Chapter 12
Twelve
Olivia
Two firm knocks at the front door pull me away from my game of Zelda. I drop my Nintendo Switch on the pillow without saving my place and jump out of bed.
“I’ve got it!” I shout across the apartment.
My epic failed attempt at a sabotage proved to be the turning point in the Freeze’s losing streak. An unpredicted pivot that
left me feeling so defeated I started preparing myself for Erik Parker’s welcome parade into the Hockey Hall of Fame. Erik’s
been all over SNN doing his Good Samaritan press tour as he makes his final push for a Hall of Fame induction. Apparently,
Erik loves donating his time and money, which is strange because I’ve never heard of a single Parker charity initiative until
this season. With all the photo montages of him golfing or standing awkwardly beside what seems to be a paid child actor,
I’ve decided it’s time someone finally called him out on his bullshit.
I tousle my hair at the root for volume and breathe into my palm to check my breath on my walk across the apartment.
Pausing in front of the door before I open it, I reach into my bra and tug the flesh of my boobs up, fluffing them like pillows for a bit of extra volume. I force a big showgirl smile.
With the turn of a knob, Brody Parker is standing in my doorway. Before I can say hi, Ivy pops out from around the corner
with a long cloud of smoke following her like a shadow. She wedges herself between us, waving her bundle of burning sage all
around him from head to toe. Brody looks to me for an explanation.
“They do this every time a cis straight man enters the apartment. It will only take another thirty seconds or so,” I say,
standing back because smudging makes my eyes water and I’m wearing mascara.
“It’s all good. Need me to spin around or lift my arms like this?” Brody stands in a wide stance with his arms overhead like
he’s getting searched with a metal detector.
“All clear,” Ivy says, retreating back to her spot on the couch beside my sister. Tori nods casually to Brody and then glares
over at me.
I reciprocate with a be-cool glare and usher Brody into my temporary bedroom. Stepping into what could very well pass as an
oddity antique shop, he gasps, spinning a full three-sixty to take it all in. I’ve been meaning to ask Ivy if we can move
some of the animals into storage, but they got really mad at me for buying the wrong type of toilet paper last week and I’m
not trying to ruffle any feathers—or tufts of fur.
“Right, the room. There’s a couple of things you should know. My sister, Tori, is letting me crash with her for a bit, Ivy
is really into taxidermy, and they’re lesbians,” I say, shutting the door behind us.
“I figured.” Brody takes off his puffer jacket. It’s a bit much for fall, although it’s right at home next to the taxidermized
duck on the floor behind the door.
“I mean, some straight people have wolf cuts and wear cargo pants. Shouldn’t assume.” I sit down in the chair next to Ivy’s work desk to avoid a Rage Room tonsil hockey repeat. I can smell Brody from across the bedroom and now that I know how good he kisses, I’m not sure I can restrain myself.
“And there’s a taxidermized beaver holding the lesbian pride flag next to your couch.” Brody lies across my bed on his side.
He’s splayed out like the Creation of Adam. His boxy T-shirt rides up and I can see the space above his waistline. A trail
of dark hair runs down his stomach and disappears into his pants.
I feel my finger lifting toward him intuitively. I sit on my hand. “I forgot about Beverly,” I say.
“It’s good to see you again,” he says. “I’ve got something for you. A thank-you for suggesting the haircut and helping me
with my image. It was exactly what my career needed.” He smiles and digs his sharp teeth into his pillowy lips as he pulls
himself up off the bed. I don’t know if I want to face-plant into the divot he’s left on my duvet and inhale until I suffocate
myself or if I want to pin him down and take a razor to his head, shaving him as bald as Mr. Clean.
Before I have time to decide, he hands me the gift bag I was politely pretending to ignore this whole time. My cheeks flush
with the familiar awkwardness I used to feel as a kid opening gifts in front of family and friends. I pre-plaster a fake appreciative
smile on my face and dig in, pulling out white tissue paper like a magic trick.
Not even my best fake smile could survive what I pull out of the bottom of the bag. As a way to thank me for helping him land
a Bare campaign, he has gifted me a Minnesota Freeze Brody Parker number ninety-one jersey. I lean in and sniff. A new Brody
Parker jersey—it’s a faint silver lining, but I’ll take what I can get.
“It’s the new alternative jersey. Technically it’s not available to the general public until the New Year, but I pulled some strings. What do you think?” Brody leans in. His eyes widen with his smile.
I force myself to give him a nod of approval. Hopefully he thinks I’m so moved by the gesture that I can’t find the right
words to thank him. I mean, I am speechless, after all.
“Put it on!” He’s sitting on the edge of my bed, watching me intensely—there’s nowhere to hide.
My eye twitches under the strain of a forced smile. Is it hot in here? It’s as if every dead animal decorating this tiny room
is collectively laughing at me, cackling as they watch me panic.
I slowly rise out of my chair and dive headfirst into the jersey. I can’t help but gag as I catch a glance of my reflection
in the full-length mirror across from me. Chills run up my body like the type of hot flash you get before realizing you’re
sick with the flu. The Parker name. The Freeze logo. On my body.
“You okay?” His brows squeeze together much like this jersey is around my neck.
With my eyes pressed shut, I dig my nails into my prickling palms. “The Juicy Lucy burger I had for lunch isn’t sitting well,”
I say. After a few deep breaths, I open my eyes.
“Say cheese.” Brody snaps a picture with his phone before I’m ready. He takes a few more while I grind my teeth together and
pray it ends soon. While he’s looking at the pictures, I tug the jersey off and lay it over the back of the chair.
“I thought about getting you one with your last name on it, but then realized I don’t know your last name . . . or any of
your social media handles. You’re tough to find online—and trust me, I went digging.” Brody tosses his phone next to his jacket.
Together, we sit on the edge of the bed.
“I only use social media for my data business.” And when I stalk you online.
“You must have a last name though.”
“Of course. It’s . . .” Panicked, I try to stall. I can’t tell him it’s Hinckley or he’ll figure out who I am with one quick
Google search. I look around the room for help. “Ohhh . . . Chair . . .” My eyes dart around the room in search of something
else useful. “Clock . . .” I say. Ugh, why are there so many dead animals in here.
“Your last name is Oh Chair Clock?” Brody leans back, his biceps flexing under the weight of his torso.
I’m not going to let him throw me off my game. My plan isn’t going to fall apart over a stupid fake last name. “I said it’s
O’Chairlock. It’s Irish.” I lean back to lock eyes with him.
“I thought you said you were Indigenous?”
“I am. My mother’s side is Irish,” I say without hesitation. My mom’s side of the family is Scottish, but what’s the big difference?
In hindsight, her maiden name—Stewart—would have been a better lie. Touching the Parker jersey really disoriented me.
“That’s cool. My mom’s side of the family is Korean.”
My head practically spins like Beetlejuice. This is the first time Brody is willingly bringing up his family.
“Are you two close?” I ask.
Brody’s lips press together in a thin line and for a moment I think I’ve hit a nerve. He runs his palms down the legs of his
pants before cracking a half smile my way. “Of course, she’s my mom.”
“That’s great. I know how hard it can be to balance both cultures and still feel like a whole something.”
“I’m a whole hockey player,” he replies like it’s a postgame press conference. “But, yeah. I guess. Sometimes.”
My sister bursts into the room. I startle and Brody sits up straight.
“We’re headed to lesbian book club,” Tori announces.
“We’re reading The Body Keeps the Score.” Ivy pops her head out from behind Tori’s shoulder.
“I could have told you that,” I say under my breath.
“We wanted to let you know that we will be gone for a few hours and when we return, we will do so very loudly to alert you
of our presence. Understood?” Tori says.
“Ugh, gross.” I dramatically grimace. Brody looks at me like he does the ref when they make a bad call—offended. Shit. “Not you, Brody. I mean, like the thought of my sister hearing us.” I struggle to recover from my grimace and jolt up, scrambling
to the door. “Okay, bye!” I shout, shutting it before either of us say anything else compromising.
“I got you something else,” Brody says.
Haven’t I suffered enough? I let go of the doorknob and turn back to him with a smile. “You shouldn’t have,” I say so pleasantly it’s melodic.
“It’s kind of cheesy and now I’m second-guessing myself.” He reaches into his pocket, pausing with his hand buried deep in
his jeans, building the anticipation.
Having realized it’s not a giant signed poster of him and his dad for my bedroom wall, I relax a bit. Intrigued even, to see
the reveal.
“Now you have to show me.” I tug on his arm. It’s firm beneath the pads of my fingertips. I want to press my nails into his flesh, but
I don’t know if it’s misplaced anger or passion driving me.
Brody pulls out a handful of unique shells from his pocket and a loose piece of gum. “Oops, that’s mine,” he says, plopping
the gum into his mouth. He gently pours the seashells into my open palm.