32. Shoot!

CHAPTER 32

SHOOT!

ABBI

“Omigod. Omigod! SHOOT!” I scream as Weston rushes the net.

But he’s blocked! There’s a tussle, and Weston manages to keep the puck off the enemy’s stick by firing it back to Tate.

I scream again.

Cooper laughs. He’s seated on my left, eating popcorn and watching me freak out during the third period of Weston’s game against Boston College.

On my right sits Carly. She has to go to work later. But this is a day game, so she can see the hockey team in action and then serve their supper afterward.

She won’t, however, have to fend off Price while she does it. Carly told me earlier this week that my step-stepbrother has been fired from the Biscuit.

“I saw the whole thing go down, Abbi, and I’m sad there’s no video. But he stole a bottle of premium vodka from behind the bar,” she’d told me gleefully. “Then he put it in his pants on the way out. The new bouncer stopped him. He said—I swear to God—' There’s no way your dick is that big .’”

I’d laughed so hard that Kippy gave me the stink eye. Not that I care much anymore about what that guy thinks. Now that my bonus check has cleared, I feel less pressure to take every shift he offers me. That’s why I’m watching this hockey game with Carly on a Friday afternoon. I don’t need to kiss Kippy’s ass anymore.

Actually, I feel less pressure about everything except this hockey game. My semester will wind down in a few weeks. I’ll graduate on the quad at the end of May. And then my full-time job will begin at the flannel factory.

My new apartment is already waiting for me, too. I’d started hunting while I was recovering from the flu. And I’d found a sunny renovated one-bedroom in a walk-up brick building off of Church Street. It was available immediately, however. So I called my landlady, who said she’d end my lease early if I wanted. “I finally got a buyer for this place,” she’d said. “He can find his own tenants.”

So that was an unexpected stroke of luck. My new place is sitting empty, though, until I move in there ten days from now. I can’t wait.

From the new place, it will be a short walk to work in one direction. Or, in the other direction, I can walk uphill to meet Weston on campus. He’s spending the summer in Burlington too. He’s got a nine-to-five job working as a clerk in the hospital.

“To burnish my stellar resume before I apply to med school,” he said. “But we can drive to my dad’s lake house on the weekends. How do you feel about paddleboarding?”

“I’ll learn,” I’d told him, “especially if you’ll make gorilla noises while you demonstrate.”

“Nah. Dolphin sounds this time.” Then he’d made the sound of a dolphin’s snicker, and I’d laughed so hard I got the hiccups.

I’m really looking forward to the summer, and not just because I’ll get to see Weston in a bathing suit. I’ve got so many things to look forward to—a new job. A new apartment. More time with Weston and Carly.

And I won’t have to smell like Buffalo wings every night anymore. Those days are almost behind me.

But first we’ve got to win this game before I die of excitement. It’s the third period, and the score is 3-3. There are eight minutes left on the clock, and it’s a struggle not to leap out of my seat every time we touch the puck .

“Ooh, penalty,” Cooper says.

“On who?” I scan the ice, full of anxiety. But then a BC player heads for the penalty box, and the announcer calls the penalty against him. “What’s high sticking?” I ask my companions.

“I don’t know, but it sounds wonderfully dirty,” Carly says.

Cooper almost chokes on his soda. “I could demonstrate later.”

“Nice try, freshman.” She reaches over and takes his popcorn, helping herself to a handful before passing it back.

I decide I don’t need to know what the penalty is for. I just need us to capitalize on this power play. “LET’S GO, WESTON! Put the biscuit in the basket! And I’m not talking about the restaurant!”

“He can’t hear you,” Carly says.

“You don’t know that.”

And Weston already told me how happy he was that I could attend this game. “Even if we don’t make it any further than round two, I’m psyched you’re coming,” he’d said.

Now we have a power play, and I’m vibrating with excitement. The speed of play picks up the moment the puck is dropped. Moo U takes possession, and they begin a patient game of keep-away.

BC mobs their own net, of course. They need to avoid giving up a goal until they’re full strength again.

There’s sweat dripping off Weston’s face as he and Tate pass the puck back and forth. Time ticks down, and I feel each elapsing second like a penance.

“They’re so calm,” Carly says. “I’d be freaking out.”

“You gotta have patience,” Cooper says. “Gotta wait until fate gives you that chance. Kinda like Abbi waited for Weston to get his head out of his ass.”

“Aren’t you deep?” Carly snorts.

“No, I’m smart.”

I don’t hear the rest of their bickering, because there’s a flurry of activity down on the ice. Lex Vonne makes a fast pass to Weston, who wings it toward the net so fast my eyes can’t keep up.

The goalie twitches, and I see the puck smack into his stick. But then I lose track of it until Carly lets out a shocked gasp.

“What just happened?” I yell as the lamp lights .

“Rebound off the goalie, into the net!” She lets out a whoop of joy.

My heart leaps. “Omigod. Was that a goal for Weston?”

“Nah.” Cooper laughs. “They’ll credit the poor goalie and give Weston the assist.”

I clap anyway. “We’ll take it. I think Weston and the goalie just won the game together.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Cooper says. “There’s time on the clock.”

But sometimes things just go right for a change. And a few minutes later, Weston’s team has won the game.

It’s funny how I’ve become one of those girls who stands around outside the locker room and waits for the team to come out. But here we are. The hallway is crowded with families and girlfriends and even some sports reporters. It’s madness.

Eventually the players begin to emerge one by one, to loud cheers from everyone in the hallway. And when it’s Weston’s turn, the cheering is deafening. There are back slaps and fist bumps, and I wait patiently for the hullabaloo to die down.

But when our gazes finally lock, Weston smiles.

God , that smile.

“Abbi,” he growls, weaving toward me. “Thank you for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He scoops me up and lifts me clear off my feet. I can smell the shower soap and feel the scrape of his whiskers against my face.

“God, it’s crazy here.” He chuckles, glancing around the hallway. “And I really want to get the hell out of here with you. But there’s, uh, a quick press conference.”

“Really?” I laugh. “So fancy.”

“I know, right?” His grin is self-conscious. “Coach wants me there because of that crazy goal at the end.”

“It was crazy,” I say, dazzled by his blue eyes. “You take your time. But I’m going to hustle over to my new place, okay? Dalton wants to drop off my boxes before he leaves town for the weekend.”

My stepfather has put three cartons of my mother’s books in the trunk of his car, because my new apartment finally has enough room that I can shelve them. And because Lila wants them gone.

“I was going to carry those for you.” His forehead wrinkles with concern. “Won’t they be heavy?”

“Dalton will help me,” I say, hugging Weston quickly. “Go and be important and come over when you’re done.”

“Okay.” He gives me a single kiss, but there’s a lot of expectation built into it. Weston is always fired up after a win.

We’re going to have a great time tonight. I’m looking forward to it. “Did you know I’m having a new mattress delivered tonight, too?”

“Baby, I’m counting on it.” He gives me one more scorching kiss before I peel myself out of his arms and make myself go.

Thirty minutes later I’m walking slowly around my new apartment. It even has that new place smell—fresh paint and optimism.

Night has fallen already outside my window. My footsteps echo against the wood floors of the empty living room as I wait for Dalton to show. I’m lucky that he’s willing to stop here at six on a Friday before he starts his weekend.

You might find on-street parking , I text him. But if you don’t, I’ll come down and get the boxes so you don’t have to find a lot .

And then I’ll probably just stand there on the sidewalk with three heavy boxes and wait for Weston to rescue me. But that’s not the end of the world.

Don’t worry , Dalton replies. My new assistant will carry them up .

That’s a lot to ask of an assistant, but I’m not going to complain.

Twenty minutes later, someone buzzes the door downstairs. I press the button to admit him. It might even be Weston. I’m not sure how long press conferences take.

Two minutes later, I hear someone slowly climbing the steps. So I block the door open to make this easier. “Over here! Thank you!” I cry as two of my boxes come into view .

But my heart drops as I get a better look at Dalton’s new assistant.

“Fucking heavy,” Price curses.

“Just put them down,” I say quickly. “Doesn’t matter where. I’ll take care of it.”

He squats down and I say a quick prayer that he won’t strain his back—only because I know he’d blame me if he did.

“ Fuck ,” he says again. Slowly he straightens up. “Not my job to haul your shit around, princess.”

“Right,” I agree nervously. “Thanks, though.”

He takes a step closer to me. “You can do better than that.”

“Better than…?” I take a step back. “Never mind. Go home, Price. Don’t worry about me.”

“I need a real thank-you,” he says, his smile mean. “Show me some gratitude.”

“You want a tip?” I snap. “Heard you aren’t getting those anymore after you were fired from the Biscuit.”

He makes an angry sound, and I instantly regret saying anything. How dumb am I? Now he’s stalking toward me with fury in his eyes. “You stuck-up little bitch. Always gotta rub my nose in it.”

“In what?” I babble, edging to the side. The door is still open. I just need to get past him.

“Fuck you,” he sneers. Then he lunges.

I leap forward, almost getting clear of him. But he catches me by the wrist.

As soon as I feel his thick fingers close tightly around my arm, fear washes through me. Bile climbs up my throat. I’ve really done it now.

He shoves me against my clean white wall, both his hands on my arms. “Now I’ve got you where I want you.”

“Where’s D-Dalton?” I stammer. “He’ll be w-waiting for you.”

“Let ’im wait. I’m busy here.” Price releases one of my arms, only to put his meaty hand around my throat.

It’s not tight, but I’ve never been so scared. The threat is there. I open my mouth to scream, but I gag instead.

And he laughs .

That’s what snaps me out of my inaction—anger. This fucker doesn’t actually want me. He just wants to be terrifying. We’re standing so close together that I don’t have much room to move.

Still, it’s enough. I lift one foot off the ground and knee him between the legs.

It’s not a direct hit, but he still lets out a shout of surprise. “FUCK, Abbi. You fucking CUNT!”

I lift the other foot, preparing to try again, when I hear a crash in the doorway—the sound of a box of books being dropped too quickly onto a wood floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

Dalton . My God, I have never been so happy to see anyone in my life.

Price has already released me. “Nothing. Just fucking around.”

This is the moment when I should start yelling. I should let both of these men know how bad it really is, and how I’m not going to take it anymore.

Instead, I put both my hands around my throat and start shaking like a paint mixer at the hardware store. A sob escapes from my throat.

“Oh God. Abbi,” Dalton says in a hushed voice. “Oh God.”

I sink slowly to the floor. I’m fine now, right? How come I can’t even hold myself up?

“Hey guys!” Weston’s voice says from the doorway, and I lift my head from my hands, like a seedling toward the sun. “Whoa. What the fuck is he doing here? Abbi?” Weston crosses the room in a flash, lowering himself to his knees in front of me. “Abbi, hey, what happened?”

I’m pulled against his chest in gentle arms, and I take my first real breath in ages.

“Get out,” Dalton barks, presumably to Price. “Get out of my sight.”

“Call the police,” Weston says. “Not joking.”

My apartment door slams, which is probably Price’s doing. And a moment later Dalton is also kneeling on the floor in front of me. I let out a terrified sob, and it echoes in the empty room.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dalton pleads.

“She tried ,” Weston says through clenched teeth. “You brushed her off.”

I look up at Dalton, whose mouth is opening and closing like a fish. “She said he pestered her, but I never…” His mouth flops around some more.

The thing is, I don’t know exactly what I said to Dalton. I don’t remember the precise words I used. “It was him or me,” I whisper, knowing that I’m not making a lot of sense right now.

“She thought you’d take your new wife’s side,” Weston says. “Can you really blame her? It’s not like she has a lot of family to spare.”

“ Shit .” I don’t even know if I’ve ever heard Dalton curse before now. “Abbi, I’m sorry. You should have—” He swallows. “I should have asked you more questions.”

“You know he’s a troll,” I bite out. “Can’t finish a sentence. Can’t hold down a job. So you just hired him after he got fired again? ” My voice is shaking.

Dalton groans, scrubbing his face. “You’re right. I don’t know what to do about him. I don’t have a damn clue. I was just trying to go easy on him for Lila.”

“He doesn’t need someone to go easy,” Weston growls. “But I guess you know that now. That asshole kept Abbi on the run from her only home .”

“Jesus.” Dalton goes pale. “Abbi, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay now,” I croak. It’s not like I want to move back in. “But I refuse to be around him again. Not even on Thanksgiving.”

“Okay, okay.” Dalton sits heavily on the wood floor, looking uncomfortable in his suit pants and white shirt. “Can I take you two to dinner? I feel terrible.”

I almost say yes. It’s on the tip of my tongue. But I don’t want to go out with Dalton. I want a night just with my boyfriend. “That’s a nice offer, but we have plans,” I say quietly. Because I’m finished being the girl who works too hard to stay in Dalton’s good graces.

I’ve got to stop being afraid to ask for what I need.

“All right,” he says heavily. “I’ll leave you two alone.” He glances around the room. “Is it pushy of me to ask if you have plans to get some furniture? You said no when Lila asked you if you wanted to look in the attic. ”

“What if she said no because that meant dealing with Price?” Weston asks.

Dalton blanches. “Did you, Abbi?”

“Maybe,” I admit. “Can we talk about it another time?”

“Of course,” he says, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. “Please take care of yourself, and we’ll talk soon.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Dalton lets himself out, and the sound of the door closing echoes in my empty space. “Wow,” Weston says. “There’s some drama for your Friday. Are you okay? What did Price try, anyway?”

I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. “Intimidation,” I mutter. “Humiliation. He pinned me against the wall just to be terrifying.”

Weston makes a very unhappy noise, and I hope he’s not plotting Price’s murder right now. “What do you need?” he asks after a deep breath. “How can I make this better?”

“You know what?” I wipe my hands on my jeans and will my body to relax. “You already are. It’s Friday night. My mattress isn’t due to show up for…” I check the time on my phone. “Ninety minutes. I asked them for the latest time slot, because I didn’t know if there was a team dinner you’d have to go to.”

Weston shakes his head. “I’ll see them tomorrow.”

“Can we go sit down at a restaurant on Church Street? I just want to go out with you. I want to have fun .” There’s that word again, although it’s growing on me. I haven’t made enough time in my life for fun.

I could start now.

“That we can do.” Weston gets to his feet, then holds out a hand to pull me up. “Let’s see… Sushi? Ramen? Burgers? What are you in the mood for?”

“Just you,” I whisper. “I don’t care what we’re eating. I just want to have dinner with you.”

Weston stops in front of the door and turns around. His smile is tender as he pulls me into his arms. “That’s easy, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I agree as he gives my cheekbone a slow kiss. “I’m easy to please.”

“You know what else is easy?” he asks, kissing the corner of my mouth .

“What?” I brush my knuckles against his evening stubble.

“Me,” he says, nipping my ear. “I’m easy. And I will show you how easy about fifteen minutes after that mattress shows up.”

“Will you, now?”

“Bet on it, girl. Bet on it.”