Page 11 of He Has Santa (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
CHAPTER6
JUNIE
All the air, all the life, and energy left the shop with Logan, sucked out of me too. It had always been like that with him. He owned any room he was in, injected the life, tilted, and whirled the universe that surrounded him. As I retreat into the back of the bakery, untying my apron, relief from the grip of tension frees my smile.
I used to tease him about being synonymous with the tilt-a-whirl, how the name of my family’s bakery perfectly described how I felt whenever I saw him, what he did to me, to any room he was in. He would laugh and lift me and whirl me around, and I would screech and pee my pants giggling. Then we’d inevitably collapse into a pile, and the real fun would start. The passion burned white-hot with us. So hot I could swear I felt it today.
If I were honest with myself, based on the burn in my cheeks this every moment, I still feel that intense pull, the want and desire to be his, to be possessed by him, to be in his arms, joined and lost in that world of bliss.
But that wasn’t just another time and place; the way we were was a whole other universe, another dimension. It had been a time of innocence. A place we’ll never get back, and I’d best remember that.
For now, I need to talk to someone before I explode—someone who will understand the gravity of introducing Nicky to her father at long last. Picking up my phone, I dial Sharon.
“He came in. My heart is still pounding like I ate a barrel of sugar with a side of crack.”
“He? Do you mean Logan? Came to the Tilt-a-Whirl?” Sharon’s already high voice squeaks to almost dog-whistle levels.
“Yeah.” I hear shuffling sounds, and then she comes back on in a hush.
“I’ll be right over.”
When Sharon says right over, she means business because I didn’t get finished frosting more than a half dozen turkey cupcakes before the door tinkled with incoming. Rushing out front in case by some miracle I have some late afternoon business, I slow down as she rushes inside right at me. The counter separates us, but I’m surprised she doesn’t vault over it as she reaches over and grabs me by the arms.
“Tell. Me. Everything. Did he mention me? Is he holding a grudge? I bet he is—"
“Calm down.” I extricate myself from her grip and come around the counter to join her.
“Want some coffee?”
“Forget about the coffee—answer my questions. It’s been too long, and I’ve been waiting for this chance.”
“You? Chance for what? It’s not like you were ever best friends.”
“No. But I figure I owe him an apology.” She blushes. “Tell me how it went. Was Nicky here? Did you tell him… everything?”
Sharon hasn’t changed much. I know she’s more interested in getting Brawlers tickets from Logan than making up for lying those years ago. She’s always had that selfish streak, but I overlook it now like I always have because she’s a good friend in spite of everything. She’s kept my secret for one thing.
Filling two cups of coffee, I splash some cream in each and a pack of sugar in hers and hand it to her.
“Sit down,” I tell her as I take a seat in the comfy chair in the mini lounge area. It’s an update from the old wrought iron and glass tables and chairs we used to have—they were too uncomfortable.
“I can’t sit. I’m too wound up. How does he look? I mean, I’ve seen photos, seen him on TV, but I mean in person? How is he—same broody panty-melting man?”
Stopping the cup before it reaches my lips, I laugh and miraculously don’t spill a drop. I have to admit that he still has it, whateveritis. I nod, but I need to cut to the chase, or I’ll be endlessly answering Sharon’s fangirl questions.
“We’re going skating on Saturday, and he’ll meet Nicky then. I’m so nervous about telling her. I’m afraid of how she’s going to react and not sure I can really explain to her that her daddy wasn’t her real daddy.”
Sharon stops pacing and plops into the chair next to me, and takes my hands. She knows what I’m going through, and she’s the only one who knows the whole damn tragic story from beginning to end. She confessed that she lied about the kiss the next day after it happened and begged me to call Logan, begged me to answer his calls. Instead, I’d thrown away my phone and got a new one.
Sharon cried that day, more distraught, because of her guilty conscience, no doubt, than I was. At first. I was too numb those first few days after I ended it. But I didn’t care about Sharon’s confession or Logan’s explanation, knew deep down he hadn’t kissed her. That wasn’t why I had ditched him.
I’d ditched him because I was a chicken shit coward. My problem was that my response to seeing him being kissed by someone wasn’t to trust him and brush it off, treat it like the nothing incident it was, but instead, I almost had a heart attack and wanted to commit murder because I was afraid of losing him. Lots of girls would be throwing themselves at him once he left town to become a hockey star, so it was inevitable, right?
So, the next day, when Sharon confessed, right here in this bakery in the back room off the kitchen, I didn’t flinch.
She said, “You believe me, don’t you? I swear I was drunk and out of my mind about being ditched.”
“I believe you.”
