Chapter 19 Hits The Fan
HITS THE FAN
CLEO
THE BUZZ OF MY PHONE WAKES ME.
What the fuck? I mutter as I grope around my bedside table in the dark. I knock over my water bottle before finally finding it.
Fuck, I say into the phone as I right the bottle. Luckily, only a little water leaked out, but my notebook is wet.
Clee? It’s my brother.
Is Dad okay? I ask groggily.
’Course. Why wouldn’t he be? I recognize the belligerent tone Jordan gets when he’s been drinking.
Because you’re calling in the middle of the fucking night, that’s why. I check my phone, and it’s 2:33 AM. I need my eight hours of sleep. People who know me don’t wake me up unless it’s life or death. This better be important.
It is. Then he pauses so long that I wonder if he’s fallen asleep.
What the fuck, Jordan? I prod.
I heard that you’re going out with fucking Roy Matsumoto! That’s not true, is it?
Shit. My carefully constructed universe, where I pretend that the past doesn’t exist, is crashing down. I optimistically hoped that this moment might never come.
You know… he’s a really nice guy, I begin.
Clee, I can’t fucking believe this. I told you what he did to me—he totally screwed me over. He’s the reason I’m working construction instead of playing hockey, and now you’re going out with him? Jordan is practically yelling now.
He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would do something like that. And I know him really well now, I protest.
You’re getting taken in by him! What’s the deal here? Is it because he’s rich? Why would you believe a total stranger over your brother?
I take a deep breath. This might be the world’s worst timing, but now I can find out the truth. Tell me exactly what happened when you got kicked off the team.
Why? You already believe whatever bullshit Mats has fed you. Jordan sounds whiny, the way he does when things don’t go his way.
Mats never told me anything, I insist.
Huh. There’s another long pause. I told you. There was this bullshit complaint from another team, and then the coach started digging and looking for shit. And your boy was only too happy to supply it.
Wait. This is the first time that Jordan has mentioned another team. Originally, he said that Mats was the one who started everything.
What was the thing with the other team? I ask carefully.
It was nothing. Trash talk. College hockey is full of fucking babies.
Why is it never Jordan’s fault? This isn’t the first incident. There was also that time in high school, when he was accused of taunting a Black player. I didn’t believe it, of course, but I wondered. So, I double-checked with his teammates, who told me it never happened.
How do you even test someone for racism? They’re going to deny it if you ask.
Are you sure you didn’t say anything that Mats might have misunderstood? I’m grasping here, but it’s so important.
Oh, fuck you. Stop taking his side. Because you know what? He’s going to fuck you over to get back at me, Jordan says.
That makes zero sense. You didn’t even know we were dating.
He sighs heavily. You don’t exactly have the best track record with guys. Anyone could con you.
Why? Because I’m so desperate that I’m grateful for any male attention? Go fuck yourself.
Well, it’s a good thing you’re so fucking popular, then. Because you need to break up with him. Like, yesterday.
I sit up in bed. Excuse me? Do I tell you who to date?
I would never date your enemy, Jordan promises solemnly, like we’re living in some blood feud.
Seriously, Mats would never set up a teammate for discipline or expulsion. There’s no way, I insist.
Oh, so I’m a liar now? he asks.
Why won’t you tell me exactly what happened?
I just told you. He made up shit about names I called him in practice. You know me, you know what I’m like. There’s no way. Jordan’s voice cracks. You’re my sister, Clee.
Now my heart hurts. I know. And I love you. But things don’t line up here. Again, it’s so frustrating to be in the middle of the only two people who know what happened and neither will tell me.
I can hear Jordan’s laboured breathing, then he huffs. Fine. As long as you’re dating that asshole, I want nothing to do with you.
Click.
I drop my phone and stare up at the ceiling, which is barely visible in the darkness.
I run through everything I know. Jordan repeated what he’d said before, about Mats platooning him.
But Mats would never lie about a teammate.
He was selected for the Athletic Council in his freshman year, which is a big deal.
I’ve never been asked, even though I’m captain.
Maybe it’s because I suck at keeping secrets.
But now there’s something new: an incident with another team. Yet another thing I have no way of finding out about. I can’t ask Coach Norman. And Mats would never tell me.
Fuck. Why isn’t life like police shows? There would be a CCTV camera that recorded everything on the ice. And I’d get to see it.
Maybe the truth is more complicated; although there’s no way that Jordan and Mats can both be right. I’m so upset that it takes ages to fall back asleep.
Unsurprisingly, I’m exhausted the next day. Good thing it’s a Thursday and we don’t have a game. I drag myself through my classes and manage not to fall asleep.
I’m walking to practice with Becks when my phone rings again.
Jesus. Why do people keep calling me? Have they not heard of texts or DMs?
I bitch as I pull out my cell. Oh, yay, it’s my dad.
Maybe he’s going to come to my game this weekend.
Every week I let him know who our opponents are and try to sell the game a little.
This week’s match against St. Clare will be exciting.
Hey, Dad.
Clee. How’s my golden girl? His rich voice sounds like he’s right beside me. I smile, even if he can’t see me.
I’m good. Ready for Saturday’s game against the Saints. It’s going to be a great one, our last game went into penalty shots.
Incredible. And, if I remember correctly, you made yours, right?
Of course, I say. So, can you come?
I’m hoping to. I’ve got a site meeting, but I’ll push them to speed things up so I can get there.
I do a mental handspring. Oh, that’s great news. Should I arrange your ticket for you?
Nonsense, I can pay for my own ticket. Unless you’re selling out the place with your great play?
I chuckle. No, the women’s games aren’t a sell-out. Yet. Because we are getting bigger crowds lately.
So, I want to talk to you about this thing with your brother.
Shit. Well, Jordan always was a tattletale.
Look, Dad— I begin.
Sweetheart, listen to me. I don’t have much time, because I’m in the truck right now. But this Roy Matsumoto guy fucked over your brother, right? So, what are you up to? You’re not really dating him, are you?
I… uh… Only my dad has the ability to render me tongue-tied. But I buck up. I am, Dad. And he’s a really great guy. I feel like there’s more to the whole situation than what Jordan told us.
Clee, I know you haven’t had a lot of experience dating—
I splutter in protest because, as far as I know, my dad knows zilch about my boyfriend history. Unless Jordan told him that too. Oh, Clee’s so desperate, she could get taken in by any good-looking guy.
But, as a man, I know that guys will say anything when they meet a pretty girl… He lets this advice trail off, so I don’t have to hear my father explain that Mats lied to get in my pants.
Mats isn’t like that. He’s very popular. He could literally date anyone on campus, I insist. Becks nods emphatically.
One of those playboy types. You’ll be better off without someone like him.
He’s ignoring everything I said. And now he’s already on to the next problem.
Your mother’s in my ear because Jordan’s refusing to pick you up for her big birthday do on Sunday. So, can you mend things with your brother, so I don’t have to be your personal taxi service?
Is that what it boils down to? I’m not supposed to date Mats because my dad doesn’t want to spend a couple of hours driving me around?
Dad, I’ve got a great idea. I can come home with you when you come for the game Saturday night. I’ll stay at your place. Or Mom’s. Then nobody has to make an extra trip, I suggest helpfully.
As I said, it’s not a sure thing that I can come. If my meetings go long, I won’t be there.
Anger and disappointment swirl inside me. Dad, this is so unfair. You don’t even know Mats. You’re just going off all the bullshit that Jordan told you.
His voice stiffens. Clee, there are millions of boys you could go out with. But I’ll tell you one thing: That boy will never be welcome in my home.
And, on that happy note, he disconnects.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck, I hiss.
So, good news, then, Becks replies.
Oh, yeah. First, my brother found out I’m dating Mats and tore me a new one. Now, my dad is trying to finish the job. They want me to break up with Mats.
Cock-a-doodle-doo, crows Becks.
What was that? I ask.
That’s the sound of chickens coming home to roost. I knew this would happen. You were too chicken to confront your brother when you should have, and now your problem is snowballing.
I don’t know how confronting him earlier would have helped. They’re never going to like Mats unless he gets Jordan back onto the Mustangs.
She shrugs. Like that’ll happen. So, what are you going to do?
Ugh. First, I need a ride back home. Any chance you’d like to spend Sunday afternoon at my mom’s birthday party? I plead.
None. Was Jordan supposed to drive you?
Yeah. But now he’s pissed at me, so he won’t come here. I groan.
Or, here’s a suggestion, Jordan can sack up and drive here instead of acting like a big baby. She shakes her head. I don’t get why your whole family caters to him.
He got sick when he was very young, so my parents worried more about him. I was only a toddler then, so I don’t remember any details. But my parents always acted extra-protective, and I picked up on that.
Becks frowns. Oh, sorry. I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me before?
Because there’s a lot of bullshit in my family, I explain. Sometimes I don’t know if things are real or exaggerated.
My dad is charming, and good at storytelling. But he exaggerates for dramatic effect. I’ve heard him spin small incidents into epic tales.
But still, Jordan’s fine now, right? I mean, he can play competitive hockey, Becks says.
I nod. If only I could find out what really happened last year. Like, exactly what Jordan said. Do you think there’s a file on his case?
We’re just outside the arena now. Becks puts a hand on my shoulder.
Nellie, there is certainly a file, and what’s even more certain is that you’re never going to get access to it.
So, if your brother won’t tell you exactly what happened, and your boyfriend can’t tell you, do you know what you have to do?
My throat tightens as I swallow. What?
You’re going to have to decide who to believe. You’ve spent all this time living in this la-la land, where there are no villains. But you know that can’t be true. Becks is at her bossy best.
Who do you think is telling the truth? I ask.
It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s about what you believe, she replies.
But honestly, I don’t want to choose sides. I love my family. And maybe I don’t love Mats yet, but what we have is something full of possibilities.
We practise, and I put my all into it. No matter how fucked my life is, hockey is the one thing I can rely on.