11. Spencer

CHAPTER 11

SPENCER

I was lacing my skates, getting ready for speed training, when Gates and Rodriguez sat down behind me.

I hardly noticed at first, lost in thought as I was — Izzy had been on edge these past few days, and not just her normal hate-my-job tension. Since the night I'd come home and caught her browsing the job ads, she'd been weird and distant. Up in her head. I'd wheedled it out of her about Mark and Jim, how they'd shut her down and stolen her ideas, but they always did that. What made this time different?

She's on a losing streak . Like the Ice Bears, till now.

I ground my teeth. I knew how that felt. Not much would've cheered me in the depths of our free fall, but maybe things weren't as dire for Izzy. Maybe if I took her out somewhere fun — not the squash court again; we'd been there, done that. Somewhere nice, maybe. Somewhere relaxing. The botanical gardens?

This isn't first grade. She doesn't need a field trip.

"How's it going with Julie?" said Rodriguez, behind me.

"Not bad," said Gates. "But she's talking about a weekend in Santa Fe."

A weekend away might not be the worst thing for me and Izzy, far from the jerk squad and her daily frustrations. But did Izzy have time for a weekend away? She'd worked late last night and the night before that, and almost every night since her new project started.

"That's such a girlfriend thing," said Rodriguez. "You take her to Santa Fe, you might as well put a ring on it."

"I don't know," said Gates. "She can think what she wants to think, but that's on her, right? It's not like a trip is some kind of contract, and once we hit that hotel room, we're somehow locked in."

"But it's romantic, a weekend away. You gotta at least talk to her, y'know, set your terms. Let her know what you're looking for, like a fling, or a?—"

"What, are you kidding?" Gates got to his feet. "She's not going to try as hard if she knows we're just fucking. She has to think there's a future, or at least there's a chance, or she'll get like… What do you call that, when they fuck like a man? When you eat them out for an hour and then they're like ‘bye,' and they never even bother returning the favor?"

I stood up too. "Asshole."

Gates turned. "Excuse me?"

I cleared my throat. "I said asshole . You got a girl who likes you, you're going to treat her like that?"

"Hey, I pay for everything. Nice meals. Nights out. So I don't want to get married. What's the big deal?"

"But you're leading her on." I felt my ire rising. "She's thinking she's met someone, and you're wasting her time. It's the same thing as lying. It's?—"

"It's none of your business, is what it is." Gates squared up to me, broad shoulders rising. I got up in his face, our skates almost bumping. All I could think of was some jackass treating Izzy that way. Teasing her, using her. Laughing behind her back.

"It's disrespectful," I growled. "What if she did that to you?"

"I wouldn't care, as long as she'll fuck me."

I clenched my fists tight, white knuckles bulging. I could've hit him right then, and maybe would have, except our speed coach stuck an arm between us.

"Okay, break it up. This isn't high school."

"He started it," said Gates.

"Like I said, not high school. I don't care who started it. I'm telling you, end it. Shake hands right now and quit wasting my time."

Gates stuck his hand out. "Sorry," he said.

I took his hand, grudging, and gave it a shake.

"Any more of this bullshit, I'm benching you both. You two understand that?"

"Yes, Coach."

"Yes, Coach." I glowered at my skates, and it did feel like high school. Gates sauntered off, laughing, and I sat down with a sigh.

Enrique glanced over from where he was cleaning his skates. "What's crawled up your butt? You know her, or something?"

I shook my head, troubled. I'd never met Gates's girl. But the thought of somebody treating Izzy that way — was it guilt I was feeling? Was I doing the same? But, no, I'd been clear with her. We'd agreed on no strings. And wasn't she planning a move out of state? Not one of those job ads had been close to local.

"Sorry," I said. "Just worked up, I guess. It's been going so good, I don't want to blow it."

"And Gates and his love life are gonna blow up our season?"

"No, just, I don't know. He's not focused, is all." I bent to futz with my skates, wanting this conversation behind me. I couldn't shake the idea I'd messed up with Izzy. Treated her wrong somehow, like Gates with his girl. I'd never disrespect her, but respect was a given. There was plenty of room to screw up beyond that.

I bumbled through practice, distracted and messy, and stopped for a coffee on my way home. I got Izzy one too, the way she liked it, hoping that if I had messed up, it would help me mend fences. But when I walked in the door, Izzy ran out to meet me, and far from pissed off, she looked elated.

"Check it out!" She waved a blue envelope. "Stern got tickets to see Blue Dream Revival, plus a hundred-dollar gift certificate for the Sweet Onion! He couldn't use them, so they're all ours."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Blue Dream Revival?"

"That local band, remember, who got the huge record deal? They're touring, and they're back here, and we've got tickets."

I froze. The Sweet Onion was the spot for couples — sheltered booths, candlelight, droning musicians. And a BDR concert — I knew who they were. They sang all those love songs. Slow, crooning ballads. If I took Izzy to see them, what would she think? I saw it all in my head clear as real life, me and Izzy spilling out of the packed concert hall. Late-night drinks at some low-lit wine bar. Impatient kisses in the emptying street. I looked into Izzy's bright, dancing eyes, and all I could think was, was she excited for the concert? Or did the stars in her eyes mean she wanted more, the wine, the romance, falling in love?

"I, uh…"

"Come on. Or— oh, shit. Don't tell me you're busy?"

I stood tongue-tied, caught between what I wanted and my better judgment. What I wanted was simple, a night out with Izzy. Laughter and music. A delicious meal. But what if she had caught some type of feelings? What if she wanted more from me, and this was her play? If I said yes, I'd be leading her on. I'd be no better than Gates, or worse, because I knew better. And because me and Izzy were friends. You didn't treat your friends that way, setting them up for heartbreak.

"Don't tell me this is some macho thing." She smacked my arm. "You one of those guys who thinks BDR's soppy? Scared someone might see you and think you've gone soft?"

She didn't sound in love. I rubbed my arm.

"It's not that," I said. "I like a few of their songs, Blue Light , Last Summer ." I thought about going, but no. No, I couldn't. I couldn't take the risk with her. It wouldn't be right.

"I'm busy," I said, and Izzy's face fell.

"Aw, really? That sucks. And it's only tonight…" She folded the envelope and tucked it away. "What are you busy with? You couldn't cancel?"

"Sorry, not this time. Training, y'know." It wasn't fully a lie — Coach had given me a book to read about maximizing my training. Still, Izzy's disappointment plucked at my heart. She rose on tiptoe and kissed me, then backed away. Her hand slid off my shoulder and trailed down my arm.

"Guess I'll ask Leon. He loves the Sweet Onion. But if you change your mind before he gets home…"

"I know where to find you."

She left me standing in the doorway and went to get ready. I kicked my boots off and went to my room, and listened until I heard Leon come home. A few minutes after that, I heard laughter, then cheering. I heard Leon's shower start and then cut out, then his shout down the hall — Izzy? I'm ready! I lay on my bed, alone and jealous, my chest gone all hollow, my stomach in knots. I could still run out there and tell her I'd go, but no. Leon was already excited. I couldn't do him like that, and besides, besides?—

"I love them," said Izzy, close by my door. "Not just because they're from here, but their music's so?—"

"I know," said Leon. "I actually tried to get tickets to take Delores. But I called the first day and they were sold out."

"Oh, I don't have to go, if you wanted to take her."

My heart leaped. If Izzy stayed home, that would be perfect. I could cheer her up with dinner somewhere. Not the Sweet Onion, with its candles and violinists, but maybe that jazz place with the gumbo she loved.

"No dice," said Leon. "She went to visit her mom. She's in a care home, so…"

My heart plunged to my toes as quick as it'd leaped. I pulled a pillow over my head to shut out their chatter, and the next thing I heard was the front door slamming. Then I heard Izzy's car start, and they were gone. I lay with that void sucking deep in my chest, watching the minutes change on my bedside clock.

Idiot , I told myself, unsure what I meant. Was I stupid for not going, or for regretting it now? For lying here picturing a night out with Izzy, the two of us cuddled in a Sweet Onion booth? They had a dance floor as well, near the live music stage. Maybe if I'd gone, we'd have sneaked in a dance, a sweet little slow dance after dessert. Then at the concert?—

"Idiot," I said, out loud this time. Maybe I was the one who'd gone and caught feelings, mooning around like some lovestruck kid.

I jumped off the bed before that thought could take hold, and grabbed my gym bag and jogged for the door. What I needed was a workout. A good hard sweat.

Nothing like a workout to get my head back on straight.