17. Harper
17
T he moment we got to our seats at the arena, my leg wouldn’t stop shaking. We had early admission so I had time to settle in and our seats were pretty private.
I had no idea which Hartman brother to expect on the ice tonight, but I gave myself enough credit to think I’d recognize him as soon as he did.
I hoped it would be August. He was so good and other than that first game when he’d walked off the ice in a fury, he’d been loving it out there.
But like my sketch, he’d received zero credit.
I was sure about one thing. Troy hadn’t played a game since the season opener. And I sure hoped he didn’t decide to show tonight.
The announcements started and Frankie looked over at me with one empty seat between us, giving me the thumbs up and a wink to let me know ‘we’ve got this’ as he had on our way over.
I would never do anything to get him in any trouble or cause him to lose his job, but cashing that check was going to be painful.
I stilled my restless leg.
I wasn’t nervous about my sketches, I knew something would come to me. I was nervous for August, still having no clue as to why he was doing this. I glanced around, looking at the crowded house and squinted to see who was sitting in Troy’s seats tonight. They seemed to be filled.
I recognized the big red hair instantly. Grace Hartman. I couldn’t make out the man next to her, but it had to be their father, Robert. They seemed to wave at someone standing in the walkway between the stands. He was standing with his hands in his pockets and a baseball hat and waved back tentatively.
August?
It looked a lot like him when he showed up at the Bridge Lineup Cafe wearing his suit at the end of the day. His hair was slicked back the same way. His stance all the same.
But something felt off. He felt off. He was stiff and looked like he felt out of place.
“You seem nervous. Don’t worry, I won’t look while you’re working.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m certain you won’t be tearing your eyes off the game.”
Blindly, I started a light doodle of the bleachers, with fans in the distance. They were what kept this game alive. All I needed was some action on the ice to get me going.
When he finally got on, my chest bloomed. I knew it was him. The way he moved. There was a certain gruffness to it, purpose, aim. Not arrogance and misplaced confidence.
That’s how I knew the August impersonator in the bleachers was really Troy.
What the hell were these two up to tonight?
By the first intermission, I had a rough draft of one option; number nineteen passing his fans with signs. You only saw the back of him in this one, but the fans with the signs would say it all. For the second, I started a new sketch. Depending on how the game went, I’d choose which one I’d detail later.
When the game ended, Hartman proudly welcomed praise from his team, but I saw the underlying frustration. The clenched jaw. It occurred to me this was the first time I’d seen him since our playing hooky date in Manhattan. August tensed before tentatively waving up at the stands, then disappearing with the rest of his team.
Pleased with one of the two options I had to work with later, I shut my sketchbook and stood.
Frankie raised his brows. “You gonna clean those up, right?”
“You said you wouldn’t look.”
“It’s the reason we’re here, Harp, I had to look over at least once.”
I shook my head and pushed the man playfully to guide him up the ramp. “Let’s get out of here, I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” he rubbed his stomach. “Come on, I’ll take you out for a bite.”
We came in Frankie’s car and started toward the parking lot, exiting the building from the back exit, which was less crowded.
I wrapped my coat tighter as the cool wind blew against us.
“Harper?” I heard someone call behind me and turned.
“Oh, Harper, I thought that was you.” Grace Hartman tapped her husband on the shoulder as he seemed to be waiting for someone to emerge from the crowd.
Oh jeez .
“Robert, look it's Harper, you remember Anne and Harry’s daughter.” She whispered something to him as they got closer and I knew she was reminding him that I’d dated Troy for a hot minute. Hopefully, that was all.
Frankie cleared his throat when they reached us.
“Of course I remember, how are you, Harper?” He was just under August’s height. His face was nearly the same but older and his salt and pepper hair was still very much full. A good sign for the Hartman twins.
“I’m well, thank you. Um, this is my boss, Frankie. He’s my ride and I don’t want to keep—”
“Finally,” Robert yelled. “Boys, over here,” he barked.
Dammit.
I followed their gaze to see Troy and August in the distance—walking over to us. They didn’t look too thrilled about coming over here either.
I frowned as they neared. Had they switched places ? Again ?
Feeling flushed, I put a hand on Frankie’s arm to nudge him. “Mr. and Mrs. Hartman, so wonderful to see you both again, but we need to—”
“Boys, look who we ran into,” Grace beamed.
“Hey, Harper,” Troy kept his voice low and his eyes wandering. It was then I noticed the keen, sharp expression on their father’s face as he studied them.
August, who’d said nothing, walked with his head held high, not falling to his father’s scrutiny. Instead, he stood in the clean suit Troy wore earlier, hands in pockets.
I wondered if anyone else could see clearly that it was August , who just had the wind knocked out of him for the past hour.
I was instantly nervous for them both.
“We’re um… going to grab a bite. It was great seeing you all, great game Troy.” I offered my praise to the wrong brother.
He glanced up. “Thanks Harp.”
It’s Harper.
“You say this is your boss?” Robert’s interrogation moved in my direction as he studied Frankie. Who was as innocent as old men got.
Frankie laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, sir. I’ll have her home by midnight.”
I punched my boss and laughed. “Stop it. We’re actually here for a work project. We work at the Bridge Lineup.”
“Oh, are you here for a story?”
“I’m not a reporter. I work at the coffee counter…” I trailed off as I felt myself at the start of a rambling session.
Robert frowned, but Frankie cut in. “Don’t listen to her. She won’t be for long. You should see what—”
“It’s really getting cold, we should go, Frankie.”
“Right okay, I can take a hint. Great meeting you both, you should be proud. Troy’s been phenomenal on the ice the last few weeks.”
Ooof.
Grace touched my arm. “Alright well, you have to come to dinner this weekend. We’re celebrating Troy’s wins and…I think August just got a new… account or something?” She glanced back at her suited son for confirmation.
“Congratulations, August,” I offered as his eyes finally met mine.
“Thank you.” His tone was different. Almost humble, yet stern. And there was no hint of that grin I’d grown used to.
“I’m actually working on something this weekend,” I clutched my sketchbook.
August glanced down at it and frowned like he was disappointed.
“But thank you for—”
“Sweetie, listen to me,” Grace placed her hands along my forearms. “I know it’s difficult to be around people right now, and you probably just want to be alone, but it’s just one dinner with some old friends and people who—” she looked around her family, and my heart clenched, “—can make you feel at home again.”
I felt my eyes well and I stepped back gently, releasing myself from her firm hold. “Sounds great.” I turned against the wind to dry my eyes and then looked back.
Troy smiled and tossed his arm around me. “That’s a lovely idea. We’d love to have you over Harp.”
“Harper,” I corrected. If only to counter the rage I felt to shake his arm off me.
When he finally removed it, August’s jaw relaxed. “Right. Of course. I did miss that spunk.”
“Take a step back, Troy,” Robert warned, sensing my unease.
“Yeah, okay. Here, why don’t you jot down your address, and I’ll try to be there.” I handed Grace a pencil and flipped to the back of my book.
Heat settled in my chest as I paced my living room later that night. I’d barely touched my cheeseburger when Frankie and I ordered at the sports bar near the stadium.
The enraged look on August’s face was unsettling to say the least.
Was he always this cold when he was himself? It could have just been the game and maybe tomorrow he’d be a little more…dare I say welcoming?
What if he didn’t want me there and it was going to be awkward? What if without the facade, August Hartman wasn’t the sweet, gentle, funny man I thought he was. Not without the mask of his brother he hid behind.
They weren’t identical to me. If I were to never study August’s face again, I’d still know him apart from his twin miles away.
That would never change.
I’d finally fallen asleep last night when my brain stopped thinking of ways to get out of this dinner. I settled myself as being paranoid from the scarring I’d dealt with after prom night and fought against the gnawing feeling in my chest that August didn’t want to see me in that capacity. That he wouldn’t hate every minute of spending time with me around his family.
When I woke the next morning, I gave in and texted August. After all, I did have his number, why hold back?
Harper: Great game last night. Hope you don’t mind about tonight.
It killed me to commend Troy last night on his game when the three of us knew damn well who played and won. And since I doubted I could tell August—the real hockey star—this tonight. I texted it instead.
The text came as read a minute later, but nothing came back for a good twenty minutes.
August: Did you get anything good out there?
I tried not to respond within the first thirty seconds. But I couldn’t help myself.
Harper : I would say so.
There was no response for another few minutes. Then a ping.
August: Why would I mind?
Harper: I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.
August: Not any more uncomfortable than celebrating opening season in my boxers.
I sent back a face covering emoji.
Harper: Great so, no pants for you again this weekend?
August: I plan to be fully clothed. You?
I laughed.
Harper: Shame. I mean same.
I face-palmed myself in real life after hitting send on that one. And counted every painful second until he responded.
August: Good. See you then.
“What the hell are we going to do?” I snapped at my brother on the drive to Staten Island.
“You’re being paranoid, he doesn’t have a clue.”
“You don’t know Dad as well as I do.” It was true. If there was one thing my father was good at, and I’d like to think I inherited from him, it was being able to tell when someone was full of it
My father was also the only other one who knew that I stood in for Troy when the scouts came early senior year for the draft. He’d looked the other way since I had my own plans after college and had already lined up an internship on Wall Street.
We both played in college, but I never planned on making it my life. Not the way Troy did.
For Troy, he had nothing else.
For me, I couldn’t decide between the numerous things I wanted to do.
He hadn’t asked. But Troy knew he wasn’t good enough for the draft. I was.
When we hit traffic, I put the car in park, knowing we wouldn’t be moving on this bridge anytime soon.
“What about Harper?” I mumbled.
Troy raised a brow at me. “That depends, anything I should know?”
“Yes,” I answered and tossed him this week’s issue of the Lineup. “Turn to page four.”
He flipped to it. “Yeah, I saw this, amazing article, right? Good sketch too. When’d they get that?” He rubbed his chin.
“That’s her sketch. Harper drew it,” I told him, impatience eating at me.
“Are you sure? It doesn’t say—”
“I know, dammit. Just…if it comes up, you—Troy—know that she did that. It’s not credited to her, and I don’t know why, but it’s hers.”
Troy raised a brow. “What’s going on with you two?”
I put the car in drive and started moving. “Nothing.”
He shrugged and chuckled, “Well, listen, I don’t typically like to finish what others started, but let me know if you want her off your hands—”
“You keep your hands off her. Understood?”
He jerked. “Or what?”
“I would really second guess asking me that right now.”
The rest of the ride was quiet, and we arrived early, as Mom had asked.
We’d barely set our bags down before Dad bellowed us into the den. Finally, my brother seemed about as anxious as I’d been all week.
“Grace, I need a few minutes with the boys.”
“Tell them to wash their hands,” she called from the kitchen.
“Sit down.” Dad’s voice was placid as he turned on the television, which was paused at one of the games. It was hard to tell which.
“You want to tell me what the hell’s been going on the last few weeks?”
I stayed silent. I wasn’t one to question my father’s intelligence. But I also wasn’t sitting down. I stood against the windowsill with my arms crossed. And in the same respect, he knew better than to ask me to.
“What do you mean?” Troy spread his hands apart and kept his voice even.
Robert moved closer and hissed so our mother wouldn’t hear. “I mean what the hell have you been doing while your brother’s been playing your games?”
Troy shook his head and turned his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t think I could tell my own sons apart for Christ’s sake?”
Troy stood.
“Sit down, I’m not done.”
Troy dropped with a sigh. “I can’t do it, okay? I get back out there and tank again, I’ll be branded as a sophomore slump.”
“Then you need more practice, more training. You need focus, Troy. Do you have any idea what could happen—who knows about this?” He looked at me when he asked.
“The team captains,” I answered, my arms still crossed.
My father’s arms spread wide. “Don’t you have a job that you’re always too busy for your family for? Now, you’ve got time to join the NHL?”
“I didn’t join the team—I’m covering for my brother, who I don’t know if you remember, has a drinking problem,” I barked.
When my father’s expression turned from angry to solemn, I knew I’d hit a nerve. Getting Troy to quit drinking was a challenge in college but between the three of us, we pulled him through and got him to focus on hockey more than a bottle.
It was part of the reason I played for him. If he didn’t make it, it would have started all over again. Or worse.
“What in God’s name is going on here?” My mother’s voice cut into the room, and we were all silenced.
She walked in through the double doors, carrying her dish towel, flour in her red hair and sharp green eyes ready to take us all down.
Dad went to sit next to Troy, and I sat in the armchair across from them.
“Grace, why don’t you have a seat? There’s something you should know.”