Chapter 15
Nick asked Ryan to slow down three times. Finally he said, “If you crash and ruin my leg again, an entire NHL team is going to fuck you up.” Ryan hesitated for a moment, the sun bouncing off his aviators, then eased off the accelerator.
“So you know how to draw tigers? This isn’t some joke my sister set up?”
“How could she have set this up? She clearly had no idea you were going to show up at the museum today.”
Ryan was silent, drumming short fingernails on the steering wheel of a battered metallic blue muscle car.
“Besides, it wouldn’t really be funny,” Nick continued. “She has a better sense of humor than that, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah. Well, no.” They both thought that was funny and cracked up.
Ryan turned at a bank of rust and gold chrysanthemums by a brick sign announcing they were entering the high school’s compound. He parked behind the school, and they got out. “You have to jiggle the handle a little,” he said, and Nick dutifully jerked the passenger handle until the door would shut.
Ryan led them up to the back door of the school. It was locked. He glanced at his watch, said, “Shit,” and jerked his head around to the front. “So in San Jose when Stevens tried to check you into the boards, but you just squirted out of the way, how did you do that?”
Nick grinned. “I just accelerated.”
“There’s an awesome clip of him hitting the plexiglass instead of you. His face sort of slides down it.”
“I’ve seen that,” Nick said. “I probably enjoy it more than he does.”
Ryan barked a laugh as they went up the steps to the main entrance. A security guard nodded to him and stopped Nick. “What’s your business here?” he said—pleasant enough, but not a guy who was planning to fall for something.
“He’s with me,” Ryan said. “Some building and grounds stuff.”
The guard looked at Nick for a long time, then motioned to him to move his arms out so the guard could see his waist. Nick complied, giving Ryan a wry smile. The guard waved them through the metal detector. Ryan walked through. Nick hesitated, then stepped through, and the thing gave a low angry buzz like a bulldog on the other side of a fence.
“Step back through,” the guard said, all business now. Nick walked back through.
“It’s my leg,” he said. “Got a lot of metal in it.”
“Can you take your jacket off?” Nick took his jacket off and let the guard examine it, then spread out while the guy patted him down. “You have any weapons on you?” he asked.
Nick was shaking his head when Ryan said, “This is Nick Sorensen.” The guard looked at them blankly. “Of the Red Wheels! Come on, man. You have to recognize him.”
“I’m a football guy,” the guard said, stepping back to look at Nick. “Let’s see your ID.”
Nick produced it while Ryan tapped his phone. He showed a team picture to the guard. “Huh,” the guy said. “A Red Wheels player, huh? You guys gonna win the Cup this year?”
“A little defense would help,” Nick said, taking his jacket and following Ryan down the hall to the cafeteria. It was a large rectangle, windows overlooking a courtyard on one side, open to a hallway on one short end, with the kitchen and student lineup area on one long side. The remaining short cinderblock wall was blank. “Our canvas,” Ryan said, throwing his arm out.
Nick rocked back and studied it. A few straggling students across the room took his photograph and giggled. “You have something in mind?”
“No,” Ryan said.
“You just kicked the can down the road? When you were interviewed?”
Ryan shrugged. “I did time, man. A year for a piddly drug charge, but it’s on my record. I was lucky this school was willing to give me a job as a janitor.”
“Hard to get a job with a record,” Nick said. He cocked his head. “A tiger, then?”
Ryan gave him a thumbs-up. He got paper and a stubby pencil when Nick asked for them, and stood back while Nick sketched the wall in proportion, and then a tiger viewed from the side. He hadn’t sketched anything since … well, since the crash. He just hadn’t wanted to.
He flipped the sketchbook to show Ryan, who pronounced, “That is awesome, man!”
Nick’s mouth twisted as he evaluated it. “Lacks menace. It’s more like an anatomical drawing.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“What if its head is turned toward us and it’s roaring?” He flipped the page and resketched the tiger.
“Dude. Nailed it!” Ryan said, leaning over his shoulder. A couple of kids sidled up to them, guy-giggling.
“Hey,” Nick said. “Are you in the art club?”
“No,”one of them said. “We’re hockey players.”
“You realize you can do both,” Nick said flatly.
“Art club is for losers,” the bigger boy said.
Nick dropped his head and raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He turned to Ryan and said affably, “Turns out I’m a loser. Must be why I got nudged out for the Selke Award a couple of years ago.”
The boys’ eyes bulged.
“Wait. You’re Nick Sorensen,” the bigger one said.
“People keep telling me that,” Nick said. He stood back and angled the paper. “What do you think?” The boys and Ryan crowded around. Ryan slapped him on the back. “If you have a marker or some chalk, I could do the outline right now,” Nick said. “Then the art club can paint it tomorrow.” He slid his eyes sideways at the students.
“We could maybe join …” the smaller one said. “To help Nick out.”
Nick put a hand on each of their shoulders. “That would be great, but it’s Ryan’s project.” The guys took selfies with Nick, asked for hockey tips, and moved on. Ryan scrambled after a chalk marker and sat on a lunch table while Nick sketched the tiger in. “So how does Alyssa keep up with everything?” Nick asked, his arm arcing to make the tiger’s back with one bold stroke. “She’s got a demanding job, the boyfriend, the friend she helps with party planning …” He kept his eyes on the wall, waiting for Ryan’s response as the tiger began to emerge.
“She’s dating somebody?” Ryan said. “I didn’t know that.” He shrugged. “She’s super woman. Better than the rest of us and happy to remind you.”
Nick finally glanced over and gave Ryan a rueful smile. He wasn’t getting involved in family dynamics—he’d gotten the information he wanted. Alyssa wasn’t dating anyone. And he’d helped Alyssa’s brother—she’d for sure be grateful for that. Always smart to bank a little goodwill.
Twenty minutes later the big cat’s lines were on the cafeteria wall, right down to the claws, and Ryan had ushered him back to the parking lot. “You saved my ass, man. Thank you so much.”
“Happy to help,” Nick said. “I kind of enjoyed sketching something out again.”
And he was aware of how much he’d liked touring the museum with Alyssa that morning. Twice he’d risked putting his hand on the small of her back to guide her, and both times he’d felt a flicker of feeling he didn’t allow himself.
Enjoying life was off-limits now. He’d have to watch that.