Chapter 5 Beck
BECK
At least, that's what I kept telling myself. I had to get the community buy-in, or town council would pull the plug.
"Yoo-hoo. Over here." Mavis stood by the closed canteen. The metal door over the counter was pulled down, but Rob stepped out of the back holding a bag of Cheezies.
"Want some?" He popped one in his mouth and held the bag out to me.
I waved him off. "I'm still recovering from the roast beef and mashed potatoes I had for lunch at the G-Spot."
"The Wednesday special." Mavis elbowed me. "Did you treat yourself to one of their special coffees? She pumped her eyebrows.
"It was hard to say no. That lady is pretty aggressive."
Mavis chuckled. "She doesn't offer it to just anyone off the street. Muriel must remember you."
"She remembered the name, but not the face," I said, rubbing the scruff on my chin. "I guess I don't look eighteen anymore."
"Not a day over twenty-five." Mavis winked. "Did you walk here?"
"It looks like I'll be walking everywhere for the next week or so." After my disastrous run-in with Clara at the café, I'd headed to the garage to check on the airbag replacement for my rental. "They're waiting for a part. I guess one-day delivery hasn't come to Chance Rapids yet."
Which meant I was stuck here.
"There are worse places to be at Christmas." Rob licked the orange dust off his fingertip. "You should check out the Carnival. There's chainsaw carving, axe-throwing, a sweet beer garden…"
"I'll be long gone before any of that." I interrupted. "And this isn't my first rodeo. I've been to my fair share of carnivals."
The beer garden. That was something I hadn't thought about in a long time. One year, Clara and I hid a six-pack in the snowbank and had our first kiss behind the tent while the band played. I pushed the memory into the depth of my body, somewhere I wouldn't feel it.
"They haven't changed a bit." Her eyes lit up and she smacked the arm of my jacket with her hand-knit mitten. "You should stick around and play in the Classic!"
"I'm a little old for that." I tugged the damp wool hat off my head and pointed to the gray hair speckling my dark sideburns.
"Oh, honey. You're a pup." Mavis squeezed my arm. "They've added a new age category—"
She was interrupted by the screech of a guitar riff at stadium-level volume. The unmistakable opener of Thunderstruck blasted through the arena speakers.
Mavis covered her ears. "Gee-whiz," she shouted. "Let's tell Donnie to turn that down."
A wall of arctic air met us as we stepped into the main part of the rink. Chance Rapids had always been one of the coldest barns. I put on my hat and blew hot breath onto my hands. "The new facility won't give the kids frostbite." I yelled over the music.
Mavis didn't acknowledge my bad joke and strode ahead.
A skater flashed by, and I recognized the silhouette right away.
She used to wear a skating skirt, brown tights, and a turtleneck.
Now she glided past in black leggings, a tight T-shirt, and black gloves.
Which in itself was hot as hell, but seeing the curve of her neck and the hollowed spot above her collarbone, made that uncomfortable feeling in my chest come back.
Clara transitioned to backwards crossovers, gathering speed. I knew she was setting up for a jump. How was she still doing this fifteen years later? I'd hung up my skates ages ago.
Her focus was sharp as she dug in her toe pick. But instead of squeezing everything in tightly, her arms and legs flailed as she started to rotate, then she crashed onto the ice.
"Ouch. Right on her ass. That's going to leave a bruise." Rob winced, but with a smile on his face.
I stiffened. He was right, she would be bruised, but my body bristled at the sleazy tone in his voice.
"Honey, are you okay?" Mavis called out. "Donnie, turn down that racket."
Donnie turned down the music. Clara stared at the goalie crease lines in front of her.
"She's fine," I said. "The lutz always gave her trouble.
She fell more times than she landed it." But in the past she'd jump up and try again.
I didn't care if she hurt herself, at least that's what I told myself, but the relief that flooded through me when she stood told me that wasn't exactly true.
Clara skated to the exit without a glance in our direction. The metal latch clanked as she left the ice and disappeared into the hallway to the dressing rooms.
Rob turned to me. “Tell me again? What did you do to her?"
"Me? Nothing."
“Bullshit. I know a jaded woman when I see one."
I knew exactly what I did, but I didn't owe this asshole an explanation. I was a dumb kid, but unlike this rink, I couldn't stay frozen in time. Clara and I were high school sweethearts, and our relationship ended the way most in this town did. I left. Apparently, one of us wasn't over it.
Donnie cleared his throat.
"We dated when we were teenagers. Kid stuff." Did I owe Rob an explanation? Hell, no. But I respected Mavis, and the animosity between Clara and me required some form of explanation.
"Donnie, do you remember Beckett Shepherd?" Mavis clapped her gloves together, a non-response more unnerving than if she'd said something.
"Of course I do." Donnie's voice was flat, and he crossed his arms.
"And you know Rob Cooper." Mavis gestured to Rob, who was scanning the ceiling. He snapped his focus back to the conversation and held out his hand.
"We haven't officially met." Donnie made no move to shake Rob's hand.
Rob's hand clenched into a fist before he dropped his arm to his side. "I was hoping you could walk me through the facility. I'm putting together a report for the town about the arena's condition."
"Condition?" Donnie's arms stayed crossed. "This place runs as good as the day it was built."
Right on cue, a piece of plastic trim fell from the boards and clattered on the concrete.
Rob picked it up, eyebrows raised, and slapped it back into place. "Condition like this?"
I tried not to wince.
"Around here, we fix things. We don't throw them out and replace them with something shiny and new that has no character,” Donnie said.
"Ah, I see what happened here,” Mavis said. "Clara told you about the arena proposal. She shouldn't have done that."
"I'm glad someone did," Donnie replied. "Why don't you tell me what is going on? I'd like to hear it from the mayor.”
"Oh, Donnie." Mavis's gravelly voice went soft, a tone she probably reserved for her great-grandchildren. "It's still in the early proposal phase. There's red tape with these things."
Mavis was hard to read. One minute she seemed genuinely interested in the project, the next she'd ask questions that made me wonder if she was trying to kill it entirely.
"Red tape, huh." Donnie's lips narrowed. "Does it involve tearing down the arena to build townhomes for skiers, or those damn Airbnb things?"
Mavis opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Donnie's expression hardened. "Good luck with that. Last I heard you work for us, the people.” He jutted his thumb at his chest. “We, the people, don't want more empty shoeboxes."
My stomach dropped. What had I expected? That I'd roll into town, flash some renderings, and everyone would hop on board because it's a hockey town?
"Maybe I should go back to Windswan with the proposal." I bluffed. William King wanted Chance Rapids.
"Whoa." Rob grabbed my arm. "It's one old-timer and a high school dropout who hasn't even seen the plans. They're making judgments based on… nothing." He spread his arms wide. "It's nostalgia. It's time this town moved into the twenty-first century."
In theory, I agreed with him. But it was the second time a day that I'd wanted to jersey the guy and deliver him a serving of uppercuts. Did I sound like this asshole?
"Well, I think this old-timer has heard enough. You'll have to excuse me," Donnie said. "That girl's going to need her coat." Clara's sleeping bag with arms was draped over the boards.
“I’ll take it to her." I gathered the miles of puffy fabric in my arms, catching the faint scent of her shampoo. It was something earthy I didn't recognize, not the vanilla she used to wear. "It will give me a chance to explain the project properly."
Donnie raised an eyebrow. "You sure that's a good idea, Shepherd?"
It was a terrible idea. She'd made it clear this morning she wanted nothing to do with me. But this was a small town, and if she was going to be spreading rumors about my project, at least they'd be right.
My laugh caught in my throat and came out more like a croak. "Probably not. But I'm doing it anyway."
The smell of sweat and stale beer hung heavily in the concrete hallway. I shuffled Clara's coat to my left arm and raised my right to knock on dressing room number two.
My heartbeat thumped in my ears as I waited for a response. I raised my hand to knock again when a loud clatter stopped me. It sounded like something, or someone, had fallen. I knocked again. "Clara? Are you alright?"
No response.
"Clara, I'm coming in." I spoke through the partially opened door.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped into the fluorescent light of dressing room number two.
Clara's bare back was to me, hunched over a pile of makeup on the floor.
She was wearing a pair of big white headphones, humming angrily as she swept the plastic containers and brushes into a terry cloth bag.
She hadn't seen me. I still had time to save myself. I backed into the hallway, managing to ease the door halfway shut, but just before it clicked, she looked over her shoulder and saw me.
"What the hell?" Her voice permeated the steel door.
Could I drop her coat and run away?
Before I could act, the door flung open. Clara's nostrils flared as she clutched her T-shirt to her chest. "What are you doing?" Music, still ACDC, blared from the earpieces hooked around her neck.
Holding the coat like a peace offering, I averted my gaze from her heaving chest. "You forgot your coat."