurs. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

His question makes me tense again, and he squeezes my upper arms.

I release a long breath and let my head fall forward. His fingertips find two spots at the base of my skull that are tender. “I have to do this.”

“Why?”

“I told you. My sister's going to be a doctor.”

He massages my neck more. “Do you think your parents won't love you if you don't become a doctor like her?”

Tension grips me again and my head snaps up.

“It's okay,” he soothes, gliding his hands along the tops of my shoulders. “Tell me.”

I struggle to find the words. I don't want to talk about it, but he asked, and…it's Jacob. “They'll be disappointed. Every time I don't do as well as Elisha, they're disappointed. They've paid a lot of money for me to come here, and if I don't do it…well, they won't hate me, but I can't stand the thought of letting them down. Of being
less
in their eyes.”

I hear a low growl in his throat. “That's bullshit.”

I close my eyes. “I'm sorry. But it's true.”

“You aren't less than your sister.”

“Sure I am.” My throat tightens. “I just want them to look at me with the same kind of pride they do her. I want them to brag to their friends about both their smart daughters, not just one.”

“They fucking do that?” His hands go still.

“Yes. They probably don't even realize it. All I ever got growing up was,
Your sister got an A in this course. Your sister was the class valedictorian when she graduated. Your sister got a full scholarship to Bayard, and then Harvard.
”

“Christ.” His hands go still on my shoulders. “Your sister sounds pretty damn annoying.”

I choke on a laugh. “Well, yeah, but she wasn't doing it on purpose. She's just a super overachiever and my parents apparently wanted two kids like that. Even my A wasn't as good as her A+. I got a partial scholarship because I busted my butt, but it's still costing my parents a lot of money to send me here and they never let me forget it, always reminding me they didn't have to pay for Elisha to go to Bayard. Last year when I told them I'd flunked two courses and would have to take them over, they were so upset. I stayed here all summer to take the classes again. I worked so I could pay for them myself, to try to make up for flunking. And so my parents would keep paying for me to come back this year.”

Jacob makes a low noise in his throat.

“That's why I have to do it. They'll consider it a waste if I don't become a doctor.”

“I can't get my head around that. They should be proud of you no matter what you decide to do. And you're not your sister, you're a different person. You should just be yourself, Sky. Because you're pretty damn amazing. And they should want you to be happy.”

I don't think I've ever heard them say that. I swallow through a tight throat, my chest aching. “Do your parents want you to be happy?”

“Yeah.” He pauses, his fingers still working on my less-tight muscles. “They've done a lot for me so I can achieve my goals.”

“To play hockey.”

“Yeah. Hockey costs money. They don't have a lot, but they made sure I had equipment and registered for minor league hockey. We lived just outside Kamloops, so when I got older, there were hours of driving back and forth to games and tournaments. Then when we realized I was actually pretty good, they let me move away from home when I was sixteen. It was hard on them, especially my mom. They sacrificed a lot.”

I nod, my throat squeezing.

“They also believe in me,” he adds quietly. “Which is the best thing of all they could give me. Last year, I kinda screwed up and they still supported me.”

“Your parents sound awesome.”

“They're coming in a couple of weeks. You can meet them.”

“Ah…for your birthday?”

“Yeah.”

Meeting Jacob's parents sounds like a “real girlfriend” thing to do. Also celebrating his birthday with him is a “real girlfriend” thing to do. This is awkward. But I don't say anything right now.

“How's that? Better?” He lays his big hands on my shoulders.

“So much better.”

He lowers his hands to give my boobs a squeeze.

“Jacob!”

He laughs as he drops back into his seat. “Sorry, I couldn't resist. And you love it when I fondle your boobs.”

I smile. I really do.

He leans forward and I meet his eyes. “Seriously, Sky. You should be doing what makes you happy. Not what will make your parents happy.”

I gaze at him as I process this. “But they're my parents.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

But he has a point.

“You know what you should be doing?”

I shake my head slowly, my eyes fastened on his.

“Teaching. You're an amazing teacher.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“The training you did. I told you before how you rocked it. You were so great.”

I shrug. “I didn't even know what I was doing. It was my first time.”

“See? You did know what you were doing. You were reading everybody in that room and adjusting what you did to hold their interest. You got everyone comfortable and involved, even when it wasn't a super comfortable topic. You were funny and…engaged…and…” He appears to search for words. “Human.”

I smile. “Human. A high compliment.”

He grins. “You know what I mean. There are teachers that are intimidating. Sometimes they don't seem like they're really human.”

“I know what you mean.” My chest warms. “Thank you. I did enjoy it.” My mind is turning in circles, thinking about what he said. “But I don't really like kids that much.”

He laughs. “Seriously? How much time have you spent around kids?”

“Not much,” I admit. “I babysat a little in high school.”

“Well, you could try it. Or you could teach high school.”

I picture that and, surprisingly, I find this idea ridiculously appealing.

“The class you like the most is psychology,” he says. “What else would you take if you could take anything? What were your favorite subjects in school?”

“Not physics.” He smiles at my joke. “Um, I loved history and geography. I'd love to travel and see the places I learned about. Especially Europe.”

“Yeah. That would be cool.”

I stare into the distance and my stomach knots up. The weight of the unfathomable physics and chemistry suddenly seems unbearable. Like I've reached the point where I just can't do it anymore.

And even if I do, it'll be for what? My parents will still be disappointed in me. I'm never going to get a full scholarship to Harvard. Even if I had the marks, I need to do some kind of extra-curricular medical work. I love what I'm doing at SAPAP, but I don't think that's going to cut it to get into medical school. I know this and yet haven't made any efforts to find something appropriate.

A teacher. What would my parents think of that?

And should I care?

I do care what my parents think. Of course I want their approval. Is that wrong? Or do I need to grow up and make my own decisions?

“What if…” I hesitate. “What if I change my major and my parents decide they're not going to foot the bill for a prestigious college just so I can be a teacher?”

His eyes go shadowy. “You think they'd do that?”

I shrug. “It's definitely possible.”

“Well.” He shoves a hand into his hair. “I guess there are other options. Student loans, maybe?”

“Another part-time job.” I grimace. “Or switching schools.”

Our eyes meet and his face is somber. “That would suck.”

My stomach feels like a knotted-up ball of yarn. “Yeah, it kind of would.” I'm thinking about him, which is stupid because I know he wants to be drafted this year and might not even be back next year. There is no way in hell I should be making decisions about my future based on him. Especially since we are fake dating.

“I need to think about it,” I tell him. “But…thanks, Jacob.”

He nods. “Okay. Let's see if we can get another hour of work in. If we do, we can reward ourselves with donuts.”

“You brought donuts?”

“Yep.”

“Oooh, you devil. You know my weaknesses.”

“Donuts, coffee, cherry Kool-Aid, and chocolate-covered almonds.”

I blink down at my book. Wow. He does know me.

Thursday night is Halloween and we're going to a sorority party. Jacob was enthusiastic about a costume for the party, but he was determined we should go as a couple. We looked at some Pinterest pictures for inspiration. Neither of us wanted to spend a lot of money, so here we are dressed as a Hawaiian vacation couple.

A trip to the dollar store the other day loaded us up with leis and flowery necklaces, which we're both wearing. I've got a fake flower in my hair and I'm wearing a cheap grass skirt over a pair of tight running shorts, with a bright pink bikini top. Jacob is wearing shorts with a wildly colored, tropical-flowered shirt open over his bare chest. My heart gives an extra beat at how hot he looks.

His eyes warm as he studies my costume. “You look sexy, babe.”

“Thanks. So do you. But we're going to freeze.”

He laughs. “Wear a warm coat. It'll probably be warm at the party.”

“Probably.”

The party is crazy. Music is blasting when we walk in—“Spooky Scary Skeletons.” The house is dark and packed with bodies in all kinds of costumes, some cute, some sexy, some downright terrifying.

I edge closer to Jacob. “I hate it when I can't recognize people. It creeps me out.”

“Hey.” He slides his arm around me. “S'okay, baby, I'm here with you.” He gives my waist a squeeze that reassures me.

The music changes to “Monster Mash.” Jacob grins and grabs my hand and pulls me toward a bunch of people dancing.

My eyes go wide. We've never danced together in the weeks we've been fake dating. Taking both my hands in his, he pulls me near, then steps back.

“Hey, you know how to dance.”

His grin goes wicked. “You know I do, baby.”

We find the rhythm and he spins me around into his arms, then back out. Our eyes meet and we share a smile. My head starts bopping as I get into the beat of the music. The song ends too quickly, my heart beating a little faster, my skin warming.

“See, no worries about freezing.” Jacob touches a finger to my cleavage in the bikini top through the layers of leis.

“Nope.”

“The Time Warp” from
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
is playing now. With shouts of delight, people swarm the makeshift dance floor. Jacob and I laugh and move to the music as people crowd around us, singing along with the song, yelling out the chorus with big arm movements. I shake my hips and do a circle with my hands in the air, and when I face Jacob his lips curve with amusement and his eyes blaze. He gives me a nod of approval as he moves in perfect time to the music.

He's an athlete and I guess it makes sense that he's a good dancer—he's fit and coordinated—so I don't know why this surprises me. I like it.

We dance to “She Wolf” by Shakira, and then the music changes, slowing down, to “You and Me” by Lifehouse. Jacob pulls me up against him and sets both his hands on my hips. I drape my arms over his shoulders, my eyes fastened on his, like the song says, and our bodies move together. He smiles into my eyes. “You like dancing?”

I nod.

After the slow, sexy dance, we take a break, both of us breathing quicker and a little flushed. Jacob spots some of his hockey buddies and we join them. Them, and the puck bunnies surrounding them.

Ack, did I actually just think that? I lectured Ella on how the term “puck bunny” is demeaning and slut shaming, and then I think something like that. These could be perfectly nice girls interested in the Bears for reasons other than the fact that they're hockey players.

Giant spiders and cobwebs hang from the ceiling above us, and a skeleton sits on a chair in the corner. These sorority gals have gone all out for this party.

“Jacob!” A girl turns to him and eyes his chest. “Hi! Love the costume.”

And she actually slides her hand over his bare chest.

A yellow witch hat perches on her head, a tiny black-and-yellow bikini top reveals a lot of cleavage, and her black-and-yellow skirt barely covers her ass cheeks. I hear Hunter murmur, “Whoa. Cooch alert.”

I bug my eyes out at him and he laughs.

I turn my gaze back to this…er, witch, and give her an icy glare.