Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
CHANCE
I messed up. Big time.
In my defense, fans have impersonated janitors and hotel employees to get access to me. I had one fan steal her father’s police badge to sneak into the lockers.
If I’d seen the female mechanic wearing a jumpsuit or if I’d spotted a logo of a garage on her car, I might have been able to tell who she was.
Heavy on the might.
But I don’t know many guys who would have seen a pretty woman in an unmarked vehicle and instantly assumed she knew her way around a Lamborghini engine.
No matter my excuses, I’ve learned my lesson: keep this big mouth of mine shut .
I don’t speak a word as we drive into the heart of town. The stillness is awkward, but at least I don’t have another chance to put my foot in my mouth.
I don’t much like the taste of socks anyway.
She seems happy with the quiet and doesn’t even turn on the radio. Which is unfortunate. Because when my belly suddenly decides it wants to practice a yodel for the good of mankind, there’s nothing to cover the noise.
Forest-green eyes shoot over to my reddening face and then down at my stomach. Her pretty mouth tightens at the corners, but she politely turns away without comment.
Shut up. I give my stomach the eyeball of doom, a skill I saw from my mother growing up when my sister and I were being particularly rowdy in church. But maybe I need more practice because my rebellious intestines change from a yodeler to a sperm whale that just. Won’t. Shut up.
The pretty mechanic tightens her fingers around the steering wheel and shifts in her seat.
Since it would be impolite not to say anything now, I explain, “Uh… I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“You were skating on an empty stomach?” Her shocked tone is louder than my stomach’s next whale call.
“Did you see me training earlier?”
“No,” she says quickly. Too quickly. A blush forms over her cheeks and makes her freckles stand out in the dim lighting of the dusk.
I wonder why she’s lying. Is it possible her first impression of me wasn’t as a clueless buffoon? Did she see me on the ice before then?
Something tells me she did.
And that blush tells me she was intrigued.
Or at least, reluctantly intrigued.
I lean forward but before I can ask more, she blurts, “There’s a burger joint two streets down. The burgers are good and the price is reasonable.”
I could very well tell her that a ‘reasonable price’ doesn’t swing me one way or the other since I’d planned on dining at the hotel’s restaurant with very little thought to what the cost would be.
I also don’t tell her I can’t eat greasy food when I’m training.
My stomach, appeased by the promise of sustenance, calms down and we make it to the burger joint in record time.
The burger joint looks like every diner across America, almost as if one guy shared a blueprint with his diner-owning buddies and no one bothered to change anything.
From the neon sign outside, to the red booths, to the glass window with the sprayed-on ‘Bob’s Burgers’ logo, it strikes a chord of nostalgia.
My college teammates and I used to drive to the nearest truck stop after every away game, rewarding ourselves with milkshakes, burgers and questionably large servings of French fries.
“I’ll wait out here,” Tinkerbell says, pulling out her phone.
Yep, until I know her name, she’s Tinkerbell—the fairy I had a somewhat questionable attraction to for an embarrassing number of years.
“Do you want anything? My treat.” I offer.
She scrunches her nose and, at first, I think she’ll turn me down. But then she shrugs and says, “My sister might be hungry since we had a light lunch. I’ll come with you, but I’m paying for my own burger.”
I grin because I have zero intentions of letting that happen. However, admitting that might send her skittering back to the truck, so I don’t argue.
The moment I open the door of the diner, there’s a stir. Gasps ripple like a wave with every step I take toward the counter.
“Is that Chance McLanely.”
“Quick take a picture!”
“Is it really him?”
I’m used to the whispers and walk confidently forward but soon realize I’m walking alone. I glance over my shoulder and see Tinkerbell hunkering back.
I tap her on the shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. By the way, is your name Chance McLanely? Because if it is, I think you forgot to mention that you’re famous .”
“Not a hockey fan, I see. ” I chuckle. If she was, she’d have recognized me on sight.
“Not a sports fan in general. Especially if there’s violence and fighting in the middle of a game.”
I cringe. Given her view on violence in sports, her not recognizing me is a blessing. If she’d known about me, about… everything, she probably wouldn’t have bothered to help me with my car.
Eyes alert, she huffs past me and flings herself at the counter.
“I’ll have a double cheeseburger with onions, chopped not sliced. And no mayo please.”
After tossing her order like a star pitcher in a losing game, Tinkerbell ducks her head.
Hissing at me, she demands, “Order and let’s get out of here. I think people are taking our pictures without permission.”
I smirk at her aggrieved tone and look around. She’s right. Everyone has their phones up, recording us.
I walk to the counter and give my order. Sadly, the clerk isn’t writing anything down because she’s too busy staring at me.
“Did you get that?” I ask with a patient smile.
“Sorry. I just… I can’t believe you’re here in Lucky Falls, the town where nothing ever happens. “She bounces on the tips of her toes. “So the rumors are true? You’re playing with the Lucky Strikers this season?”
I smile, not admitting it outright. Max wants to have a big press conference and make a splash of it.
Not that it’ll do him much good, but all publicity is good publicity, I guess.
Stars in her eyes, the cashier shoves a pen and the corner of her work apron at me. “Can you sign this?”
“Sure.” I scribble my name shakily. It’s been a while since a fan has come at me with anything but disdain.
Is it small town hospitality? Or is it that I’ve been so focused on my losses, I hadn’t seen the support that still remained?
She leans in and whispers, “I don’t care what anyone says. You were the best part of every game and they robbed you of that cup. I can’t wait until I see you in the league again.”
My heart warms. “I appreciate that.”
“Let me get your order.” She taps it in when I repeat it and then personally comes around the counter. “I’ll show you to your table. Wait here. I’ll bring your order to you when it’s finished.”
“Thanks,” I peek at her tag, “Shaina.”
She blushes.
I start to walk after Shaina when, once again, I realize I’m missing a pint-sized fairy by my side.
Tinkerbell is still standing in place, looking dumbfounded.
“Tink,” I gesture to her, “over here.”
She blinks a couple times and follows me to the table.
I pluck some napkins from the dispenser because I’m a messy eater and there are never enough napkins. Tinkerbell slides into the booth across from me. People are still staring so she lifts the side of her flannel and ducks behind it.
“They’ll stare even more if you act like that.”
Her tongue darts out to swipe across her lips. Slowly, she drops her flannel and sits straighter. “What did you call me back there?”
“Back where?” I check my phone.
Still no call back from my agent.
Let’s see. I called about six hours ago, so I’ll try him again in another hour. If I keep calling, someone’s gotta pick up, right?
“At the counter. What was it?” she demands.
“Oh. Tink? Short for Tinkerbell.”
“My name isn’t Tink.”
“What is it then?” I set the phone down.
“It’s April.”
April. The end of hockey season. The season of balmy blue skies, fresh blooms and grass that’s as green as her eyes.
“I’m Chance.” I lean back, studying her.
“I gathered,” she mumbles, eyes darting around.
I gesture to the onlookers. “You get used to it.”
“Used to what? Being on display?”
I chuckle.
“Here’s your order, Chance.” The clerk from earlier sets our bags and drinks before us. “I added a little dessert. On the house.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did.” She lifts both fists in a ‘cheer up’ gesture. “You got this.”
I smile and leave her a generous tip.
When I look up, I’m not surprised that April is already booking it for the car. A glance out the window shows her flannel shirt flapping like wings.
It’s cute seeing her like this. She was so confident when inspecting my car that, somehow, she grew to ten feet tall. Now, she looks every bit of her petite frame.
With a nod at all the folks snapping pictures, I crash through the front door of the diner.
“Hey, April, wait up!” I jog toward her.
My calls are in vain because she’s already come to a standstill.
And it’s not because of me.
A scrawny guy has her by the wrist and is leaning way too close to her face.
The moment I see his hand on her, lightning strikes behind my eyes and thunder claps from somewhere in the distance.
I’m moving before I can really think it through.
One minute, I’m standing a distance away. The next, I’m holding April’s wrist and dragging her behind me, going toe-to-toe with the guy in a mechanic jumpsuit.
“Who the h—” The guy’s eyes widen when he sees my face. “Chance McLanley?”
“April,” I say, turning to her. “You okay?”
She nods and slips her hand out of mine, massaging it lightly.
The guy sidesteps me and approaches her again. “April, come on. Don’t be like this.”
“I said not now, Evan.”
“How much longer are you going to ignore my calls?”
“Back off, man. She clearly doesn’t want to talk to you.” I shove his shoulder.
Eyes on the ground and voice a quiet croak, April says, “It’s okay, Chance.”
I passed third grade. I know the definition of ‘okay’. And it’s as clear as day that this isn’t okay at all.
“Huge fan, McLanely. But give me and my girlfriend some space,” Evan says.
My fingers curl at my sides because I instinctively dislike this guy. His beady eyes travel to my fists and he smirks.
“There’s no sin bin in town, McLanley. Put your hand on me again and you’re spending the night behind bars.”
I grit my teeth, ready to grab his collar and show him how I really earn a penalty.
But before I can, small, warm fingers clamp around my T-shirt and tug.
“He’s not worth it,” April says quietly. “Let’s just go.”
She’s only touching fabric. Not an inch of her is on my actual skin, and yet I drop my hands immediately like she sucker punched me to the gut.
April releases my shirt, loops an arm around her waist and hurries to her car. I go after her, hoping she’s not crying. I’ve never been a guy who knows how to comfort a woman when she cries.
“I’ll call you later, April!” Evan the Bozo yells behind us. “And McLanley!”
I stop and face the jerk.
“This doesn’t mean I hate you.” He smirks. “Next time, I’ll have a jersey for you to sign.”
My adrenaline pulses, but I force myself to keep following April. Whoever that guy is, he better not see me again. Because the next time, even if April tugs sweetly on my shirt, it might not be enough to hold me back.