Chapter Thirteen
Thirteen
Lucy
On Wednesday, Jaylen brought me a Brewed This Way coffee to pregame skate and scored his first goal as a Rainier. On Friday, he brought me a muffin and recorded an assist and had what he called a few memorable hits. On Sunday, he brought me a coffee and a muffin and was promoted to the second line.
None of these interactions have been consensual, and they’ve all added to his delusion that I am somehow responsible for his improving luck simply by being at the arena.
Thanks to Cooper, Jaylen has unfortunately learned my favorite coffee order and cornered me into choosing to accept or waste them. As long as he’s not spilling them down the front of my shirt, I’m not going to complain to HR. I’m almost done this mural, and soon all of this will be behind me.
Not just Jaylen’s shenanigans, but painting is wreaking emotional distress on my creative spirit every day. I can feel myself slipping further and further away from my goal of a tattoo apprenticeship with each day I waste painting this hockey mural.
I stand back and snap a progress photo of my art and send it to Sam as an update and a reminder that I am over here going above and beyond to prove myself to her. I don’t want her forgetting about me or my talents while I’m out of the shop painting.
SAM:
LUCY:
SAM:
I set my phone down and get to work finishing up the mural. The promise of Sam looking at my portfolio soon gives me the hit of dopamine I need to get my ass in gear and get this thing done as soon as possible. With my paint tray loaded with varying shades of yellows and creams, I get to work finishing off the last of the Swedish players’ flowy blond locks.
“Happy to see you’re alive.” Anna’s sneakers squeak against the rubber flooring. She parks herself at the bottom of my ladder, craning her neck up toward the top corner of the mural where I’m adding some highlights with my trusty spotter brush.
“Thanks. My face is healing up nicely.” I pull my bangs up to show off my fading scar.
“I meant for legal reasons. It would have been a lot of paper-work if you died.”
“Right,” I say, making my descent down the ladder.
“Taking a puck to the head is never fun, but you haven’t really worked for a hockey team until you’ve taken some rubber off the dome at some point.” Anna’s phone chimes and her gaze drops to the screen. As she taps away, I set my painting supplies down.
“Does everything in hockey sound like an innuendo?”
Anna reflects for a beat, cupping her chin. Her freshly mani-cured nails are the same blue as the Rainiers’ logo. “When you’re a pervert, yes.” She gives me a cheeky grin. I can’t tell if Anna hates me or if this is normal workplace camaraderie.
“Hey, Anna!” Jaylen comes out of the dressing room in full hockey gear. His wide smile is as bright and eager as always. Anna is average height, but next to Jaylen on skates we both look like kids watching airplanes fly overhead.
“Great, he’s talking to me.” Anna smiles like someone suppressing a sneeze.
“I’ve been thinking…” Jaylen says, leaning into his hockey stick for support like it’s a walking stick.
“Aw, cute,” she says softly.
It doesn’t deter Jaylen from interrupting our conversation. He gestures toward the mural. “Since this is our rink, don’t you think we should be in our blue home jerseys?”
“Don’t you think you should get out on the ice?” I snap back. I know what he’s doing. I can tell by the way he’s leaning into her and smiling wide enough that it reaches his eyes. He’s trying to get his way. He’s trying to make this god-awful commission last forever.
“You don’t like how the white jersey stands out against the blue backdrop?” Anna asks, entertaining him. She’s only human; Jaylen’s charm is hard to resist, and it doesn’t help that she is contractually obligated to make sure the players are happy.
Jaylen wobbles over to the mural and uses his stick to point out areas of improvement. “I do, but what if it was reversed? Blue jerseys and a light background. Right now, it kind of looks like we’re all drowning in water. What if we were skating on ice?”
Jaylen’s gold chain peeks out of his shoulder pads and catches the light, and I know it’s over for me. There is just enough bare chest and chain necklace showing for him to get his way. I’m going to be stuck here forever, painting this mural and telling him to break various appendages.
“I do like that better. Great suggestion, JJ,” Anna says with more positivity than I thought she was capable of faking.
“Yeah, great suggestion,” I say through my teeth.
Jaylen mouths the word sorry to me sympathetically.
“It will take me at least a week to change the colors.” I bend down and start riffling through my supplies, making sure I’ve got enough paint left. I’ll need to pick up some more Super White from the paint shop, but I’ve got enough wash brushes left over to make the changes.
“Should we get you a helmet?” Anna’s sudden charisma has run dry, and I’m left with the stinging realization that there’s nothing I can say to convince her to leave the mural as is.
“I’m never going near the ice again.” And once I’m done with this mural, I’m never going near a paintbrush again either.
Anna leaves without a goodbye, but Jaylen loiters.
“If you were actually serious about creating good luck for yourself, you would start with a new number,” I say, motioning to the thirteen stitched on his shoulder sleeve.
“Thirteen? I already told you, it’s my favorite number. My childhood best friend picked it out for me when we played mites together.” He relaxes into an over-the-head arm stretch. “Even if I wanted to, it’s a pain in the ass to change your number during season. Promotional material and merch is already made. I’m not trying to be a dick and inconvenience anyone.”
“Except me,” I mumble, turning my focus and energy back to the mural.
“Say yes to being my good-luck charm and I won’t have to.”
A group of players pop out of the locker room and Jaylen is swept up down the hall. With Jaylen off my back for the time being, I get back to work completely revamping everything I’ve already completed. I know art is supposed to be a labor of love, but I remember the love hitting me a little harder than this.
I’m not as good as I used to be; my creative instincts aren’t nearly as sharp. I should have known blue jerseys on an icy white background was more aesthetically pleasing. If I really had a knack for this, I wouldn’t need Jaylen to point that out. I guess not painting for four years dulled all my edges.
It’s no wonder I quit chasing this dream—the second--guessing is exhausting.
* * *
As I stretch my neck after hours of repainting, a large rolling laundry bin slowly wheels out of the locker room and into my peripheral vision, creeping up the hall toward me like a robot vacuum.
“Hello?” I call out.
There’s no response. As the laundry bin continues to creak down the hall, I notice someone covered in towels hunched over behind the bin. They pick up speed as they go to pass me. I step out to stop them, but they don’t slow and instead run right over my foot. I yelp in pain, hopping on my good foot while the other throbs. Figures, the one day I don’t wear my combat boots I sustain a foot injury.
“Sorry!” Jaylen jumps up from behind the bin, sending the towels that once concealed him to the floor. “Are you okay?” he asks as he frantically picks up the towels and shoves them into the bin.
I bend down and examine my foot. “I’m fine. You weren’t going to kidnap me by shoving me into that laundry bin, were you?” I slowly ease more weight on my injured foot. I’ll live.
“Of course not. Why, would that have worked?” He leans against the rolling laundry bin in a cocky cool-guy pose, but quickly stumbles as the bin starts to roll back.
I watch in slow motion as it rolls its way directly toward my sketchbook and paint supplies. It’s loose like a rogue shopping cart in the wind as it slams into open paint bottles, knocking them over like a bowling strike. I limp over and assess the damage. He’s tie-dyed my black-and-white sketch of a raven—it looks like a parrot. Great.
“Here, take a towel.” Jaylen is at my side offering up a damp towel from god knows which hockey player’s wet butt cheeks.
“It’s fine.” I brush him off. While the raven sketch is now a mixed-media piece, none of the other work is damaged, and the mess is minimal. Jaylen is quick to mop up the spilled paint with his towel before tossing it back into the bin.
Getting back up to our feet, I notice he’s in costume. He looks like a samurai with the red jumpsuit base, long brown vest on top, and yellow tie around his waist. But the red makeup carefully caked around his right eye like a bruise lets me know he’s dressed as Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender . Another player soon follows out from the locker room, slipping into a fur-trim blue jacket—another Avatar costume.
“Halloween was last week,” I say, screwing on the lids to my paint and proactively avoiding another spill.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t still be here when we finished practice. I was trying to avoid the ridicule from you by sneaking out of the locker room. We’re going to Comic Con this afternoon.” Jaylen wiggles his fingers, motioning me to lay it on him, like a wrestler provoking their opponent. “Come on, hit me with your best chirp. I deserve it after what I pulled with Anna.”
“I think you guys look great.” Their costumes look custom; I’m impressed.
“I’ve got Jaylen to thank for introducing my daughter to Avatar . Harper is convinced she’s the real Princess Yue,” Wells says, reminding us of his presence.
“Lucy, this is Wells.” Jaylen quickly jumps in to accommodate a formal introduction.
“It’s Chief Arnook today.” Wells shakes my hand.
“It’s sweet that you guys are doing this for Harper. She’s going to have a blast today,” I say.
“I’m doing this for myself. I love Zuko,” Jaylen says proudly. “Check this out.” He reaches behind his back and pulls out two large prop swords. “I had them custom-made to look exactly like they do in the show.” He waves them around in slow motion. Wells takes a step back, dodging one of Jaylen’s swings.
“That’s amazing.” I lean in to get a closer look. I didn’t think I would ever discover common ground with Jaylen, but his appreciation for one of the more nerdier subcultures is rather refreshing.
He quickly pulls them away from me, and while sliding them into the scabbard strapped to his back, he says, “You don’t need to mock me. I already know it’s nerdy.”
“Talk some sense into him, Lucy. No one needs a sword that costs more than a hockey stick—never mind two of them,” Wells says.
“They’re actually dual swords. Two halves of one single weapon,” I say.
Jaylen’s jaw drops and the corners of his mouth slowly creep into a smile. “You know Zuko?” His voice is slow and gravelly, like that night we met. He almost sounds sexy now that he’s not begging me to wish him good luck.
Looking into his eyes right now is dangerous. Jaylen has teen-heartthrob eyes—shiny, wide, and hopeful, the type you would see in some coming-of-age movie where the senior high schooler is played by a hot thirty-year-old actor. It’s getting increasingly difficult for me to continue being so short with him the longer he stares me down. I’m worried if he doesn’t look away, I might start begging Jaylen to take me to senior prom. I can’t let him distract me like this.
“You’re not the only one who likes anime. You’re not that interesting,” I say, bending down to grab my work tote and sling it over my shoulder.
“ Avatar isn’t technically anime,” he argues.
“Are we really doing this? Are we really going to have that debate now, because I thought you had somewhere to be.” I push up my sleeves, ready to get into one of Reddit’s most heated debates.
“I’ll meet you in the car, JJ. Don’t let her near that sword—she might cut you,” Wells says, patting Jaylen on the shoulder as he steps by. We watch him disappear around the corner.
“Come with us and we can fight about it all afternoon. I’m sure I could fashion you a Mai costume quick with hockey tape and what you’re already wearing.” Jaylen’s eyes travel up and down my body and suddenly I wish they were his hands.
I cross my arms. “I’m clearly more of a Katara.”
“Not a chance,” he scoffs dismissively, and I know we could be at this all day and enjoy it.
The concept of Jaylen is easily dismissible. The vapid jock archetype looking to distract me from personal growth for the sake of his own selfish needs is uninspired. But he doesn’t feel so trite standing in front of me now in full cosplay, leaving to take his friend’s daughter to Comic Con. He might actually be interesting; not nice or pleasant or pleasing, but actually interesting.
I pull myself back, physically and emotionally. “I can’t today anyway. Not only would I be embarrassingly underdressed next to you guys, but I’ve got to run an errand for work.” And I should probably redo my raven sketch. Although thanks to the chiseled model standing in front of me right now, I find myself a bit more inspired by the human body than a bird.
“Too bad,” he says, lingering in the hall.
“Have fun without me.”
“I’ll try.”