Point Shot 01 - Two Man Advantage (9 page)

“Vic, you’ll know if the engine falls off by the sudden lurch of the plane. How the hell did you manage hopping all over on the Barracuda jet?” he asked, placing his ankle on his knee. I felt his beloved black Reebok brushing my knee.

“I had pills. Lurch of the plane? Fucking A.”

“Relax, we’ll be in Winnipeg in about five hours. So, yeah, let’s chat. It’ll help take your mind off the fact that we’re climbing straight up.”

“I so fucking hate you right now.”

“No you don’t,” he said with such assurance that I wanted to slap him. I would have too, if I could have managed to pry my fingers from armrest of my seat. “As a matter of fact, you even said you loved me last night.”

“No, I said I loved the way you’ve perfected the rim job. Can I have a drink now?” I asked, my throat growing narrower as we soared higher.

“Yeah well, you deserved it after taking the game ejection last night,” he replied, his hand coming to rest on my thigh. A wee bit of terror lifted with his touch. “That was a particularly awesome payback for him hurting your favorite winger. Shame about the suspension.”

The memory of how tenderly he and I had come together the night before warmed my cockles. Then the plane leveled out. My inner ears popped. I nearly shit myself. I nervously sucked at my teeth. Dan threw me a glower meant to kill.

“I. Need. A. Fucking. Drink.” Dan took note of the dread in my tone. Within moments, we each had a cold bottle of beer. I also had a shot of Jack, which I dribbled down my chin due to my quaking fingers. “We’re driving back to Cayuga,” I wheezed as the whiskey scalded my esophagus.

“Takes too long,” he said casually, his plump bottom lip resting on the rim of his beer. His upper lip was puffy and discolored. I couldn’t even kiss him the way I liked to. I hoped Hickok was enjoying his dental procedures. Happy fucking Turkey Day, you ass-chomping clown. I lifted my bottle in a mental toast to the toothless goalie. “So, I’m curious,” Dan said. I turned my head to look at him. He was dressed comfortably but nicely in khakis, a thick blue sweater that made his eyes seem more lapis-colored, if that were even possible, and of course his Reeboks. “That chick last night. You remember? The one that had you sign her tit?”

“Oh yeah, Ms. Goodyear.” I smiled at the recollection of that enormous hooter being bared for my pen in the parking lot. I mean, talk about a dedicated fan. It had dipped into single digits last night. I had signed the boob, flicked the nipple, then gone to my hotel room to make love to Dan. She had wanted more.
C’est la vie
. “What about her?”

“She your type?” he asked, working real hard to appear nonchalant yet failing miserably.

“If you’re asking if I’d tap her, sure. She was breathing. That’s pretty much my only prerequisite for a puck-bunny.” I began tapping on the side of my beer. That kid behind us was whining more loudly. Is there any sound more grating than a whiny kid? I turned around to glower at the passengers behind us.

“You ever have a long-term with a woman?”

I rolled my head back to the right. Dan was looking right at me. I held up my shot glass. When it was refilled and the Jack was burning a path to my gut, I replied.

“Once. Her name was Gina. She was nice and way too good for me,” I said while studying the tiny amount of golden liquid remaining in the shot glass. “She had morals and ideals and dreams of a house, picket fence, dog and a couple kids. Kind of like you.”

Dan’s delectable lips flattened even though it must have hurt like hell. He had never told me about his dreams, I just assumed from the way he blathered on about “relationships” and “emotions”. See, I read between the lines too.

“She got wise to what a loser I was and left. Which is, you know, probably what will happen when you realize how much of a mental case I am,” I muttered, then ran my tongue around the inside of the shot glass.

“I’m not planning on going anywhere, Vic,” Dan told me.

I snorted into the shot glass. “That’s what everyone says, Danny Boy.”

* * * * *

Right off the bat I knew this trip was a mistake. I’m not a mentalist or anything, just ask any coach who has had the pleasure of trying to deal with me. Each and every one will tell you I’m a dumb fuck. My mother would agree, then whip a whiskey bottle at my head to emphasize the point. Dan’s father, a short man with little skin pigment, even less hair and eyes as blue as a Canadian lake, met us at James Armstrong Richardson International. There was much hugging and clapping of backs. Will Arou gave me an unwavering once-over when Dan introduced us.

“I saw you when Boston played the Winnipeg Egrets last year.” He pumped my hand vigorously as he talked.

“Was that the night I pulled two majors for fighting?” I asked, then wiped my hand on my pants leg after Will released it. The dude’s hand was cold and moist. Will grinned, then winked at his son.

“It was! Then you grabbed a hat trick. How the blistering bog does a man spend twenty in the box yet grab a hat trick?” Dan’s father asked his son. I shrugged in an attempt to look humble.

“Pops, stop bragging him up,” Dan said, looping his arm around his stumpy father’s neck. “They already got to use a watermelon as a mold for his helmets.”

I slugged the smartass in the arm, then grabbed my duffel from the carousel. Stepping from the warmth of the terminal into the cold outside was beyond a shock. I didn’t care how cold it was, though—we were on the ground. For that I was beyond thankful. Snow flittered downward from a slate-gray sky. We hustled to the Arou vehicle, a red four-wheel-drive late-nineties Ford F-150. The ride through Winnipeg was cozy. The city itself is a pretty one. I recalled visiting a few places when the Barracudas had been in town, like Fort Garry and Shaw Park. When we passed the old Hudson Bay Company trading post, I looked over at Dan squished between his father and me.

“Not much longer.” He smiled sleepily. “We live close to Winnipeg University.” My eyes were dry from the heater flowing steadily into my face. I blinked.

“Is that where you went to college?” I asked, wondering why I didn’t know this already. Dan raised a dark eyebrow at the question. Mr. Arou barged right in.

“Nah, Danny went to the University of Manitoba,” Will said with pride. “Full sports scholarship for the Bisons’ men’s hockey team. Was the team high-scorer four years running, then got grabbed up by the Barracudas as their number two draft choice last year.”

“Good on you,” I mumbled, suddenly feeling hot under the collar. I should have known all that, huh? I mean, I hadn’t asked Dan one thing about himself, aside from how deep he wanted it, since we’d first met.

“It’s all good, Vic.” Dan gave my knee a fast clutch. I really didn’t think it was all good, and for the first time ever, I felt bad about treating someone like a man-fuck. I turned from the father and son to watch the town moving past. Their conversation filtered through as background fluff.

We pulled into a short driveway. The Arou house was a small place with light-blue siding, a garage of the same color sitting behind and to the right of the house, and a birdbath in the front flower bed. The neighborhood was middle-class. Similarly sized and styled houses sat on either side of Dan’s family home. A huge oak stood in the front yard, its leaves long gone. I got a soft nudge from Dan. My feet felt leaden. The front door opened before we could gather the bags from the back of the truck. A petite woman with a round face, bundled up in a thick green coat, came hustling out into the bitter cold. Her skin was the color of a deerskin, her hair as black as night, and her mouth ran steady. Dan’s mother kissed him all over his face. I shook my head. He sniggered, hugged his mother, then walked her to me.

“Mom, this is my friend Victor,” he said as I put her little hand in mine. Her palm was dry and smooth. She hung on like a leech.

“Friend like friend, or friend like
friend
?”she asked, her black eyes as sharp as a raptor’s. I wanted to peel her off, leap back into the Ford and drive back to Cayuga. Yeah, that sounded good.

“Friend as in
friend
, so we’ll be sleeping in the man cave,” Dan announced for his mother and all of fucking Fort Garry, Winnipeg to hear.

“You’re so tall and pale,” Mrs. Arou said. I suppose to an Inuit I
was
a little pasty. And what’s with that red patch of hair under your lip?”

“Your boy likes it,” I countered, wiggling my fingers to try to break her grip. “He digs the tickle when we kiss.”

At that the woman threw back her head and roared. Her hold grew stronger. Now I knew where Dan got his badger powers of laughter, strength and sharp observation. Snowflakes dotted her short black hair. My fingers were lifeless now. Dan’s blue eyes glowed with approval.

“I like him!” Mrs. Arou told her son.

“Yeah, me too,” Dan responded. My mouth grew a tad dry.

“Come inside and say hello to the birthday boy!” Mrs. Arou shouted. I swear they could have heard her in the next province, or state, or whatever they call them up there in the boondocks. If I saw a fucking moose in the yard, I was taking the next train home and never coming across the border again. Ever.

Mrs. Arou dragged me and Dan into her humble home. Mr. Arou fumbled along in our wake with our duffels. The inside of the house was nice—nothing fancy but homey and warm. An orange cat lounged on the back of the sofa, his ear moving the only sign of life. The furniture was used but in good shape. The walls were scuffed here and there and family portraits covered one whole wall. I was inching toward the wall of shame to check out first-grade Dan Arou when the birthday boy came thundering into the living-room.

He was a stocky kid, dressed in jeans and a Cayuga Cougars sweatshirt. He was maybe sixteen, with the same dark hair and brilliant blue eyes that Dan has. Dan braced himself for impact. The teenager barreled into his older brother, clutched his face as they tumbled to the couch, and kissed Dan right on the lips. Everyone laughed after the smooch, including Dan, who was now wrestling with his sibling. I personally had a question or two about such a familiar greeting, but my concerns were replaced by stunned stupidity when Dan sat up, arm draped over his brother. The youngest Arou son had Down Syndrome. Dan was rubbing his mouth with the back of his left hand, his eyes glittering with joy.

“Kurt, I know we talked about personal space,” Dan said, tightening his arm playfully around Kurt’s neck. The kid nodded and smiled.

“Yeah, we did. I missed you,” Kurt said, his head coming to rest on Dan’s. Dan kissed the kid’s hair, then stood up. I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing. Kurt was talking at warp speed about soup. Mr. Arou had disappeared into a doorway with our bags. Mrs. Arou followed her youngest son back into the kitchen, tossing a warning to wash up over her shoulder.

“You’re totally overwhelmed,” Dan said as he walked over to me. “You look like a moose in the headlights.”

“Sorry about your brother.” As soon as it was out I regretted it. A shadow moved over Dan’s round face but he smiled despite my stupid comment.

“Nothing to be sorry about—it’s just an extra chromosome. Come on.” His arm slid around my waist. “Mom made her famous potato soup and homemade bread for dinner.”

Chapter Ten

The man cave was the basement. It had been redone to Papa Arou’s demands. It was his place to escape to, to watch hockey and drink a few cold ones. I moved to my back, the sleeper sofa’s mattress too thin, the humidifier running too loudly and Dan’s hand gliding over my abdomen too unsettling.

“Stop, okay?” I whispered and grabbed his wrist. His exhalation spoke frigging volumes.

“Vic, we’re in the basement. No one upstairs is going to hear us if we get at each other a little,” he said as he worked to free himself. I was not letting go.

“No, sorry, I couldn’t get hard if I wanted to. You father just flushed the fucking toilet over our heads after a solid half hour of explosive bowel movements.”

Dan chuckled in the dark. “That
was
pretty nasty.” My hold on his wrist slackened. He continued to rub my chest and stomach but didn’t voyage below the elastic of my jogging pants. “Mom’s potato soup always loosens him up.”

“
Way
too much information.” I liked the weight of his head on my biceps. “Your parents are amazing,” I said, then yawned. The house above us was finally quiet. “I mean, the way they’ve handled how their sons have turned out…shit, if my mother were half as together as your—”

That strong hand enjoying the feel of me stilled. “What do you mean, ‘
How their sons turned out’
?”

I turned my head. It was as dark as hell in the basement. All the windows had been covered with paneling when Mr. Arou had redone things. Probably it was a good thing I couldn’t see how pissed Dan was, because he sounded hot. I blew out a long breath. I do get tired of having to talk myself out of things. Maybe if my mouth didn’t run a few laps ahead of my fucking brain all the time it wouldn’t be such a daily occurrence.

“I just meant that they had to be like ‘WTF?’ when they ended up with one son with Downs and the other being gay. And don’t get pissy, man. You know what I’m saying, as harsh as it is, is the fucking truth. No parents go into it saying, ‘Man, I sure hope my kids are homosexual or—’”

“You say retarded and I will beat you until you’re nothing but a fucking grease smear, Kalinski,” Dan barked before exiting the bed in a snit. I threw his side of the covers off my face. The light snapped on. My eyes freaked out. I sat up to watch Dan charging back and forth, rubbing his forehead like a migraine was about to blow his eyeballs out of his skull.

“Okay, I might be the world’s biggest dick, but even
I
wouldn’t use that word to describe your brother,” I told him. He sneered, stalked, rubbed and grumbled about derogatory bullshit coming out of people who were as black as pots or something like that. His thickening accent and his pacing made it hard to catch all he said. I threw my feet to the floor. Even with padding and carpet, the icy-cold goodness grabbed your toes instantly. Fuck that. I re-covered and leaned back against the cushioned couch back.