Breathless 4 (Breathless #4) (3 page)

“I have to figure out a way to get him alone,” I told
her. “I can’t just wait until he comes back. You know I can’t wait.” Georgia
started to open her mouth to counter and then closed it, shrugging and nodding.

“Yeah, you’re a mess. You should have talked to him
about this before.”

“
Shoulda
coulda
woulda
,” I said, frowning. “I thought I was just
being crazy. I thought it was just some bullshit thing that people were blaming
him for. But if there’s a police file on him… Georgia, what if my mom is right?
What if he did it and only got off because he was some big hockey star?”

“Do you really think he’ll admit it?” I pressed my
lips together.

“I’ll know it, even if he doesn’t admit it,” I said after
considering it for a moment. “Unless he’s some kind of monster, there’ll be
some sign that he’s hiding something from me, and I’ll know what to think. But
I have to at least try to get to the bottom of this.”

“Well, we agree on that, at least. You need to know if
you’re dating some kind of abusive asshole who drugs and rapes his girlfriends
and invites his friends to partake in it.” She shook her head. “But I just
can’t believe it. I mean, it can’t be that bad, at least not his part in it,
can it?” I exhaled.

“I don’t even know what to think anymore. I have to do
something.”

“Just don’t get yourself killed. Stay calm.” I rolled
my eyes.

“Might as well tell me to stop breathing as to stop
worrying. I’ll stay as safe as I can.” I plugged in the address of the away
game into my phone’s map function and put my laptop back into my room. I could
easily afford the ticket to the game if I had to. I knew there was no chance
I’d be able to see Johnny before the game started, there just wasn’t enough
time for me to get there. I’d get into the stadium where he was playing and wait
for him and find some way to get him alone — however I had to do that.

Georgia wished me luck and I hurried down to the
parking lot. My car wasn’t the nicest or most expensive one there, but it was a
good, reliable Volvo. My dad had bought it for me new when I got my license and
made sure that I knew every last one of its features as well as how to change a
tire before he let me take ownership of it. My parents also insisted on paying
for AAA, just in case of some other kind of trouble with the car on the road,
especially now that I was no longer living with them. I got into the car and
hooked my phone into the stereo system, forcing myself to take slow, deep
breaths. I was not going to speed off of the campus and onto the Interstate
just because I wanted to get to Johnny as fast as possible. I was going to do
my best to remain calm and make it to Johnny’s game in one piece.

I started up the car and pulled up my playlist. I
hoped that at least some music would help me get through the drive or help me
to keep my sanity. I started the directions and selected an album by Elliott
Smith, thinking that the quiet acoustic music would soothe my nerves. I pulled
out of my parking spot and found my way onto the road leading off of campus; it
was so rare that I ever had to leave that I hadn’t really paid attention to the
routes into and out of the property. The directions brought me to the
Interstate and I started to feel my heart beating faster again in my chest.
Deep breaths. You’ve driven on the
Interstate a hundred times.
I started singing along with the music coming
over my stereo and for a little while, my panic seemed to dissipate. I could
focus on the road as long as I kept singing.

But the lyrics of the songs started to get to me. “The
names you drop put ice in my veins/and for all you know, you’re the only one
who finds it strange/when they call it a lover’s moon… Someone’s always coming
around here, trailing some new kill…what’s a game of chance to you to him is
one of real skill…” I told myself not to let it twist my head, but I started
speeding up, going down the Interstate faster. What if I missed Johnny? What if
I got there right after the team left? I’d have made the trip for no reason.

I tried to keep a handle on myself, but I was so
upset, so frustrated with my failure to get the full story out of him sooner,
so horrified by what my mom had discovered about Claire White and what had led
to her suicide, that I started to breathe in little fast, sharp gasps. I was
driving well over the speed limit; staying in my lane, but hyper-aware of
everyone around me, few as the cars were at that time of the evening. I gripped
my steering wheel with white knuckles. I was going too fast and there were too
many cars around me for me to change the music on my phone. I couldn’t let
myself get distracted. It seemed like even in the post-rush hour traffic, there
were at least a couple of drivers who were either drunk or absolutely not
paying attention to the world around them.

Just as I was starting to get used to the cars around
me, just when I was starting to calm down and keep my mind on getting to the
game as safely as I could, a car came rushing up in the lane next to me,
speeding and darting around the other vehicles on the road. My heart started
pounding as it approached and I gripped my wheel tighter than ever, starting to
breathe heavier as my heart beat faster. It moved to swerve around the car just
in front of me in the same lane and I stomped on the brake, narrowly slowing
down in time to avoid being sideswiped by it. I heard myself let out a little
yelping shout of fear and my hands started to shake on the wheel, my leg
trembling from the pressure of my foot on the brake. Everything seemed to be
spinning; the car directly behind me laid on the horn and I shook, tears
starting to blur my vision.

I pulled over onto the shoulder as quickly as I could,
spasms of fear and panic rushing all through my muscles. I was
hyperventilating, shaking all over as I put the car in park and leaned over the
wheel.
Oh God. Oh God. Get yourself
together, Becky.
I started to sob and the sharp, aching pain in my side
flared up again as I lost all control of my breathing. Elliott Smith droned
around me in the car and I heard one or two people honk their horns as they
blew past me in the lane; it was impossible for me to know whether they were
trying to insult me or if they were somehow trying to signal me to see if I
needed help.

I cried until the last of the sobs worked their way
out of me, leaving my stomach aching and my side throbbing with pain. I slammed
my hand down on the steering wheel. Everything felt so completely helpless; I
couldn’t think. I snatched up my phone and changed the music. I had to get
myself together. I had to find a way to collect what little composure I had. I
didn’t want to show up at the game looking like a total mess. I took a deep
breath and grabbed for the tissues in my glove compartment, rubbing at my face.
I took another deep breath and flipped down the mirror to see that my eyes and
cheeks were red from crying, but I didn’t look nearly as terrible as I had
imagined I did.

I swallowed down the last of my tears and wiped at my
face a few more times. I pulled my hair back into a bun and found an elastic in
my purse to hold it in place. There. I closed my eyes and willed my heart to
slow down. I would get to the game, and I would talk to Johnny, and then
everything would — somehow — get better. I’d have answers, at least. I couldn’t
let my panic make me do stupid things that would get me killed before I could
even talk to the man I loved. I flipped through my music library and picked a
Yeah
Yeah
Yeahs
album and
put it on. I felt stronger already. I was only another hour away from the
stadium where Johnny and the team would be playing. I had to focus. I had to
get there and find a way to get Johnny alone to talk to him. I looked into my
peripheral mirror and watched the slight evening traffic passing me by. I got
out of park and gathered speed on the shoulder, signaling that I was trying to
get back onto the road. Eventually, I was able to slip in and continue on my
way towards the stadium, towards the site of Johnny’s away game. I sang along
with Karen O. and managed to keep myself at a normal pace, managed to keep from
panicking as I made my way down the highway. I wasn’t exactly looking forward
to the conversation that I had to have with Johnny, but I knew I didn’t have
any other real choice in the situation. It would have to happen. I would have
to get there on time. I had to keep myself under control until I found out what
the situation really was. I had to hope that Johnny would tell me the truth.

Chapter
Four

By the time I was finally able to get to the stadium
at the college where Johnny was playing, I knew that the game had to be more
than half over. I went to the ticket booth and the woman at the counter gave me
a funny look when I asked for a ticket for our team’s section. “Well the game’s
in the end of the third quarter, so I don’t know why you’d waste your time
coming all the way here,” she said, taking my card and running it. “I’ll give
you the ticket for half-price. Not many tickets in your section so you can have
a good seat for it.” I thanked her with a smile and grabbed my ticket, moving
into the stadium as quickly as I could. Parking had been difficult to find, and
I dreaded the walk back out to my car at the end of the night, especially if I
managed to talk to Johnny the way I was planning to. But I would just have to
suck it up and deal with it.

I found that my ticket gave me a seat right behind the
glass, instead of up in the higher rows; the woman at the ticket booth had been
right — there weren’t many of our fans in the stands. I looked out on the ice. The
game was still hot and heavy and I glanced at the scoreboard to see we were
ahead by a couple of points.
That is good,
at least
, I thought wryly.
I’d hate
to bother Johnny with accusations of being a rapist and abuser when he’s just
lost a game.
I took my seat. The section for our team was small, but
everyone was cheering, most of them shouting Johnny’s name.

I spotted him on the ice, playing just as hard and
just as well as he ever had when I had watched him — better, in fact than he
had been playing when he knew I was in the audience watching him. Georgia had
joked that I was distracting the star player just by my presence, but her joke
seemed to have a good bit of substance as I watched Johnny dominate on the ice.
He nearly got into a brawl with one of the other team’s players. The refs broke
it up just in time, and I shook my head, feeling irritated instead of panicky.
There was no question in my mind that Johnny was fully capable of being
aggressive, but was he capable of hurting a girl he loved?
How do you know he loved Claire? Because he told you? But how do you
know you can trust anything he says?
I chewed at my bottom lip; it was
starting to become sore from how often I had pulled it between my teeth in the
last several hours, but I didn’t care.

Johnny looked like he was having a great time, and I
couldn’t help but feel a little irritated at the fact that he was clearly
totally oblivious to what was going on in my life. Where had he been and what
had he been doing when I had texted him before? It had been before the game. I
frowned as I watched him streaming across the ice, almost too fast to watch.
Certainly no one on the other team had anyone who could keep up with him for
more than a few seconds before he blasted past. The goalie on the other team
was working overtime to keep the lead that our side had from growing. One of
the other team’s players stole the puck from one of Johnny’s teammates and
managed to get in a quick shot that our goalie wasn’t quite fast enough to
knock aside, leaving the lead to just a point.

There was a break between quarters and I watched as
Johnny went over to the sidelines. I could barely see his face through his mask,
but I could tell he was grinning. I felt a surge of irritation. How was he so
happy? If he had been behind the torment that had led to Claire’s death, how
could he ever be that happy again? I clenched my teeth as I saw him fist-bump
one of his teammates. It didn’t seem fair that I had spent the last several
hours — and before that, a couple of days — in a writhing torture of fear,
worry, and sadness and here he was playing as if nothing else in the world was
on his mind, as if nothing could possibly bother him. I saw him laugh at
something one of his teammates said to him as he went in to grab a
squeeze-bottle of water.

He pulled his mask back and his helmet off, and I
watched him take a long swig of the water. His hair was soaked with sweat, his
face dripping with it. In spite of my irritation, I couldn’t help but notice
how attractive he was, and I felt angry even as I felt my body warming up in reaction,
glowing from the way he’d attacked the game. He poured water over his face and
I felt a jolt rush through me.
Stop that,
I told myself irritably.
You’re here for
a reason and it’s not to ogle Johnny.
But as I watched him laughing and
joking with his friends in the brief break between quarters, I couldn’t quite
hold onto the idea that he was some brutal, abusive psychopath. He couldn’t be
that way and have friends; I would ask him about Claire and what had really
happened, about what my mother had found out, and he would set my mind at ease.
He couldn’t have been involved. It had to be some kind of misunderstanding — something
I couldn’t even imagine, but nonetheless, there had to be some way to explain
what had happened that would leave him completely and totally blameless in the
whole situation.