The Inside Edge: Chapter Seven

Gaining the door to her office, Brianne hesitated before unlocking it and pushing the heavy structure open. Just as she’d suspected, Shana was situated in the chair beside Brianne’s, working on the weekly schedule.

            Gritting her teeth, Brianne pretended not to notice her second-in-command as she pulled out her chair and plopped down. Waking up her computer, she bent her attention immediately to the task ahead of her…or at least, she hoped that’s what it looked like. Letting her eyes run down the facts and figures staring back at her, she tried to concentrate on what she’d been doing earlier…

            “So, are you and that guy dating or something?”

            Whipping her head up at the unexpected words, Brianne turned to stare dumbly at Shana’s grinning face. “What?” Unbidden, an image of Mitch floated across her mind: the gleam in those dark eyes intense when he’d cornered her in the back hallway, his short hair spiking up a little in the front, a byproduct of his fingers worrying it as he’d spoken about the boys, his broad shoulders illuminated in the dim shadows of the corridor. “Mitch?”
            “Oh, is that his name?” Shana giggled. Wagging a finger at Brianne, she glared mockingly. “You minx. You never said anything and he’s hot.”

            “Oh good Lord, he’s not––”

            “The man looks able to carry a girl over his shoulder and right through to the end of a romance novel.”

            Brianne rolled her eyes, but she also chuckled. “All right, all right, calm down.”

            Shana smiled dreamily. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

            “There’s actually a very good reason for that,” Brianne assured her, wondering if she wasn’t making the wrong choice. After all, it’d be easy enough to allow Shana to think what she liked.

            “Oh?”

            “We aren’t dating.”

            “Oh.” Face falling, Shana pursed her lips. “Then how…?”
            Brianne cleared her throat. “Those boys…actually the whole Junior Varsity hockey team has been, well, teaching me how to skate.”

            Shana’s eyes widened. “What?”

            “It was sort of an accident,” Brianne felt compelled to explain. Within minutes she’d shared the story of her meeting with the team to an utterly rapt Shana. Though her face felt a bit itchy in the telling, Brianne only straightened her back and forced a firmness to her voice she didn’t quite feel.

            Mitch had been right. It wasn’t weird. Not unless she made it so. And besides, she figured Shana would be the perfect audience to test this theory out on. Not much of a poker face and a woman who loved to rib others, Shana wouldn’t have the least compunction in informing Brianne that she was a weirdo.

            But the first thing out of Shana’s mouth was only indignation: “So, did leather jacket ever come back?”

            “Ah, no,” Brianne admitted bemusedly. Truth be told, she’d hardly thought about him again. “He hasn’t.”
            “If he ever does, you better rub your newfound abilities in his face. Skate circles around that creep!”

            “Okay,” Brianne sounded out slowly. “Let’s just remember that the creep is still a teenager.”

            Shana snorted. “A jerk teenager.”

            Laughing in relief, Brianne conceded the point. “Fair enough.”

            “It’s sweet though, that they came in tonight to tell you they won their game.”

            “Yeah, it is.”

            And that, it appeared, was the end of Shana’s fascination. Blinking in surprise and abject delight, Brianne watched her manager turn smartly back around in her chair and, without further ado, continue work on her schedule.

            No snide comments.

            No jokes at Brianne’s expense.

            Which decided Brianne’s decision to speak next: “They’re pretty great kids. I’m, ah, I’m actually going to need to cut out early on Thursday. I’m going to their next game.”

            Shana nodded easily. “Okay, that shouldn’t be a problem. I’m here at two o’clock anyway, so I can cover the odd hour before the closing supervisor comes in.”

***

Tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket, Brianne hitched up her shoulders as she entered the arena. Blinking, she felt slightly disoriented at the mass of bodies spread across the stadium seats, the sight of a Zamboni making a last sweep over the smoothly polished ice-rink, the buzz of activity and anticipation zipping across the cold air.

            She was used to empty benches. She was used to the quiet of only a few people milling about. Moving quickly, her head bending low, she gained a narrow staircase to one side of the circular arena, slowly climbing the concrete steps until, halfway up, she spied a more-or-less abandoned area. Slipping inside the narrow aisle, she shuffled a few steps down the row before plopping down. Shifting slightly, her gaze peered cautiously, quickly around—what she could only assume where parents sat grouped together, the wives sipping coffee as they gossiped, the men cheering and jeering one another with a camaraderie that spoke of long-standing friendships.

            Settling firmly in her seat, she tried to look inconspicuous, but she had a feeling that she was being watched. The lone, unknown entity in a tight community where everyone knew everyone and it had all to do with hockey.

            When the blessed sound of an announcer’s voice suddenly blasted over the loudspeakers, Brianne took a stabilizing breath. Finally, something to focus upon. Feeling her fingers curling into tight balls in her jacket pockets, she promised herself she’d leave after the first period. That was only twenty minutes, after all. Then, on Sunday she could assure the boys that she had, indeed, gone to one of their games.

            She’d show Mitch that she wasn’t the fickle, superficial woman he clearly suspected her of being. She wouldn’t disappoint the boys. Not after all they’d done for her.

            One period. Twenty minutes… Watching absently as the players, one-by-one, entered the ice from their respective boxes, their names being individually called out until both teams stood in a long line facing one another, Brianne tried to memorize numbers to names.

            Charlie was number 31.

            Cory was 5.

            Lucas, 14.

            “…this seat taken?”

            At the question, asked loudly in Brianne’s right ear, she jerked around to see a woman standing beside her. Wearing a red-and-white flannel shirt over a thick turtleneck, the lady appeared to be in her mid-forties—and her hair, testament to eighties fashion, seemed to be stuck in her favorite decade, her bangs high and puffy, her bottle-blonde hair mushrooming off her face thanks to a heavy-hand of hair-spray. Her makeup, including a dash of blue eyeshadow, only further pointed to this fact.

            At Brianne’s lack of response, the woman nodded pointedly. “You waiting on someone?”

            “Oh.” With a start, Brianne shook her head. “No, no…”

            “Yeah, I figured as much,” that woman said as she settled down beside her. “I can always spot ‘em.”

            “Them?”

            The woman laughed, a loud hacking sound. With a smile, she nudged Brianne. “I suppose I should say ‘us.’”

            Brianne’s eyebrows furrowed. “Pardon me?”

            “Listen, these cake-eaters may have gotten to keeptheirhome, but we have just as much right to be here as they do. It’s ours now, too.”

            “I’m not sure I’m following you.”

            The bottle-blonde cocked her head to the side. “Don’t tell me you’re originally from West Scott?”

            “Me?” Brianne laughed softly. “I’m not even originally from the area.”

            The lady frowned, her smile faltering just the slightest bit. “You with the visiting team then?”

            “Ah, no…not, not exactly.”

            The woman pursed her lips. “Well then? Which is it?”

            “Listen, I don’t…I’m just a fan.”

            “Huh?”

            Feeling her cheeks pinken with the confession, Brianne shrugged stiffly. “The thing is—I just came to support the kids. All of them,” Brianne hurriedly assured her. “See, I come here on Sundays, during the open rink hours, and well, I was having trouble stopping on the ice and—”

            “Wait a minute.” The woman snapped her fingers together, another rough bark of laughter erupting from her throat. “You’re that woman—the one the boys are teaching to skate?”

            At the ringing blare of that woman’s voice, Brianne felt her eyes helplessly prowling the bleachers, checking to see just how much attention they were attracting. Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying them the least bit of interest.

            Ducking her head, Brianne nodded. “Yup.”

            “What’s your name again, honey?”

            “Brianne. Brianne Kelling.”

            “Sure, sure. Charlie told me about you. Didn’t tell me you were coming to watch him play, though.” The woman smiled. “Nice of ya.”

            Another bout of silent relief flooded her system at the words. Okay, so even the parents of the players thought it was normal, kind even, that Brianne had forged a bond with their kids. It wasn’t pathetic. It was nice. But all Brianne said in response was, “You’re Charlie’s mom?”         

            “That I am.” With a quick movement, that lady held out her hand. “Danette. Pleasure to meet you.”

            Shaking her hand, Brianne felt a helpless grin pulling at her lips. “You too.”

            “No wonder you looked so out of sorts,” Danette said, nodding her head. “And here I thought I’d found an ally.”

            “A what?”
            “Well, when the school’s merged together…listen, these jerks from West Scott, they basically bullied all of us East-enders right out the damn door.”

            “Merge?”

            Denise nodded. “Yup. Used to be two high schools.”

            “Oh.” And suddenly, it all made sense. Mitch’s easy acceptance of her presence on Sundays, Brian and Frank’s amazement at the team-building that she seemed to inspire in those young kids.

            “Been a bit of a rough transition. For the kids and the parents.”

            “I’m sorry to hear that.”

            Danette shrugged. “Just sad, that’s all. They act like we don’t belong here.” She snorted. “As if we asked to become one of them.”

            And sitting there, Brianne suddenly knew she’d break the promise she’d made to herself. She’d watch the entire game. Beside Danette.