Chapter 8 Beck #2
"And people see that. You might have grown up here, but now you're a stranger." Logan set his eggs on his toast and cut off a piece.
As he chewed, I thought about what he'd said. "So what should I do? Volunteer to play Santa in the parade?" It was a joke, but Logan dabbed at his mouth with his paper napkin.
"That's not a bad idea, but we already have the perfect Santa. He came here to film a movie a couple of years ago and stepped in when we needed a Santa. Right now you're kind of the bad guy in this story.”
I sighed. "Listen, about Clara Dalton and her opposition—“
Logan brushed his hands together then held them up. "Megan told Charlotte all about your history with the Dalton girl. I'm staying out of that."
"She's poisoned half the town against me."
His lips drew to a line. "Maybe so. And hell hath no fury, but don’t let that stop you. There's still the axe-throwing contest. If you're good with a chainsaw you could help out with the log carving, and we always need more help at the beer garden."
“Wait.” His cheeks dented with a smile. “What am I thinking? I know the best way."
"Am I going to like this?" I finished my breakfast and washed it down with the last of my coffee.
Logan shrugged. "Maybe? But at this point, Shepherd, if you want to get the town on board, you might not have any other choice."
"You're killing me with the suspense."
"What does this town love?"
"Gossip?"
Logan choked on his coffee. "Well, yes, but what else?"
"Hockey…"
"Mmmhmmm. And what is the biggest event in the Winter Carnival?"
"The Classic? But what does that have to do with me? Isn't it the Bobcats versus the Eagles?"
"Yes, but we've added one more game. Our local beer league versus Windswan's old-timers."
Fuck. All of a sudden I knew where he was going. And I didn't like it. "I still don't understand what this has to do with me." I played dumb while I tried to think of an excuse why I couldn't brush off my skates and join them on the outdoor rink.
"Come on, Shepherd." Logan put on his jacket. "Remember when you were a kid? How excited you would've been if an NHL star laced up for your Christmas Classic game? Hell, I think half the grown-ups in the town would be pumped."
Muriel dropped off the check. I grabbed it before Logan could, and handed it back to her with a hundred. "Keep the change."
Call me Scrooge now.
Muriel slipped the cash into her apron. “What’s this I hear about you playing in the Christmas classic?”
I shot a look at Logan.
“I’m not sure I’ll still be in town.”
Her smile faltered. “That’s too bad, honey. I’m sure a lot of people would love to see you and Mr. Brush here on the same line.”
“You play beer league?” I put on my coat.
“Hockey is hockey,” Logan said. “And there’s some pretty good players on the team. Rumor has it that Windswan has recruited a couple of ringers.”
Muriel glanced around. “I heard it’s Brad Diefenbunker.”
Brad was from my era, and a damn good defenseman. “What’s he doing up here?”
This time it was Logan to glance around. Were there ears everywhere? “I’m not supposed to say anything. Charlotte sold Brad a cottage on Windswan Lake. He’s technically a resident now, and totally eligible to play on their team.”
“But he’s what? Thirty?”
“Each team is allowed a line of younger players. We’re currently short exactly one young buck.”
Muriel elbowed me. “You’d better make plans to stick around.” She pulled a bottle of whiskey from her apron and shook it. “Next time I’ll make sure you get a special coffee.”
This was the kind of stuff that would get me accepted into the community. “I don’t have any equi—“
Logan interrupted, “We’ve got plenty of equipment here for you.”
I’d be an idiot to say no. “Well, Muriel. It looks like I might be around to enjoy one of your winter coffees.”
“Attaboy.” She winked. “I told my friends that you’re not a bad guy. I’m glad you’re proving me right.”
Logan and I left the G-Spot and the sun broke through the clouds. Everything around us sparkled. “I forgot how pretty it is here,” I said, more to myself than Logan.
“There’s a lot more to this town than the scenery.” Logan stopped at a shiny Land Rover. “It took a while for me to adjust to people doing things just to be nice.” He opened the door. “What are you doing now?”
“I’ve got to update my presentation for the community meeting, now that we know the future of the charity programs.”
Logan nodded. “Are you able to send me the details?”
“It’s just a verbal from Mr. King’s lawyer.”
“Oh.” Logan pushed the start button and the SUV growled to life. “I’ll wait until I see it on paper. William King isn’t known for his business ethics.”
Logan wasn’t telling me something I didn’t already know. “His assistant is getting it drafted as we speak.” The lie just came out.
“That’s good to hear. Do you have time to go for a drive before you update your proposal?”
The more time I spent with Logan the better. “Sure.” I jogged to the passenger seat and hopped in. “Where are we going?”
His eyes sparkled, the same way they had earlier when he roped me into playing in the damn charity classic. “You’ll see.”
“As long as you haven’t entered me in the cross-country scavenger hunt, or signed me up for the dunk tank, I think I’ll be okay.”
“Buckle up, Cinderella. I’ve got a pair of skates waiting for you with your name on them.”
“You don’t waste any time, do you?” I laughed. With Logan on board, the project was one step closer. Victory was in sight. What had started as a business meeting looked like it was turning into something I hadn’t expected—a friendship.
Logan and I strolled through the lobby full of hockey parents without getting recognized. Their attention was focused on their kids on the ice.
As we passed dressing room number two, I stiffened, remembering the flash in Clara’s eyes when she overheard the stupid comment I made to Rob.
Would Logan have lowered himself to that level? No.
My approach had been all wrong. Why did I feel like I had to be a dick, just to get a slimy dude like Rob to support my project? Clara didn’t deserve that.
And even though she was doing her best to ruin my life, I kind of deserved it.
I followed Logan to the door with the white Bobcat paw print painted on it.
“Are you ready?” Logan paused with his hand on the door.
“For what?”
“To meet your new team.”
Inside the stinky dressing room about a dozen old guys were lacing up skates, taping sticks, and chirping each other.
"Boys, we got ourselves a ringer,” Logan's voice boomed.
The room went quiet. Wick stood and smoothed his jersey over his beer belly. "Holy shit. Shep's actually going to play?"
"Maybe," I said. "I heard you guys were good, but I won’t believe it until I see it.”
A guy with a thick beard laughed. "If Brad Diefenbunker is on Windswan's roster, we need all the help we can get."
Logan handed me a pair of skates. "Will size eleven work?"
I took them. "I hate the fact that they’re my size."
"I had a feeling. Charlie, grab him a stick."
A guy with dark hair swept into a bun handed me a stick and stuck out a paint-stained hand. “I’m Charlie. It’s an honor to play with you.”
I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you Charlie. I’m—“
“Beck Shepherd, we know,” Wick groaned.
“Nice to meet you, Beck,” Charlie winked.
Laughing, I sat on the bench, rolled up my jeans, and put on Logan’s skates.
"You're going out like that?" Wick tapped my knee with his stick as he walked past us.
"It's just practice."
Was I crazy? I didn’t even have a helmet.
I’d forgotten how good it felt to carve up hard, non-regulation ice with my blades.
"Shep!" Logan fired a puck at me. I caught it on my stick and sent it back to him, tape-to-tape.
I was rusty but not terrible. All that time at the gym didn’t mean anything. Nothing gets you in shape for hockey - nothing but hockey itself. My lungs burned after ten minutes.
Nick Tinsel skated over during a break. The guy was one hell of a goalie. “Nice skating. For an old retired guy.” He squirted Gatorade through the cage of his goalie helmet into his mouth.
"I heard that you retired too.” It was a diplomatic statement, Nick had been kicked out of the league.
“Something like that.” He handed me his water bottle.
“No thanks.” I shook my head.
He shrugged and bit the plastic tube while he spoke. “Logan's got me working with the kids."
“What kids?” Nick Tinsel was a good-looking dude, and if he was on the ice with Clara…
“The peewees.”
“Any power skating?”
“Nah. There’s a local girl who takes care of that. She could probably skate all of us under the table—including you.” The fact that he was chirping me was a good sign. It meant he didn’t hate me.
“I know her. She was an Olympic contender at one point.”
“Yeah.” He finished his water bottle. “It's a sad story really.”
“Sad?”
His eyes met mine. “She’s a great coach now. It would be a shame if they lost their ice time."
"They won't. I'm making some changes.”
Nick shifted from foot to foot in his skates. "I hope so, man. Those kids get the ice-time scraps. I heard they have to practice on the lake sometimes."
Donnie walked up to us and set his shovel against the boards. “Not just sometimes. They’re at the outdoor rink this afternoon, practicing The Yellow Brick Road number."
The little kids had to skate on the lake ice? “Don’t worry Donnie. I’ll make sure those flying monkeys get plenty of time to practice their jumps - indoors.”
He picked up his shovel. “I knew you’d come around.”
Donnie disappeared into the back and the Zamboni engine grumbled to life. The buzzer sounded. In the dressing room, my hands shook as I untied the laces of Logan’s skates.
I knew where to find her. It was time to tell Clara the good news and get her off my back once and for all.
But first, I needed flowers that weren't dead.