3. Dean
DEAN
Well, this is a first, but I guess it had to happen eventually.
Dean Rafferty finally got stood up by a woman.
A special woman. For a morning skate date, no less.
It’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
I’m not going to make it mean more than it means.
But fuck, I really wanted to see Soleil again.
I wanted to teach her to skate. I wanted a reason to touch her in public.
I wanted her to grab onto me whenever she felt off balance and know that I was there for her.
I wanted to be the creepy fucking weirdo who smells her hair again.
And if things continued on the way they were headed yesterday, I wanted to kiss her and touch her beautiful boobs.
And then buy a pickup truck that we could have fun in.
Instead, after casually skating around an outdoor rink by myself while carrying a pair of women’s size-seven skates for two hours, I’m meeting up with a bunch of bros for a late breakfast. I’ll probably join them for a beer-league hockey game tonight.
My buddy Dave, who I went to high school with in Calgary, has been living in Kenton for six years, with his wife and little kid.
He owns a hardware store and says I can work there off-season if I want, but that I have to play for his team, the Icebreakers, whether I want to or not.
So this is going to be my Wednesday instead.
It’s cool. I’ve regrouped. I’ve adapted. I can’t control what I can’t control. Maybe something came up for Soleil and she just couldn’t get ahold of me because she was digitally detoxing—nope. Not writing stories about it. The period is over. Onward. Focus on the next shift.
I leave the skates I’d rented for Soleil at the arena in the car and walk into Locally Forked.
It’s not too crowded, and the customers are, in fact, eating with forks.
I clock Dave at a table near the front with a couple of other guys and give him a nod.
“There he is!” he calls out, like we’re in an arena and not a fancy diner.
I forgot how loud he is. “Mr. Big Shot I have a date—I can’t play hockey tonight is joining us for the end of breakfast.”
“Why are you yelling?”
“I’m not yelling!” He points at the big guy sitting next to him.
“This is Corey, one of our defensemen. He’s a mechanic and kind of an idiot, but he’s good at clearing the crease in front of the net.
This handsome fella needs no introduction,” he says, gesturing toward me.
“Dean Rafferty’s the hotshot new assistant coach of the Comets who could have turned things around but totally blew it.
” And then, inexplicably, Dave looks over his shoulder and lowers his voice. “Shit. Everyone talk quieter.”
“You’re the idiot, and I told you to talk quieter,” I say to him. “Good to meet you, Corey.”
“You and I got beef, bro…” he says as he grips my hand with his meaty paw.
“Fair enough.”
“But welcome. I recommend the Fairy Toast—avocado and egg on toasted sourdough with microgreens and grilled locally foraged mushrooms. “
Dave nods at the other guy, who looks like a goalie. “That’s our goalie, Winslow. He doesn’t like to talk. Winnie, Dean. Dean, Winnie.”
Winnie wags his chin at me and I give him a two-finger salute, but when I’m about to take the seat next to him at the table, a ray of sunlight reflects off of the prettiest, shiniest blonde hair I’ve ever seen and the jukebox song suddenly changes to “This Magic Moment.”
She’s here.
It’s Soleil. Standing up at the back of the diner next to a booth, putting on her coat. Looking right at me, but she isn’t smiling.
“Hey,” I say, playing it cool as I approach her.
“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” I vaguely hear Dave say, like I’m a toddler wandering away from him. “Rafferty, get back here!”
“Fancy meeting you here,” I say to Soleil.
She rubs her lips together and then checks behind herself. When she looks back at me she has an expression, like Are you talking to me?
“I waited for you at the outdoor rink for two hours. Did I get the time wrong? I thought you said to meet there when it opens.”
She’s looking at me like she’s trying not to laugh. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. I’ve still got the skates I rented for you in the car if you want to head over there.”
“I don’t skate,” she says, matter-of-factly.
“I know. That’s why I’m going to teach you.”
“Oh, really, now? That’s awfully generous of you.”
“Well, it’s the least I could do after yesterday. I used the slapper on my slab this morning and thought of you.”
“Excuse me?” She clearly doesn’t remember the jokes. Probably because we said so many awesome things yesterday it was hard to keep track.
“Sorry—the hard bottom. I forgot to get mitts yesterday, though. Or you probably call them grip gloves, right?”
“Ah. Well, I hope you didn’t burn your hand on the hard bottom. If you don’t mind, I’m on my way out.” She nods toward the door and starts to walk past me.
“Did you want to head over to the rink, or no?”
She glances back at me, smiling and wrinkling her brow.
“No, thank you. But have a wonderful day. You should check out Whisk It Good across the street. She’s got some really cute oven mitts.
Or you could check out The Beaver Lodge on Collingwood if you’re looking for another kind of glove.
” She gives me a saucy little wink and then says “Bye, guys” to Dave and the others and then walks right out the door without looking back.
“See ya, Solly,” Dave says.
I have…no idea how to read this situation. Did she stand me up and then blow me off? But she was still being sassy and flirty. What is happening?
When the door shuts behind her, Dave whistles at me and says, “Raff. What the hell was that?”
Shaking my head, I take a seat at their table and mutter, “I have no idea.”
“What the hell were you thinking asking her to go skating with you?”
“I may be an idiot,” Corey says, “but I’d never say anything that dumb to Solly.”
“What are you guys talking about? She said she wanted me to teach her how to skate when we went for a walk by the rink yesterday. I met her yesterday and we hit it off, and she just looked at me like she had no idea who I was.”
The three guys give each other weary looks. “Shit,” Dave says. “You met her yesterday?”
“Yeah. At Whisk It Good. She invited me to go for a walk with her after.”
Dave looks around, eyeing a family nearby who are obviously tourists, a couple of old guys eating at the counter, and the waitress.
It’s a good thing I already ate this morning because she looks about as eager to help me as Sheryl was yesterday.
Hunching over, he leans in toward me and says, “Okay, listen up. What I’m about to tell you is not something you can repeat to anyone else, all right? In Kenton or anywhere, got it?”
“Sure. Got it. Will you tell me already? Is it about Soleil?”
“Were you planning on dating her?”
“That was the plan, yes. She said she doesn’t have a boyfriend or a husband. Why?”
“Because first of all,” Dave says, “did she happen to mention she’s Coach Barrett’s daughter?”
Shit.
My heart sinks. My stomach sinks. Everything sinks. Coach’s daughter. Of course. Of course she is. I suck in a breath and, on an exhale, mutter, “She did not.”
“So that’s A.” He holds his thumb out like he’s counting. “Coach Barrett’s daughter—off-limits for you. B—She’s Noah Barrett’s little sister.”
“I haven’t met Noah Barrett.”
“You’ll meet him on the ice when we play against the Puckups. Or if you hang out at The Penalty Box. She’s off-limits. And C—she has amnesia. But D through infinity, she’s Papa Bear’s daughter. So don’t fuck with her.”
“Wait, what? Back up. Amnesia? Is that what you said?”
“Yeah. She had an accident a month ago. Fell on the ice and hit her head. Now she has amnesia. It really sucks.”
“But she knew you guys.”
“It’s aphrodisiac amnesia,” Corey says.
Dave smacks him up the side of the head.
“Anterograde. Anterograde amnesia. She has no short-term memory. She can remember everyone she knew and everything that happened up until the night of the accident, which was the night of February sixteenth. But every night that she goes to sleep, it’s like her memory of the day she just experienced is wiped clean.
She thinks it’s February seventeenth, the day after the accident. Every day.”
I scrub my face with the palm of my hand. That can’t be right. “What?”
“You know Dory, the happy blue fish in Finding Nemo?” Dave asks, because he has a five-year-old and he relates everything to situations involving animated characters.
“Even if she wasn’t your boss’s daughter, it would be like dating Dory.
If Dory was a hot woman who could remember things for an entire day instead of just a few minutes.
Also, Dory is aware that she has short-term-memory loss and Soleil isn’t. So that’s maybe not the best analogy.”
“Ya think? Are you telling me this is a permanent condition?”
“That’s what the doctors told Coach B.”
“Are you fucking with me? Is this some kind of messed-up hazing ritual you put the new guys in town through? Convince them that the coach’s beautiful daughter has amnesia?”
“That would be great,” Corey muses. “That would mean Soleil didn’t fall and hit her head and Coach Barrett wouldn’t have been distracted, the Comets wouldn’t have been so anxious for a month, and we’d have a fucking team to root for in the junior playoffs!
But no. Nope. It’s real. This is life and it sucks. ”
“Really fucking touching that you rank the Comets not being in the playoffs as a bigger tragedy than Soleil Barrett getting a brain injury that caused a permanent memory disorder.” Both Dave and Winslow smack him on both arms at the same time. “Idiot.”