Page 86 of Hell Bent
I wasn’t in the baggage-claim area like Sebastian had said. I was on the curb instead, shifting from one foot to the other in the cold, my arms wrapped around my middle, holding my inadequate long sweater in place. Hardly anybody out here this late, and I?—
He pulled up. I was heading across the sidewalk to him, but he was out his door, and I was getting to do what I’d come for. To run to him, throw my arms around him, have him pick me up and twirl me, both of us laughing. And then to kiss him. My hand in his hair, my tongue in his mouth, and he was falling back against the car, one hand in my hair and theother on my lower back, pulling me in tight against his body, kissing me better.
A voice behind us, saying, “No parking or standing.” I turned, Sebastian’s arm still around me, and saw a cop. Who was not smiling.
Sebastian said, “Yeah. We’re going.” And grinned.
The cop peered at him. “Hang on. The Devils just got back, didn’t they? Aren’t you Robi?—”
“Who?” Sebastian said. “No. Just picking up my girlfriend.” Opening the passenger door, then closing it behind me, running around to the driver’s side, and taking off. I was laughing, so was he, and I was saying, “He knew who you were. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t know how he even recognized me,” Sebastian said, “other than the Devils hat, but cops have a good memory for faces.” I had my hand on his jeans-clad thigh, and he took one hand off the wheel, set it on top of mine, and squeezed. “Can’t believe you came.”
I said, “Wait. You don’t know?”
“What don’t I know?” A quick glance at me, then back at the road, getting on the freeway.
“Sebastian.” I was laughing again. “The snow angels? You don’t know that was on TV? And an interview with youwithoutyour helmet, looking so serious and sexy and wolflike? You’re famous! I love that you did that. And that half the team did it with you. The announcers said?—”
He groaned, and I said, “What?”
“Most of them don’t say anything you want to hear,” he said. “But go ahead and tell me. What did they say? Andwolflike?What?”
“Oh, nothing.” I still wanted to laugh. And run. And twirl. “Just that the Devils have a new spirit of belief, that’s all. That they’re fostering a new culture of inclusion and brotherhood, and that game was a perfect example of it. That it wasn’t justthe veterans stepping up, it was the newest players, too. Like, for example, you. Playing unselfishly, sacrificing for each other, celebrating together. ‘The team focusing on what’s right for the players,’ that one guy said, the loud, bald one, ‘and the players focusing on each other. That’s how a team’s supposed to be, but it usually ain’t like that at all. Tell ’em there’s no divas allowed, though, give everybody a voice, and—boom! We all saw what happened.’ And then the other guy said, ‘If they keep playing like this, we’ll be seeing studies done on that team culture. There’s nothing like a united locker room, Terry.’ So is that what did it? Your united locker room? Because how did youwin?”
“I don’t know,” he said, but he was smiling. “I don’t think it’s all that mysterious. We had a good day, that’s all. Everything came together. Got us believing. Sometimes, you know?—”
“What?” I asked. “Tell me.”
“It’s weird,” he said, “but sometimes, when you’re down on the scoreboard or you lose a key player to injury, the rest of the team lifts. If they have the … the DNA for that. Soccer, football, whatever. Playing in the snow like that, when we’d been written off by half the fans, when we could tell the Bills might be looking past this game to the next one—well, it’s always a bad idea to put a game in the W column before you’ve played it. You lose your edge.”
“And you always have an edge,” I said.
“If you mean that I don’t expect much,” he said, “and play every game like it could be my last, you’re probably right.”
I said, “Pull over. Oh—I mean, exit. Exit the freeway.”
“We’re fifteen minutes from home,” he pointed out. “Wait. Are you sick? Are you?—”
I groaned and held my head. “No. No, I’m not sick. Would you justexit?”
“Uh … sure.” He was still confused, but he was also starting to smile. He was exiting, too. “To where?”
I was checking my phone. “Take a right up here on Northeast 72nd.”
“You realize it’s after midnight,” he said as he did it. “Are we scoring some cocaine? Probably not my best move, future-employment-wise. Keep going, or what?”
“Keep going,” I said.
“It’s a golf course,” he said. “I realize my education has been lacking in this area, but I tend to associate this kind of thing with back alleys. Not so much golf courses.”
“Pull over,” I said. “There, on the side of the road. Park there.”
34
THE AWKWARD STUFF
Sebastian
