“Drowning” Banks
“Lamb, what’s going on?” My mom uses her favorite pet name as she reaches over and pats my thigh from the driver’s seat. “You’ve been somewhere else since you walked into the office this morning.”
It’s an automatic reaction to look down and trace the Band-Aid on my palm. It covers the gash from the tree, but more importantly, it keeps the memory at bay. Sort of. Okay, not really. But tracing the outline is comforting.
“It’s just hard, Mom.” I shrug without taking my eyes off my palm.
“I thought you said that Mike and Jimmy and Janie were great. That it was fun to play pool. And you got a little choked up when you saw Trigg carries your bourbon.” She squeezes my thigh reassuringly.
“That was nice, but…” I trail off.
I didn’t have the heart to tell Mom about AJ. I can count the number of times I’ve lied to her on one hand. Every single time was about spending the night with AJ.
Fuck.
And the prospect of seeing him play hockey tonight, dripping in sweat, is making it even worse. So is his genuine shock at my accusation that he broke me first. If I could retreat into myself and never deal with him again, I would.
I thought I’d hardened myself enough to deal with him, maybe even be friendly, but no. There is no armor around my heart he can’t decimate.
“Lamby, I’m gonna go get a spot. When you’re ready.” Mom pats my shoulder and slides out of the Subaru.
I sit staring unblinking at the outdoor bleachers around the hockey rink. They’re filling up and it’s still thirty minutes until the puck drops. But the alumni hockey game is the biggest event on the holiday social calendar besides the tree lighting in early December. My high school reunion had fifteen people attend but I’ve seen thirty kids I graduated with walk past our parking space in the last twenty minutes.
My head sags into my hands and I try very hard not to cry or curl up on the floor. I’m measuring dimensions, seriously considering it, when an odd knock on the window startles me.
Mike’s shaggy blonde hair is sticking out haphazardly from under his black beanie and his smile unfurls like smoke across his face. His knock is muffled because he’s wearing his gear already. Oversized and permanently curled hockey gloves make for a softer knock against glass.
When I sit like an idiot statue for a moment, he slips them off and shoves them under his arm before opening the door on his own.
“Hiding again?” He chuckles. “Come on. Last night wasn’t so terrible, was it?”
No, but this morning…
“It wasn’t terrible,” I answer because last night wasn’t bad at all.
Mike offers me his elbow so I unbuckle and take it. He hasn’t laced his shoes so it takes the two of us a few minutes to amble over to the stands. I stumble once or twice on his laces but he keeps me upright.
Thank God.
I’d be particularly mortified if I fell here. In front of everyone. One tumble would certainly send me back to the floorboards of my mom’s car.
“Cheer for me, okay?” He elbows me hard enough that I slip on the ice patch that has formed between bleachers.
I’m going down I can feel it. I’ve worn wedge Sorels with heavy tread that I thought were sensible compared to the Louboutins of yesterday, but I’m teetering and can’t recover all the same. My arms are flailing, my core is flexing, I’m thinking back to every yoga balance challenge I’ve ever done and nothing. I don’t think I’ve fallen once in Seattle but here…
Strong arms hook underneath my armpits, firmly catching me and easily supporting my weight. My feet still skitter on the patch but whoever has played good Samaritan patiently waits for my Bambi legs to cooperate.
“You might want to ask for boots for Christmas.”
My back bristles at the snarky tone and I struggle against AJ’s grip.
“Cam,” he sighs. “Cam, stop.”
“Get off me.” Suddenly there are worse fates than landing squarely on my ass. Even if my tailbone still aches from this morning.
“You’re going to eat shit if I let go.”
“I don’t care,” I shriek loud enough for a few people, including my mother, to turn.
“I’m not going to drop you. I’m sorry if that makes me the bad guy.”
AJ takes it upon himself to scoot me forward to the solid snow. I rustle out of his grip but he keeps a hold on my hand. His grip is far from romantic but I get the sense he doesn’t want to let go.
Apparently, I’ve added delusional to angry and terrified.
I turn to weave up the bleachers and make the mistake of stopping to glare at AJ since he still holds my hand. He’s even more attractive than last night—probably a little less than this morning. His Carharts hug his muscled thighs and they’re almost as delicious as the pajama pants. His gray thermal clings to every contour of his unreasonably strong arms—arms who’s sculpt is burnt into my brain, and determined to make me continually nauseous. The trim down vest he’s wearing pulls across his chest, which is equally disturbing to my addled mind. A beanie softens the harsh lines of his face even though it covers his wily hair.
As I’m staring, I try to step up to my mom’s level. Another mistake. I don’t step fully onto the aluminum stair before shifting my weight. This time I’m going down and there’s nothing AJ or I can do about it. This will be the fast, boom, chin to step, type of fall. My hand shoots out trying to grab the people around me. Down and wool slips through my fingers and I gasp.
But instead of going down as hard as my rigid body anticipates, I’m yanked sideways.
My eyes squinch shut in anticipation of the pain. And humiliation. Only a moment passes before I realize that those are the only things I feel. Well them and a heartbeat. The heartbeat that made me go a little crazy last night.
I open my eyes to find AJ looking down at me where I’m awkwardly cradled to his chest. He lets out a deep breath and his fingers flex into me. Unless I’m going completely crazy, he seems to lean toward me, arcing gracefully over my trapped body. I swallow a lump the size of the hockey pucks flying into the boards just beyond us and confirm I’m going completely crazy when my neck reaches ever so slightly toward his.
“Heya, AJ.” Someone claps him on the shoulder and the spell is broken. “Is that Cam Collins?”
AJ carefully sets me on my feet then turns toward the interruption.
“Jake.” I can hear the smile in AJ’s voice as he hugs Jake with a solid clap on the back. “How the hell are you?”
“Good, good. You? Not playing tonight?”
“Eh, I’m on call. And the knee…”
They’re both animated, happy as they chatter away, conveniently angled away from me. I want nothing more than to slip away. I try but there are too many people jostling for space now.
My internal monologue is careening quickly out of control. I wish that I could hit rewind and lock the door when Mike knocked on it. Or better yet, not leave the house. Maybe not even leave the Pacific Northwest. Any decision would have been better than this one. I slink so far down in my coat that my rook ear piercing brushes the deep green wool.
“Cam?” Jake questions and by the way he and AJ are looking at me, I gather it’s not the first time he’s asked.
“What?” I can’t talk myself out of my turtle shell and AJ’s look shifts. If I’m not mistaken he feels…bad.
“How are you? What are you up to these days?” Jake chuckles a little but it’s AJ’s look that allows me to pull my head out of my coat—and my ass—and answer.
“I’m good. I live in Seattle. I own my own business, distilling artisanal bourbon.”
They’re both shocked. It’s not what people expect from shy, nerdy me. Or from a woman, period. How AJ didn’t catch that last night, I’m not sure. But I can’t handle the shock clearly covering his face so I shrink back into my coat. I’m praying it looks like I’m cold.
“Camilla,” my mom saves me. “Can you come hold the spot? I have to go to the bathroom.”
When I meet her eyes, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt she doesn’t have to, she’s just trying to protect me. I manage to square my shoulders, smile, and nod.
“I’ve…my mom…” I can’t find a sentence, but Jake nods and I figure that’s enough. Before the conversation gets even more awkward, I turn, hoping to tackle the aluminum solo this time. Wordlessly a hand comes to my hip and helps me up.
AJ has changed tactics. He’s decided to kill me with kindness rather than outright and blatant hatred. I’m not sure how I feel about it either. Things were simpler when a singular emotion wove between us.
As soon as I get settled in our spot, my mom steps down for appearances. AJ has evaporated.
“He’s such a good man.”
Mom’s friend, Carrie Hamilton, leans over so her voice is crystal clear over the chaos growing around us: hockey pucks, referee whistles, friendly conversation and raucous laughter.
“Who?” I try and find my smile for her.
“AJ Jenkins.”
Of course.
“You know he was almost instrumental in getting the funding for the animal shelter?”
“No.” I bite my lip.
Does he remember Gretzky?
“He’s the firefighter that responded to Todd’s accident.” One of the other women pipes in.
He’s a volunteer firefighter? Who is this dude?
“What does he do for a living?” I ask, suspecting that it’s something painfully perfect as well.
“Makes that gorgeous furniture.” Carrie waves her hand leisurely. “You know all that reclaimed wood stuff with the big steel and wrought iron that they put in during the remodel at the lodge.”
Of course. Stupid perfect, asshole, AJ. Wood and steel are second to only cherry and smoke in my life. My hands clench into fists at my sides as the women keep speaking.
“Took care of his mother three winters ago when his dad died even though he’d just had that knee surgery.”
And just like that, they spoon out my heart and leave me to bleed on the bleachers.