Chapter 1
Jack
I deliberately match the skates and place them in the proper cubby, making certain there is a left and a right of each size, and that the laces are tucked in correctly.
When I’m done, I carefully check the register again, even though I’ve counted the money three times and it’s come out the same each time.
When Gabi walks in to take over, I’m just sliding the till closed and signing off in the register book.
“Hey!” she greets me cheerfully.
“Hi, Gabi. How are you? How’s school?”
“Oh my gosh, you will never believe what happened the other day.” Finger-combing her brown hair up into an alarmingly high bun, she launches into a story of high school drama. I listen politely, even though when I’d asked about school, I’d really meant her classes and not the gossip.
“I don’t remember high school being like that for me,” I tell her when she finishes. She laughs, and punches me in the bicep. I love the way she always treats me like her older brother.
“How many criers today?” she asks, peering around me at the rink to see how many little kids are skating.
“Not many. It was a slow day.”
“Cool. Well, have a good afternoon! Do something fun, it’s gorgeous outside.”
Gabi is right. Outside, the sun is shining and the sky is a lovely, clear blue.
It feels almost oppressively muggy after the artificial coolness of the ice-skating rink.
I step to the side, sheltering momentarily in the shade provided by the awning.
Bringing up my banking app on my phone, I check my balance: forty-six dollars and fifty-two cents.
More than enough to get by for a week until I get paid again, and definitely enough to go looking for a birthday present for Nate.
Happy to have so much money, I walk the mile and a half to This Man’s Trash. There are several secondhand and consignment shops near the SCU campus, but this one is my favorite. I never leave without finding something good.
The bell over the door tinkles, cheerfully announcing my presence and making me blush. There is no sneaking in and disappearing into the racks.
“Hello,” a happy voice calls from behind the register. “Any green clothing items are on sale today—a dollar fifty no matter what it is.”
“Thank you.”
“You would look lovely in green,” she continues, smiling and eyeing my hair. My already warm face burns. “With that pretty hair.”
I can’t manage a response this time, so I settle for a strangled laugh and shuffle between the nearest racks to hide.
God, what I wouldn’t give to have been born anything but a redhead.
I don’t want attention, and I don’t want strangers talking to me.
I want to fade quietly into the background, and not cause any trouble.
Of course, because the only luck I have is the bad variety, I was born not only with dark red hair, but am 6’5”, pale, and covered in freckles. A pheasant parading around as a peacock.
Not really sure what I’m looking for, I aimlessly slide the shirts along the rack.
Most of these look like women’s clothing, but the thing about thrift stores is, nothing will ever be in the place you think it should be.
I’m on to the third rack by the time something catches my eye.
I pull it out for a better look, grinning.
Green, which is a win for me because a dollar fifty is right on budget.
There’s a motif of a donkey on the front, and the slogan Here for the ass .
It doesn’t quite make sense, and is definitely inappropriate, which means it’s perfect for Nate.
Unfortunately, it’s a women’s shirt, and somebody took the liberty of chopping off the bottom half.
Biting my lip, I duck down a bit and hold it up to my own chest. It’s a large enough size that it would probably work.
Nate isn’t as wide as me, and I bet I could squeeze into this if I really put my mind to it.
Cropped, though. Deciding to hold on to it while I think, I tuck the hanger under my arm and continue on.
There isn’t really anything I need beyond something for Nate, but I like looking and I don’t have anything better to do today.
My persistence pays off when I find a vintage Detroit hockey shirt in the men’s section that just happens to be my size.
Not green, unfortunately, so I’ll have to pay full price, but worth it since I can wear it to support Max .
Clothing racks exhausted, I head back to my favorite section: the books. This is where the real treasures are found, and I have to remind myself that forty-six dollars in my bank account doesn’t mean I can buy forty-six dollars of books.
The book section looks particularly full today, which is exciting, since I was here only a few days ago and raided it pretty thoroughly. Tucking the shirts more firmly up under my arm, I start sorting through the paperbacks stacked haphazardly in the bin.
Most usually end up being harlequin-style romance books—the kind with naked men on the cover, typically with their arms around a scantily clad woman.
Normally, I bypass these since they rarely feature queer romance stories, and there is only so much straight sex I can handle.
Once, I lucked out and found not only a queer romance, but one that included hockey players.
It’s one of the only books I’ve kept, since I usually exchange them once I’m finished.
Maybe, if I don’t find anything new today, I’ll just re-read that one.
“Finding everything okay, hon?” the woman from the front asks, stopping next to me with clothes folded over her arms. I blush, because that is always my body’s first reaction to someone talking to, or looking at, me.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
She smiles and totters off beneath her mound of secondhand clothing.
I go back to the books, carefully picking each one up and inspecting it.
I create a pile for keep and a pile for leave .
At the end, there are quite a few in the keep pile, and if my mental calculations are correct, I’ll still leave here today only spending seventeen dollars.
Figuring out how to carry everything without damaging any books takes me a minute, but I manage to get everything to the counter.
Naturally, my face is on fire and I have a hard time meeting the cashier’s eye.
Why does every single thing have to feel so fucking embarrassing?
“Looks like a successful day!” she says happily, typing things into the register one by one. When the price comes out to four dollars cheaper than I’d been expecting, she winks at me. “Fantasy books are free today.”
I smile back this time, even though the kindness makes me squirm. “Thank you.”
“Are you a student over at the university? You come in often,” she notes, and I nod. “We get some nice university things on occasion—college kids buying new, and donating the old. They get snapped up right quick, but I could set a few things aside for you next time I see some?”
Shame burns in my chest, hotter even than the blush on my face.
I suppose being a regular at a place like this makes it pretty apparent that I don’t have money to burn, and I wouldn’t spend frivolously even if I did have it.
Her offer is both kind and warranted, seeing as I have almost nothing to show for my time at school.
Student athletes aren’t provided any team merchandise beyond jerseys, and the fifteen percent discount that is offered on apparel at the school store barely brings the price of a shirt down to thirty-five dollars.
I have only one SCU hockey shirt, and I only have that one because Nate made a huge production of “accidentally buying the wrong size and color” and he “couldn’t be bothered to return it.
” He’d given it to me and then gone back to buy another for himself, acting as though the whole charade wasn’t wildly transparent.
My friend, wild and energetic and social butterfly that he is, might also be the nicest person I’ve ever met. I love him dearly .
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that,” I tell the woman, and she beams at me as she hands me my bag.
“See you next time, hon.”
I breathe out hard as I leave the store, cheeks puffed out as I exhale and shake out my arms. The fact that talking to someone as nice as that makes me anxious is ridiculous and a little embarrassing. I need to channel my inner Nate. Maybe by feigning confidence, some will find me be accident.
As I walk toward the SCU campus, my phone buzzes with a text message. I pull it out, already sure I know who it is. There’s only one person I know who texts me regularly.
Nate
Micky Mouse, where you at??
Jack
Downtown. Finished my shift and went to the thrift store.
Nate
You check your email? Coach wants us to come in for a meeting this afternoon.
A lead ball of fear plops heavily into my stomach at these words.
Panicked, I pull up my email and wait impatiently for it to load without the use of Wi-Fi.
I speed up the pace of my walking, glancing up from my phone and trying to mentally calculate just how fast I could make it to campus. I could run, if I needed to.
Just as Nate said there was, an email from Coach Mackenzie is sitting unread in my inbox. It was sent two hours ago.
“Oh my god,” I whisper to myself, and speed up again until I’m half jogging.
Jack
Oh my god I didn’t check my email! I didn’t see it holy shit thank god you said something.
Nate
Chillllll, Micky Mouse, it’s not for another two hours. I figured you were in your dorm reading or I would have texted you sooner.
Sorry, pal.
Seriously, stop panicking. I can feel it happening from here.
Jack
I might be late, I’m still like two miles away from campus!
Nate
Are you walking backward? Since when does it take you two hours to walk a couple miles?
Jack
It COULD happen, is all I’m saying.
Nate
Share your location, I’m coming to pick you up.
Jack
No, it’s fine, I’m going to jog.
Nate
Share it!