Chapter 9
ZANE
You know what drives me nuts about Jakob Martin?
Like, aside from basically everything? The fact that he wouldn’t take me at my word drove me ape shit.
Maybe I should’ve expected as much since he was the one to practically drive his fist through my face.
I still considered him a lightweight, but he came on heavy at the bar.
That I’d challenged him to a fight in a candy store couldn’t have helped, I guess.
But I’d also extended an olive branch. Humility comes at a premium in my world, and I had to swallow a ton of pride to stick my hand out for him to shake. If you ask me, his refusal to accept my very thoughtful truce offer said more about him than it did me.
Yet Jakob lingered in my mind. That’d never happened to me before.
I’d had some on-ice enemies dating back to my high school days, but thoughts about them never haunted me away from the ice, one way or another.
I sure as hell didn’t pursue them outside of hockey.
Also different was that I experienced such an odd mix of emotions about Jakob.
Not just anger and hate, but something more existed, something massive actually, but I couldn’t name it.
If I told Jax Echlin about it, he would say I was losing my mind. I hated to think of what the rest of my teammates would say. It didn’t stop at just thinking about Jakob Martin constantly. Weird things started happening to me. What do I mean by weird? Well, you’ll see.
Here’s something really odd: I started seeing him places, like locations around Buffalo other than Parkside Candy and Spot Coffee.
I thought I saw him in the Dairy aisle at Wegman’s before realizing I’d found a regular customer who bore only a vague resemblance to Jakob.
Ditto for standing in line to buy a slice at La Nova Pizza.
On a Thursday afternoon, I experienced another Jakob sighting that probably wasn’t the Larkin Lion at all, this time at Planet Fitness. I’d never seen him there before, which cast doubts on whether or not that really was him.
At first, I only saw him from the corner of my eye as I grunted my way through dumbbell curls. Actually, I’d been looking into the mirror, teeth clenched, and watching my pecs and biceps strain with exertion. Then I spotted him, also by himself, loading plates onto a barbell.
Then I dropped the dumbbells and they came within a hair of landing on my feet. Thank God he seemed not to see that as he laid down on the bench and positioned himself under the barbell. Wise-asses like him could have a field day with that.
I didn’t bother returning the dumbbells to the rack, hurrying over to Jakob. I stood over him as the barbell rose and fell over his chest. His face had turned a light shade of red, his eyes squeezed shut, but I saw his dimples.
God, did I ever.
That stopped me cold. Thinking about his dimples (or any bodily feature) again meant it wasn’t a coincidence.
I still hadn’t figured out why I would entertain those thoughts.
They popped up and I couldn’t control them one way or another.
I looked again, as if drinking up the sight.
Again, it exceeded my own understanding.
I only went with what felt right in the moment.
When his eyes opened, he saw me towering over him. His hands trembled and he nearly lost control of the barbell. I reached down with both arms and helped pull the weight off of his chest.
“Shouldn’t lift alone like that,” I said. “Could be dangerous.”
“So that’s how you’re gonna do it, huh?” He sat up and rolled off the bench.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? Doing it this way wouldn’t be as messy. Yeah, there would be some witnesses, which complicates things, but at least you can make it look like an accident.”
He spoke in such deadpan style that I couldn’t help thinking he totally meant that.
That was so beyond ridiculous, so Larkin Lions…
so Jakob Martin. And yet part of me understood what drove him to think that.
Certainly, he would remind me that I’d been the one to challenge him with payback on my mind.
Still, I’d offered a truce, and I meant it.
What would it take to convince this guy that I was on the level?
“Of course I’m not,” I said. “Murder couldn’t have been farther from my mind. Why would I want to kill you anyway?”
“I dunno, bub. You’re the one who literally picked a fight in a candy shop.”
See? I told you so.
“That was me being stupid, Jakob. I’ve already admitted to my mistake. I also told you Officer Humongous straightened me out about the whole thing.”
Jakob didn’t shrug, roll his eyes, or make any other moves to communicate his utter disinterest in this conversation.
Only, disinterest feels like the wrong word.
Aversions sounds much more appropriate because that was the vibe I felt.
Maybe I should’ve expected it, but part of me thought he would be glad to see me.
I realize how odd that must seem. How can I not? I didn’t know what’d driven me to approach him like I had, only that I needed to do it. It was the right thing. Like, if I didn’t make that move, I could regret it forever. When those moments arrive, you don’t fight the feeling. You go with the flow.
“You don’t believe me?” I asked.
“Why would I? You’re a Remington Riptide. When you look up shithead in the dictionary, you’ll find your team photo.”
“Oh, you would not.”
“Would you like me to pull out the dictionary, bub?”
“No, I think I’ll be all right.”
Silence settled over us like a cold front that refused to simply pass through.
I watched Jakob’s chest heave in and out, something I normally never did with anyone but now couldn’t help it for some reason.
That Jakob wore an ultra-tight workout shirt didn’t help matters.
It boasted the two well-developed ovals of his chest. I also noticed a pair of hulking arms that probably could’ve managed much heavier weights than what I was lifting.
I tore my eyes away from the sight. Like I said, I normally didn’t notice those things, like I’d never before stopped to notice someone’s dimples. I couldn’t help myself. Once my eyes landed on them, I’d sunk far too deep.
God, I needed to stop thinking like this in the worst way.
“Look, I made you a peace offering yesterday,” I said.
“Yeah, I know you did.”
“So, what gives?”
“What gives is I don’t know if I can trust you. For all I know, you can just be trying to soften me up, so I won’t suspect a thing. And then, BAM!!, you take a shot, lay me out flat, and you’ve had your revenge.”
He drove his fist into his palm at the bam part, like he couldn’t say anything without some kind of dramatic flair.
“You know,” I said, “if anything, you were the one to sucker punch me, and—”
I shut up before making this any worse. Allow me to add an item to the ever-growing list of things about Jakob Martin that drove me nuts—he could make me defeat myself without even trying.
“I’m not going to punch you, kick you, threaten you, or do anything else bad. You’ve got my honor.”
“You’re a Remington Riptide. You don’t have any honor.”
I gritted my teeth and felt my hands balling into fists. Jakob Martin would make me go sky high if he kept it up.
“I swear on my mother’s grave.”
“That’s going a little far, isn’t it?”
“Swearing on my mother’s grave instead of something less serious?”
“No, I mean swearing on anyone’s grave when you’re full of shit. Disrespectful as hell.”
I drew a deep breath, struggling to keep my sanity in check.
“Tell you what,” he said, “why don’t you do some bench presses and let me spot you? See if I would do anything to you.”
“Deal.”
I slipped onto the bench, reached for the barbell, and curled my fingers around it.
Then I slid it out of the holder and tensed my arms, prepping myself to bear the weight.
I grunted at first. God, it felt so heavy.
I lowered the weight and struggled to push it up from my chest, wondering how the hell Jakob could’ve managed that.
I mean, the weight had challenged him too, but he probably would’ve finished his set had I not interrupted him.
Normally, I would’ve performed ten to twelve reps, but that was with lighter weights.
With this barbell, I swore my arms would give out after the first six, but I had to press on.
After the seventh, I couldn’t lift the barbell from my chest. I felt stuck. Honest to God, my arms seemed to quit on me. Like I said, I had to press on, especially with Jakob spotting me. So, I summoned all my might, struggling to force the weight from my chest, but my arms balked.
I gritted my teeth and grunted, but I couldn’t look like a weakling in front of Jakob.
I had to at least keep up with him. As I struggled, I watched Jakob hovering over me.
His chest and arms looked even more powerful from that angle.
Don’t ask me why I would entertain those thoughts when a two-hundred-pound barbell was about to crush me. I knew it wouldn’t help matters.
Oh God, I couldn’t do it. My muscles might as well have turned to mush, and I was totally screwed, but I held out hope until the very end that I could handle it myself.
Finally, Jakob reached down, and lifted the weights from my chest. Then he stuck out a hand for me to grab and pulled me upright. I waited for him to make some dumbass comment about how the barbell had almost flattened me, but he didn’t.
Surprising tact for a Larkin Lion.
“So, do you trust me now?” I asked.
“Trust you? Why the hell would I?”
“I just let you spot for me.”
“Dude, that was just to see if you would be willing to make yourself a little vulnerable. You passed that test, sure, but I can’t really trust you. Not after everything that happened.”
Then the kind of laugh that suggested he considered me a complete idiot spilled out of his mouth. And I almost screamed, honestly concerned that I might lose my mind.
But I still had to ask myself the million-dollar question: Why did I give two shits about Jakob Martin?