TWO DAYS LATER
𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝄠 Heaven Is A Halfpipe – OPM
“WE NEED to cut Kerrigan some slack.”
Lewis pins me with a look. “He sucks.”
“I know he does,” I mutter, scraping a hand over my head as I toss my helmet onto the bench, unable to deny the indefatigable truth that Kerrigan is blowing harder than a chinook this season.
“Then why do we need to cut Kerrigan any slack?” Lewis demands, practically pouting at the notion.
“He’s got a lot of shit going on at home. We need to help him out.”
“He wouldn’t help us out.”
Knowing he’s right, I pull a face. “Maybe he wouldn’t, but we don’t always do shit for something in return. Isn’t that the whole point of being on a team?”
Lewis huffs. “Don’t expect me to play nice with Raimoron is all I’m saying. I’ll suck this one up, but he can go fuck himself.”
“What is it with you two? It’s getting so long and drawn out that I’m actually interested in knowing.”
“The NDA I signed says I can’t tell you,” he grumbles, then he asks, “Get anything nice for your birthday?”
Grabbing my cell, I show him what Gracie got me.
He eyes the skateboard. “Old school.”
“Very. Vintage.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did she get you a skateboard? It’s not like you can use it during the season. It’s in our contracts. ‘No fun allowed.’”
Though I snicker, I share, “She knows I had one as a kid.”
“You don’t go out much, do you?”
“You’re a genius for working that out,” I mock.
He chuckles under his breath. “No offense, man, but how are you going to use that if you don’t go out?”
“I won’t use it. It’s to hang on my wall.” Behind a glass case.
“Do you…” He pauses. “Do you think you have agoraphobia?”
“No. Just don’t enjoy being outside.”
“Sounds like agoraphobia to me.” He eyes my uniform. “You’re not getting changed?”
“No point. Got some extra coaching time with Ollie.”
“He’s the outreach kid, right?”
“Yeah. Ollie. Remember his name and don’t call him the outreach kid or I’ll have to slap you upside the head.”
“You’re grouchy today,” Lewis remarks, but he’s grinning as he swipes a towel off the side with one hand and snags two bananas in the other.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I huff. “Early morning.”
“Uh-huh.”
I’m not about to tell him that I hate it when Gracie stays at her apartment and not with me.
I feel better now that Conor’s on the case but still, it blows when she’s not around. Though it was my birthday yesterday, she had another early class so it made sense for her to return to her place.
Still sucked.
“You want some help with the kid?”
“With Ollie?”
“Yeah. Him.”
“Nah. Thanks, though. He’s shit on the ice but we’re getting there.”
Sort of.
He’s managing to stay upright without falling over for a solid ten minutes—that’s a massive improvement to how much time he was spending flat on his back during those early sessions.
He’s more tenacious than I expected though.
“Why are you giving him private lessons?”
“Gracie.”
He tosses a banana at me. “They’re related?”
“No. She doesn’t want him to end up in juvie.”
Lewis scratches his forehead. “And the likelihood of that is high?”
Having recently seen Ollie’s home after dropping him off there, I nod.
Once the banana is peeled, I take a big bite before I decide I’ll head to the equipment room and start working on the curve of my blades.
Leaving Lewis to get changed, I spend some time at one of the workbenches until the alarm on my watch blares. I switch it off then return my stick to the stick locker.
Storing it there, collecting the skates I bought Ollie a month ago, and dragging the strap with my cell hanging from it over my head, on my way out, I see Greco’s taping up his knuckles which look fucked.
I make no comment because he hasn’t messaged me back so I have to assume he doesn’t want to talk about his recent foray into self-harm.
Instead, I just head onto the ice, unsurprised to find Ollie in the stands waiting for me with a hotdog in one gloved hand and a can of soda in the other, a tuque on his head, and a scarf around his neck like it’s midwinter.
When he sees me, as he’s taken to doing, he waggles the hotdog at me. “Thanks, Liam.”
“You’re welcome.”
Didn’t take me long to figure out that the kid doesn’t have enough money to eat.
I think of the banana I just devoured and sigh.
I’d kill for a hotdog.
Skating over to him because he’s behind the visitors’ bench, I lean against the boards and ask, “How’d school go? You get that history assignment finished?”
Shoulders hunched, he grimaces. “I hate history.”
“We learn from history that we learn nothing from history.”
Ollie studies his hotdog. “I’ve heard that before. Do you think it’s true?”
“I do.”
“Why don’t we learn?”
“Because we choose not to.” I angle my head to the side. “What’s your choice, Ollie?”
He takes a big bite of his hotdog and, for a second, I think that’s all the answer he’ll give me. Then, his gaze locked on his beat-up sneakers, he mumbles, “I stopped hanging around with Arnie’s crew.”
“You have?!”
He scowls at me. “You think I’m lying?”
“No. I just didn’t expect that.” A nasty thought hits home. “They didn’t hurt you, did they? For coming here?”
“I didn’t tell them.” He stuffs the rest of the bun into his mouth. “They never ask, so I don’t say dick.”
It’s not hard to read between the lines.
“You doing okay?” I ask carefully—it’s never nice to feel unwanted.
“Been better.” He starts unfastening the laces of his sneakers then leaves them next to his trash—we’ve already had a conversation about throwing our garbage away—before he steps over to me barefoot.
I pass him his skates, watching as he sits on the bench nearer to the gate and ties them up how I showed him with an ease born of practice.
Him eating just before he gets on the ice isn’t ideal, but the way he scarfs his food, I’m not about to stop him, not when he needs the energy.
Plus, right now, loading down with carbs isn’t an issue. Case in point, how he moves around at a snail’s pace while circling the rink with me.
“Liam?”
With my mind drifting between thoughts on my portfolio and Gracie’s exam schedule, which starts tomorrow, alongside this week’s training schedule, absently, I answer, “Yup.”
“You know knives?”
Well, that ripped me away from thoughts of the NASDAQ. “For cooking, eating, or stabbing?”
That has him flinching so I already know the answer.
“Stabbing,” he whispers, then he pulls his jacket aside. In the inner pocket, there’s a goddamn hunting knife slotted in there.
“Jesus Christ, Ollie,” I snap, skidding to a halt in front of him. “Where the hell did you get that?”
Gaze darting from left to right, he swallows. “Jamie. He’s taken over Arnie’s place on the crew. When I stopped hanging around with them, he didn’t like it. He says I have to look after this, prove I’m still loyal to them.”
Speechless, I grab his shoulder. Then, I realize how massive this is that he came to me, that he didn’t squirrel it away. I let go of his shoulder, wishing my misunderstanding of him and his friends growing apart was correct.
My brain whirs with the repercussions and the potential that we have here for shit to go wrong.
“How does keeping that for them prove you’re loyal to the crew, Ollie?”
His bottom lip quivers before he firms it. Too late. I saw. That and the fear in his eyes.
“They think I’m hanging out with someone else. W-With a bigger gang, when I’m here. I-It’s to make sure I’m tied to them.”
Fuck.
FUCK.
Gracie never planned for this!
“Ollie, you can’t keep that.”
“I know,” he whispers, his tone miserable.
The kid literally hangs his head.
For the first time in a long while, I’m not sure what to do.
Money won’t solve this, neither will my position or fame.
Speechless, I stare at the handle that’s peeking out from his jacket pocket, part of the blade visible…
Is that blood?
Tabarnak.
“We have to take this to the cops.”
“If we do, they’ll know I snitched.”
“Is that so bad?”
He peers at me with eyes that are too old. “Yeah. It’s bad. Real bad, Liam. I wouldn’t have come to you with this if it weren’t.”
Fuck my life.
If I didn’t have a headache before this, I do now.
“I-I don’t want this no more. I want what Gracie said. I want to be better.”
Jaw working, mind racing, I blow out a breath. “Okay, you’re going to skate around this rink twenty times without falling. You fall, you restart the count. Do you hear me?”
“I mean, sure, but—”
“No. No buts. You’re not going to complain, or whine, or tell me you’re bored. You’re going to focus on skating rather than this because I’m going to handle it.” The relief that hits his eyes has me dragging off my jersey. “Give it to me. I’m heading over to the stands. I’m going to call a cop I’m friends with—” Before he can protest, I continue, “We’ll work something out. A fake arrest. Make it look like you were caught with it.”
“You can do that?”
If I sign enough of Brownhill and Adamson’s memorabilia, maybe.
“If we can’t, we’ll work something else out.” Then, I grunt. “We have to fix this, Ollie. Permanently.”
“How? I can’t change where I live. I go to school with them and everything.”
When his gloved hands pass me the knife and I tuck it into my jersey, I tell him, “Are there any sports fans on the crew?”
“Jamie likes hockey.” He gags. “He’s a San Jose fan.”
With the makings of a plan in mind, and a potential favor from Trent in the works if things go south with Brownhill, I tell him, “Okay. Get started on your laps.”
Clearly, I mistook his earlier mood because the way he takes off tells me the weight that’s been lifted from his shoulders is gargantuan.
Seeing as I’m bearing that burden now, I get why that’d affect his goddamn state of mind.
Wrapping the jersey into a bundle and tucking it under my arm, I skate over to the side and clamber past the gate.
Once sitting, I unlock my cell and scroll through my contacts until I find Brownhill’s number.
As the ringing tone hits my ear, I focus on the kid who, for the first time since I met him, isn’t bitching about skating. If anything, he looks happier.
Maybe these issues with his so-called ‘crew’ are why he’s been a pain in the ass to deal with so far.
I know that he’s been better in the outreach program, otherwise I’d never have heard the end of it from Bradley. But I figure that’s because his inability to stay upright is something he and I have been working on in private.
“Only for Gracie,” I mutter even if the kid isn’t all bad.
“Excuse me?”
I grimace at Brownhill’s greeting. “Sorry, officer. This is Liam Donnghal speaking.”
It’s only as I utter his name that I realize how weird it’s going to appear to the cops that the kid they hauled in for the lineup of mugging suspects is the kid in question now.
Shit.
This is going to be harder to sell than I originally thought.
“Hi, Mr. Donnghal!” Brownhill gushes.
“Liam, please.” I clear my throat. “Officer—”
“Sam,” he corrects.
“Sam,” I parrot.
“How can I help, Liam?”
“I’ve got a problem.”
“You do?”
“Did you know the Stars has an outreach program for underprivileged kids?”
“I didn’t know that, but it sounds like a worthy mission.”
“It is. One of the kids from the lineup is a part of that program.”
Silence sounds down the line.
“Okay.” His tone has flatlined.
He knows.
Slowly, I justify, “He and I have been working together on his skating skills.”
“Right.”
The man’s not an idiot, just a superfan.
I rub at my eyes. “He’s come to me with an issue that he’s been having with some friends of his.”
“This kid wouldn’t happen to be Oliver Nolan, would he?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
Brownhill grunts. “His crew is a piece of work, Liam. I hope you know what you’re getting involved with.”
“I don’t know the crew, just the kid, and he’s decent. The whole point of the program is to take someone from a shitty area and to give them an opportunity to better themselves.”
“In my experience, that’s not always possible.”
I grit my teeth. “Well, the team has to try. We have to give back to our community.”
“If you say so, Liam. What ‘issue’ is Oliver having?”
“He’s been tasked with proving that he’s loyal to his friends.”
“What kind of task?”
“Holding a weapon on their behalf.”
Brownhill hisses, “Jesus Christ. A gun?”
“No. A knife. With blood on it.”
“Do you understand what you’re asking of me here?”
“I’m just asking for help with a kid who wants to better his life but his past is clinging to him.”
“You’re trying to make it out like this boy is a good egg. I have no idea why Ms. Bukowski lied about him being her mugger, and I’ve no idea what game you’re playing with him being a part of this outreach program, but—”
“Any help you can offer me, Sam, I’d be grateful.” My voice is gruff with how badly I dislike having to manipulate this situation.
He knows what I’m saying, too, because he clears his throat. “Playoff tickets?”
“Club seats,” I immediately offer. “For as long as we’re in the playoffs.”
Brownhill scoffs. “All the way to the end, then. No way you guys will lose with how you’re playing this season.”
“Maybe. That’s something I can’t guarantee. Tickets, however, I can. For you and how many?”
I hear the tapping of a pen in the background. “Five. That’s how many friends I’ll need to help me clear up this mess.”
“I understand.” I release a sigh. “It can’t look as if Oliver gave you the knife.”
“No. I understand that. His crew… When I tell you they’re not good eggs, I mean it. Arnie was the original leader but James is worse. Arnie was too hopped up on drugs to accomplish much.
“The rest are as young as Oliver but eager to prove their worth to the new ‘leader.’ One of my friends works their patch and they’ve been bombarded with dozens of petty crimes this week alone; that’s why I know so much about them. You’re getting involved in something you don’t understand.”
“I’m sure that once this situation is under control, things will get easier,” I try to appease.
His grunt tells me he doesn’t agree. “I’m going to treat this as a tip-off. We’ll bring the boy in for questioning and go from there.”
“He won’t be arrested?”
“No.” A gust sounds in my ear. “But I make no promises about any of his crew whose prints may be on the weapon.”
Praying to fuck that Ollie didn’t touch the knife, I state, “Understood.”
“This won’t be the last you hear of his crew, Liam. I’m warning you—once you’re in, they don’t let you out.”
I know he meant that as a warning, but if anything, it makes me all the more determined to liberate Ollie from those ties.
Staying noncommittal, I tell him, “I’ll get the tickets to you as soon as they’re available.”
“I appreciate that. I’ll keep you updated.”
“Thank you for this, Sam.”
“You’re welcome. Tell the boy that we’ll take the knife from him at the precinct.”
“Got it.”
When Brownhill puts the phone down, I release a soft breath as I stare at the bundle I dumped on the seat beside me.
Watching Ollie as he completes his task, I don’t disturb him, just wait for him to finish.
As he skates over to me, I can see the expectant look on his face.
He saw me on the phone and knows my plan, for what it’s worth, is underway.
“Everything okay, Liam?” he asks, his tone hopeful.
“Did you touch the knife?”
“No. I’m dumb, but I ain’t that dumb.”
“I’m glad you said it first,” I snap then bite my tongue because he doesn’t need me to add to the pressure he’s under. “Okay,” I murmur eventually. “The cop I know, we’ve made arrangements. He’s treating my call like a tip-off.
“Tomorrow, he’s going to show up at your school and bring you in for questioning. The knife will be taken from you at the precinct.”
“I-I won’t be arrested?”
“No. He said you won’t. But if there are prints on the knife, then someone will be. You understand me?”
He scratches his cheek. “If Jamie goes to jail, someone will probably take his place. No one is as old as him.”
“How many are on this goddamn crew?”
“Six now.”
Tabarnak. “How do we get you away from them?”
“I don’t know,” he mutters, shoulders hunching again.
We never talk about anything outside of what’s going on with him at school or what he’s learned in the program, so I ask, “Your mom…”
“What about her?”
“You never talk about her.”
“Not much to say. She’s always strung out.”
That has me cringing. “Aren’t you tired of dealing with that?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs, and the move is bizarrely adult for a boy so young. “I used to like it. Meant that I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Things are different now, though.” His brow puckers. “I-I like this hockey shit, Liam. I might not be good at it, but I like it.”
“You’ve only been playing a few months,” I counter. “You need to give yourself a chance to adapt. Have you tried it in nets?”
“Nah. You know that they just give us sticks and try to keep us from falling on our asses in the other classes.”
“I’m going to assume that Gracie’s wasn’t the first purse you stole?”
“No.” He shoves his gloved hands into his pockets. “I’m real good at snatching ‘em.”
“Not anymore,” I retort, though I can’t help but think that could be a useful skill for a goalie to have.
“No. Not no more,” he quickly agrees.
“You enjoy it? Outside of Gracie’s rules?” I ask. Now is as good a time as any to ram that home.
“I wish I didn’t suck at it, but yeah. You think I’d be good in the crease?” he asks hopefully.
“I think the same instincts that have you targeting a particular mark, that help you snatch a purse, might make catching a puck easier. It’s something to think about.”
He peers at me. “Why were you asking about my mom?”
“If you want away from your crew, maybe it’s time to speak with ACS.”
“Ha. Like they give a fuck. Anyway, I’m not going in no home.”
“Wouldn’t it be better than what you’re dealing with now? It isn’t like you’d be on your own in the system.”
“Isn’t it? You and Gracie are only interested in me at the moment. My crew was… is my family.”
“So why did you tell me about the knife? You said it yourself, Ollie—you want to go a different way. I think that Gracie and I have shown you an out and you want to take it—like you said, you’re not that dumb. And we’re not going anywhere.
“Gracie, for good or bad, has taken an interest in you. She’s not the kind of person who gives up on someone. I’d know because she’s with me.”
“And you’re a lost cause? You’re Liam Donnghal!”
“So? Do you think that’s easy? You think it’s all fun being with me?” I shake my head. “Do you know what being ‘Liam Donnghal’ got me, Ollie?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that it got me kidnapped. I mean that Gracie gets shit in the papers for wearing pants at an event where she ‘should’ have worn a dress simply because she was on my arm. I mean that money in the bank doesn’t always lead to you sleeping without nightmares and it sure as hell doesn’t grow your ear back. I mean that living in a big house doesn’t take away from the fact that you don’t feel safe because being Liam Donnghal got you abducted once—what’s to stop it from happening again? And what’s to stop those same people targeting the woman you love?’
Ollie clambers over the boards and takes a heavy seat at my side. “You have nightmares?”
I stare at him. “I do.”
He points to my prosthetic ear. “That happened while you were kidnapped?”
“It did.”
“I thought it was a skating accident. One of the instructors in the program has a massive scar from a skate.”
“I wish that were what happened to me but it isn’t.” Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees. “I’m helping with this, Ollie, so maybe I can help with social services too.”
He blinks at me. “I’ll be alone.”
“You won’t be,” I counter. “You’ll have Gracie and me.”
“You won’t be in the home they put me in.”
“No, but you’ll sleep under a roof without a mom that’s high. There’ll be food in the refrigerator that you don’t have to steal—” His blush tells me I hit the nail on the head there. “You won’t have to be afraid of a drug dealer coming around, demanding payment for her addiction.”
For a while, he doesn’t say anything, just stares out at the ice. Then, he rasps, “I’ll still see them at school.”
“Not if we make sure you’re moved to a different district.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Maybe I can’t promise it, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it happens.”
He swallows. “Really?”
“Really.”
His small shoulders hunch again, and just when I think that’s a sign he’s going to turn me down, with a trembling bottom lip as he shifts focus from the rink and back onto me, he mumbles, “Okay.”
Our gazes locked, I nod. “Let’s make it happen then.”
