Page 68 of Hard Hitter
Ari took a deep breath, but the pen was sweaty in her hand. “There’s a bank account with my name on it somewhere? What does that mean?”
He just shook his head.
Ari signed her name five times in rapid succession. Then she passed the paper to the cop and stood up.
“Hang on—I have a few more questions.”
“Too bad,” she said, hefting her purse onto her shoulder. “I’m going home to call my lawyer. You can clear your questions through him.”
The cop didn’t bother arguing as she got the hell out of there.
***
When she got back to the practice rink, she called her lawyer. When she was finished filling him in, there were twenty minutes left before Massey’s appointment. So she walked through the gym to see if he wanted to get started early. There were voices—lots of them—echoing from the stretching room.
She stuck her head through the doorway to see what all the fuss was about. Players lined the room, watching Patrick and Crikey in the middle. The two players were wearing protective gear and circling each other on the mat.
“Keep your chin up,” Patrick prompted. “Yeah.” They were both sweating profusely. They must have been at this for a while. “Your reach is better than mine, so stay loose and don’t let me get near you until you’re ready to grab the sweater. Ready?” Patrick moved in, trying to grab Crikey. Crikey dodged him and then made his own grab.
“Yeah!” players cheered. “You got this!”
Nobody was working out. They were all just standing around, enjoying the spectacle.
Crikey punched Patrick (with a boxing glove) and Patrick pounded on Crikey. The younger man went down, and Jimbo blew a whistle. They rolled apart from each other, panting.
“You’re gettin’ the hang of it,” Patrick said, sounding tired.
“Dude. What a rush,” Crikey breathed from his back. “Where’d you learn to fight, anyway? Who taught you?”
“When I was ten I started hanging out at a boxing gym. You never heard this story?”
“No. Ten? Fuck. You’re a prodigy.”
Patrick reached his arms over his head and stretched out his rib cage. “Eh. It was necessary. The older kids at the group home where I lived kept stealing my food...”
Ari stopped breathing.
“...I hung around the boxing gym because I needed to figure out how to shut that shit down. The guys in there thought it was funny that a kid wanted to fight, so they taught me.”
“Jesus.” Crikey sat up. “Did it work?”
“Sure. Eventually. I’m here now, right? Didn’t starve. You want to go one more time?” He planted a hand on the mat and sat up.
Ari didn’t react quickly enough and his icy gaze landed right on her startled face. His mouth got tight and he looked away.
Even though he’d told this ugly little tale to a room full of people, she had the guilty feeling of someone who’d just eavesdropped. “Is...” she cleared her throat. “Massey? Are you ready for your appointment?”
The defenseman high-fived both Crikey and Patrick, then followed her out of the room.
***
That night she was restless. She paced her bedroom, a nervous wreck. The lawyer had just instructed her not to speak to the police again without counsel. If Vince had involved her name and social security number in any shady dealings, she would have to prove her innocence.
Lawyer bills could sink her. This week she’d bought a new window and a new basement door. Those costs paled in comparison to a lawyer’s fee. Moonlighting might be one solution. If she fit some private massages into her schedule on the evenings she wasn’t traveling with the team, the extra money would help.
But she didn’t want the team to know she was moonlighting, so she’d have to keep it a secret.
More secrets. Yay.
