Delayed Penalty: A Pilots Hockey Novel (21 page)

An eyebrow caterpillar crept across Greg’s forehead as he scanned the first page and flipped through the others.

“I write poems,” I explained, casting my eyes to my feet. My scuffed black boots had never been so interesting. “Not good poems, but, um. I didn’t know if you could use them for lyrics or whatever.”

Poetry had been a passion since I was a kid, but because they were an insight into my warped mind, I’d never been brave enough to share them with anyone. Slicing open my emotional wrists and allowing others to see the blood flow had never been a desire. Then I met Aleksandr, and removing the piano-sized weight of pent-up repression from my shoulders sounded like a good idea for the first time in my life.

Greg shook the papers at me. “This is awesome, Aud.”

I raised my head to meet his eyes. “That tune will change when you actually read them.”

He laughed. “I just meant it’s great that you write. And, yes, I can use them.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

Greg dropped to the floor in the living room of the house he shared with the guys. He patted the carpet. “Pull up a patch of”—he paused as he inspected the area—“gross, green, shag carpet from the seventies. We’re jamming tonight.”

Aaron was already on the ground, his long jean-clad legs sprawled out in front of him as he leaned against the most hideous sofa I’d ever seen.

“Oh my.” I held a hand to my mouth, eyeing the couch as I plopped down in between him and Greg. “That’s an unfortunate piece of furniture.”

Aaron let his head fall back against the light green couch littered with gaudy pink flowers. “My great-aunt died last year and this old girl is what my mom saved for me.”

“It’s ugly as shit, but none of us had any other furniture, so—” Greg shrugged.

“You have other furniture,” I said. “I see a lovely modern piece over there.” I pointed to a black, faux-leather beanbag across the room.

“That’s mine. I’m the one with style,” Josh joked as he walked into the living room carrying three white pillar candles. He squatted slowly, dropped to his knees, then set each candle down in the middle of the circle of seating we’d formed. It looked like a preteen sleepover about to have a séance.

“Are we gonna call on the spirits of rock legends gone too soon?” I asked as Josh settled into an Indian-style position.

“No,” Josh snorted. Then he lifted his eyes to Greg. “You think it’d work?”

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut the fuuuck up,” Aaron sang, using guitar chords to emphasize his point.

I stuck my tongue out. He winked and strummed the opening riffs of “Making Believe.”

“Oh my gosh! You learned it?” I shrieked, and pounded the carpet in excitement.

“Thank Greg,” Aaron said, casting his eyes Greg’s way. “He told us to learn it for the next gig. It is an awesome song, though.”

Greg flashed me a smile. “After you rocked it in your audition, we had to learn it.” Then he frowned and yelled at Josh. “Dude, come on.”

“What?” Josh asked as he lit his cigarette off one of the candles on the floor.

“I love you guys already,” I said, laughing at their banter.

“Hear that boys? She’s saying we have a chance.” Aaron winked again.

“Fuck you, man,” Greg mumbled. Josh released a gust of smoke toward Aaron’s face.

I didn’t get the inside joke, but I assumed Aaron was teasing me because he still needed time to get to know me before he felt warm and fuzzy. I knew from the start he’d be the one I’d have to win over.

—

When I’d returned to school after winter break, I’d braced myself for the harsh reality of a schedule with no soccer activities. The humiliation of being cut still thrummed through my veins, but it was refreshing to be rid of countless practices, meetings, and games thrown on top of classes, studying, working, and starting the after-school program in Detroit. By taking a step back, I finally saw how grueling my first two years at Central State had been.

But if I thought joining a band would be easier on my schedule, I was wrong. I’d assumed the guys would give me a break because I didn’t know my ass from my elbow when it came to making music. Instead, they pushed me harder and made me practice more. When I wasn’t in class, at the library, or at the diner, I was practicing with the guys. They even got me a vocal coach. “Vocal coach” being the fancy title Josh had given to a girl in his music program whom he’d bribed into helping me prepare. My vocals were coming along well, but my stage presence was a different story.

“Tap your foot. Shake your hair around.” Aaron’s face turned a deeper shade of red every time he yelled at me. It would have been comical if I hadn’t been the one he was angry with. When he stomped up the stairs, I thought I’d finally broken him, but he returned a minute later with a full-length mirror.

“Start again,” he ordered, leaning the mirror against the wall in front of me.

Greg and Josh started the song from the beginning, and Aaron joined the song. I stared at the microphone as I swayed from foot to foot. Anything to avoid looking in the mirror.

“Do something. Move!” Aaron yelled, waving his hands in front of his chest, abruptly halting his guitar riff. I rolled my eyes, holding them up as I took a few deep breaths. “Look in the fucking mirror.” Aaron’s voice was a glacier, slow and icy.

“Jesus,” Josh muttered. I couldn’t tell if he’d directed his exasperation at me or at Aaron. Probably me. I wasn’t used to having to practice something to be good at it. Not to sound cocky, because I worked my ass off, but soccer came easy for me. The skills needed to stand in front of a crowd of people waiting for me to sing out of key did not come as easily.

“Stop being a dick,” Greg told Aaron.

“Fuck off.”

“Chill out!” I yelled back. Kicking me while I was down was not the way to boost my confidence.

“No, I won’t chill out,” Aaron snapped, but the bitterness from before was gone. “You can do this, Auden. You’re good.”

I stole a glance at the other guys. Greg and Josh were both nodding, giving me hopeful half smiles.

Accepting compliments had always been difficult. In a generation of everyone-gets-a-trophy sports teams and parents who make sure their kids know how wonderful they are, I grew up with grandparents who didn’t believe in any of that “generation of spoiled, entitled bullshit.”

Compliments and praise were just words in the dictionary to my grandparents, who raised me to be humble and modest to the extreme, since pride is one of the deadly sins. Don’t get me wrong, they didn’t make me feel bad about myself on purpose, but accomplishments weren’t talked about. Asking if I looked nice in an outfit or if I played well was met with a, “Don’t be so vain,” or “You’re good at soccer, don’t rub it in other people’s faces.” It was just how I grew up, and how my grandparents grew up, and so on. A mirror was for making sure I looked presentable. Hair combed? Makeup out of place? Was everything buttoned, tucked, and zipped?

“I’m sorry, okay. Can we start again?” I asked. I cranked my neck side to side and rolled my shoulders back. Time to approach singing the same way I approached soccer. Be confident. Own it. But don’t make a big deal of being confident and owning it. Just do it and shut the hell up.

After taking a deep, cleansing breath, I lifted my eyes to my reflection. As I stared at the athletic girl standing tall in a long black tank top, dark blue skinny jeans, and her favorite beat-up Doc Martens, something clicked. I wasn’t the quiet ghost floating through the halls of my high school, just hoping to get by without disturbing the peace. I wasn’t the average girl on the soccer team, hidden among better players. I wasn’t Kristen’s wing woman. I wasn’t a professional hockey player’s girlfriend.

In that mirror, I saw myself as Auden for the first time, and plain old Auden was beautiful. I wasn’t simple, or fake, or hiding behind someone else’s confidence or talent. I was a fun-yet-snarky Russian translator. The key being the Russian-translator part, because my client was the reason for my newfound confidence and ability to blow the past away like the white seeds of a dead dandelion. The man who helped me recognize my confidence, strength, and worth. The man who still helped me believe it, even though we weren’t in the same state. The man I should’ve never fallen in love with, but did.

No matter who’d been the original organizer, I was the front woman of Strange Attraction now. And it was time to take ownership and responsibility for our band, like I’d done with soccer and the Central Club. Picturing myself in a position of power was liberating and energizing. Greg and Aaron may have arranged the music and turned the words into songs, but those songs were my words. I was the one jotting all of the raw emotions swirling in my head onto whatever empty writing space I found, whether on receipts from the grocery store, or on the inside of a Pop-Tart box before it went into the recycling bin.

The guys fiddled behind me, strumming chords and waiting for me to turn some kind of corner on this whole rock-band-lead-singer thing. I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips. I waved my hand toward the guys, and Josh’s drumbeats pounded in response.

I’m ready. Bring it.

Chapter 19

As I waited in the diner’s parking lot for my car to heat up, I tossed my head back and forth, properly rocking out to “Sex” by The 1975. A thunderous pounding against my window startled me out of rock-out mode.

When I lifted my eyes, Jason Taylor stood on the other side of my door in full police uniform. Because of my traumatic childhood, the nervous buzz of hypervigilance always simmered under my skin. I didn’t like being snuck up on, didn’t like being touched, and I certainly didn’t like being surprised by cops banging on my window when I clearly hadn’t been breaking any laws.

As I rolled down the window, my heart slammed against my rib cage like kamikaze ninjas attempting to kick their way out. “Is everything all right, Officer Taylor?” I leaned over to lower the stereo volume.

“Do you have a few minutes to talk?” he asked.

Well, that didn’t answer my question.

“Is this an emergency?” I asked, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.
Get to the point, Taylor.

“No! Geez, I’m sorry Auden. No, it’s not an emergency.”

I closed my eyes and released my death grip on the steering wheel, letting out a deep breath.

“Can it wait until later?” I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “I’m already late for class.”

I wasn’t a big road rager, but I was already running late for my three-thirty class, due to a last-minute table I’d taken. I’d felt guilty because Johnny was swamped, and she had grabbed three tables at once to allow me to get going.

“Oh, sorry. Yeah. Yeah, I guess it can wait.” Jason rubbed his neck with a leather-gloved hand. “What time is your class over?”

This was a really weird situation. Jason was obviously nervous. My curiosity of what he needed to talk about that could make him so uncomfortable got the best of me.

“You know what?” I killed the engine and unfastened my seat belt. “I’m already half an hour late. Class will be over by the time I get there.”

“You sure?” Jason took a step back, allowing me to open my door.

“Depends. Am I in trouble?” I needed to know what the hell I’d done before I surrendered myself without a fight.

“No, Auden, not at all.” He kicked a mound of packed snow, sending brown ice balls flying. “I’m really sorry you’re missing class. I just wanted to talk about your mom.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s go inside.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather cop coat and nodded toward the diner.

Jason had gotten my attention, so I followed him back in to Johnny’s. Now I was the nervous one. Why would a police officer I barely know want to talk about my mom? Had something new come to light about her death? Maybe her killer had been found with DNA that couldn’t be identified fourteen years ago?

And maybe I watched a few too many
Dateline
marathons.

We took a seat in the back of the restaurant, at Jason’s favorite table. Johnny walked over with a pot of coffee. She glanced up. “What can I get—” Her head snapped up again, eyes wide. “What are you doing back?” She flipped over two mugs and started filling the first.

I put my hand over Jason’s mug. “Coke for him.”

Johnny nodded. “You would know.” She had a teasing lilt to her voice. Which was annoying.

Hell, yeah, I’m a good server
, I wanted to say, but with Jason sitting across from me and fumbling nervously with the silverware rolled in a napkin, I wasn’t in my normal joking mood.

“Why would you want to talk about my mom?” I asked Jason after Johnny was out of earshot.

He continued flipping the silverware end over end. “After we met at the hockey game, I was talking to Aleksandr about you and he mentioned your last name. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it before. Then I finally figured out where I knew the name Berezin from.”

A loud, scratchy robotic voice filled the air, and I jumped, almost knocking over the cup of coffee Johnny had poured for me that I wasn’t going to drink.

Jason dropped the silverware and reached down to twist a knob on his radio, lowering the volume. It was still on, but faint. “Sorry about that.”

Johnny came back with a Coke for Jason and set it in front of him. “Are you two eating?”

I shook my head. Johnny rushed off to get drinks for another table. The diner was still hopping, and Johnny was by herself.
I should get up and help her
, I thought
.

“Do you think we look alike, Auden?” Jason interrupted my thoughts.

It was such an odd question; I couldn’t help but jerk my eyes up and search his face. He was handsome, with light blue eyes and dirty blond hair, like me. But his face was longer, whereas mine was round; his skin, olive toned; mine, alabaster.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess our eyes and hair are similar.”

“I definitely look like that older man you were talking to when I was in here last week.”

“That was my grandfather. Why are you trying to find similarities between you and my family?”