Читать книгу Race for the Gold - Dana Mentink - Страница 11

TWO

Max reported the missing skate, and a full complement of coaches and competitors returned to scour the arena.

Beth flipped back her sleek bob of hair. “This is ridiculous. Laney, did you go anywhere? To the bathroom or something and leave it there?”

Laney’s cheeks flushed pink. Max realized that the result of Laney’s brain injuries was more public than he had known.

“She was here talking to me the whole time,” he said.

Beth skewered him with a look. “So what you’re implying is someone stole her skate? What would be the point, exactly? To cut her out of the competition?” She laughed. “Sorry, Laney, but we’re not that scared of you. At least I’m not.”

Max would have let her have it, but Laney giggled.

“You should be. I’m ferocious, didn’t you know that?”

Beth grinned. “Yeah, that’s you. Ferocious. Still sleep with your night-light on?”

“Of course. Keeps the monsters away.”

Max marveled at Laney’s easy smile, the positive glow in all circumstances that puzzled him. She should be a gold medalist already—she had the skill, the natural gift and the work ethic to match, and yet he could not find resentment in her face, the resentment that was so alive in his own soul.

Jackie finished her examination of the top tier of seats and returned. “There is no sign of it.” Her eyes scanned the arena thoughtfully.

“What are you thinking?” Max asked.

“Nothing, I’m sure. I was just considering that there are no strangers here, the girls, the coaches, the trainers, the custodians. No strangers...”

He finished her thought. “Except the guy who wanted to talk to Laney.”

“Who?” Laney asked.

“A reporter,” Jackie said with disdain. “I told him to leave.”

“So did I,” Max said. “But I didn’t actually see him go, did you?”

Jackie shook her head solemnly. “I was down on the ice, timing Beth. But what reason would he have for taking her skate?”

“Not one that I can think of,” Max muttered.

Beth wrapped an arm around Laney. “You have spare skates?”

“She’s got other pairs,” Max said.

Beth gave him a sassy smile. “Yeah, I figured. Just thought I’d see if she needed to borrow temporarily or something.” She followed her coach through the exit.

Laney sighed. “That was nice.”

Nice? Max wondered. Or patronizing? Top-quality speed skates for skaters at this level were custom-made, the boots constructed using molds of the skater’s feet, and there was no possible way for Laney to skate any kind of a race wearing borrowed gear. Beth knew that as well as he did. She also knew they cost upward of three thousand dollars a pair.

Laney’s father, Dan, was footing the bill for her training time, equipment, coaching and Max’s services. Something skittered through Max’s stomach as he considered it might be a real hardship to find the money for another pair of skates. He resolved to talk to Dan Thompson...soon.

* * *

Laney changed and met Max outside. The air was cold, and they blinked to adjust to the darkness. Laney still simmered with annoyance. She wasn’t making excuses and she hadn’t misplaced her own skate, as the girls suggested. She wasn’t that addled by her brain injury.

To their left was a parking lot that would be jammed when the public-skating hours commenced on the weekend. Now there were only a few cars, one of which was her father’s banged-up Suburban.

“I’m...” she started when the crash of glass made her jump. Her father’s rear window fractured, pieces glittering in the moonlight.

Laney raced to the vehicle, Max a few paces behind her. She found her father crouched on the other side of the car, arm raised to his face as a squat, bushy-haired stranger readied a club to crash into her father’s skull. The stranger’s face was partially obscured by a cap.

“No!” she shouted, surprising the man with the club. He swiveled quickly, swinging the weapon in an arc toward Laney. With reflexes born of elite levels of training, she ducked under the blow.

The club fell viciously, whistling by her ear, causing her to fall back against the car while the weapon smashed into the passenger door, crumpling the metal.

With an animal roar, Max went after the guy, who whirled on his heel and ran, Max in hot pursuit. Laney sprang to her feet, not sure if she should chase after Max or stay with her father.

“Laney,” he croaked. “Keep out of it.”

“Daddy,” she breathed, eyes filling as she crouched next to him. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a knock on my thick head. Your mum always told me I had a hard skull.”

Laney’s stomach twisted in agony as she strained to catch a glimpse of Max. What would happen if he caught the guy? Squeezing her father’s hand to comfort him, she felt the heavy thud of her pulse in her throat.

Finally, Max returned, panting.

“I lost him. I’ll call the cops.”

“No,” her father barked.

Laney’s mouth dropped open. “The guy could have killed you.”

“He was a thief, wanted the iPad I left in the back probably. My own dumb fault.”

Max dropped to one knee. “Mr. Thompson, the cops really should be notified, and the security team here at the oval.”

“No cops,” he repeated again, getting to his feet with Laney’s help. “No harm done except a broken window and a dent, the price for my stupidity.”

“But, Dad...”

He waved a hand. “I’ll go inside and report it to security, but no cops. Not necessary. Now go on back to the dorms before you get a chill.”

“I don’t want you out here by yourself,” Laney said as severely as she could.

“I’ll have someone from security to walk me back. Go, go,” he said with a flap of his hands. He bent with a groan and picked up his bag.

Laney was grateful when Max put his arm around her. His touch was the only thing that seemed to push away the cold that seized her from the inside out.

She was almost sure that she’d seen a glimpse of her father’s iPad tucked safely in his bag before he left.

* * *

The distance from the oval to the athlete housing was a mile, which Laney and Max traversed in silence. Reaching the dorms, he used his pass key and held the door for her. Laney had been fortunate to be assigned her own room in the dormitory on the bottom floor where the female athletes and coaches stayed. Max was in another dorm with the male trainers, coaches and athletes. He waited while she opened her door, greeting her old cat, Cubby, whom she never traveled without, if possible.

“Thanks for walking me back.”

“Anytime.” He cleared his throat. “I feel bad about what happened to your father, that I couldn’t catch the guy.”

She shivered. “Dad could have been hurt badly.”

“And you, too,” he added, feeling again the chill that had swept his body as the man’s club had come within inches of her.

“I hope security can help.”

“Strange how he targeted your dad’s car. There were plenty of fancier models parked close by.”

“He said the man was after his iPad.” She looked away.

“But you don’t believe that?”

She shook her head. “I’m really tired. Gonna rest for a little while.”

“Good idea.” He paused. “You know, Laney, you really were skating an excellent race.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Except for that bashing into the wall thing?”

He couldn’t help it, the wry expression on her face made him laugh, and she joined in. Then he grabbed her for a quick hug, pressing her fiercely as if he could push away the edge in his earlier words. “I’m sorry if I sounded like I didn’t believe you about the skates.”

She rested her head on his chest. “It’s okay. I can take it. I’m ferocious, remember?”

He thumbed her chin up and shook his head at that easy smile, the gleeful twist of the lips that carried her through every situation. “Definitely,” he said. The urge seized him to stroke that tumble of hair and press his lips to the silk of her cheeks. Knock it off, Blanco. That life is long gone. It had ended when he’d woken up in a hospital bed, irretrievably broken and with an unquenchable anger that he did not want Laney to witness. Ever. He’d hidden himself away from her, from the world, not allowing himself to consider the feelings he’d cherished once upon a time. He stepped back. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

She nodded and closed the door.

He was halfway down the hall when she opened the door again. “Max?”

He jogged back. “Yeah?”

She held a small, white rectangle between her fingers. “I guess that reporter really does want to speak with me. He wrote a note on his card saying he hoped I hadn’t hurt myself today.” She frowned at the paper. “He was watching the race. All of it.”

* * *

Laney turned the reporter’s name around in her mind again as she walked to the dining hall an hour later. Hugh Peterson. Had she ever spoken to him before? She did not think so, but somehow the name dinged a little bell in her memory. There had been many reporters anxious to talk to her before, when she was poised to go for the gold four years ago, and some had followed her progress for a while after the accident, but their interest had eventually died away. The tragic injury of a promising athlete was newsworthy; a long, painful rehab with no guarantee of success was not.

Max was troubled by Hugh’s card more because of the fact that the man had been roaming the halls of the athletes’ quarters unattended. Somehow he’d gained entry without a pass key. Laney figured it was typical reporter nosiness, though she was uncertain as to why Peterson wanted to speak to her. Sure, it would be a great comeback story, but she was far from any kind of victory. Most media types would wait until after the trials.

You’re like a bird, tottering on the edge of the nest. You gonna fly or crash?

The image reminded her of the paper cutout Max had made her so many years ago. How she wished she still had it, to remind herself of the tenderness he’d shown, the sweet, intense man who was so out of keeping with the brilliant short-track star. She shook the thoughts away as she entered the dining hall, saying hello to the benches full of girls, coaches, trainers and the nutritionist who greeted her with anxious inquiries about her health. Furtive looks indicated they’d heard about her father’s incident in the parking lot.

Max was at the end of the table, a half-eaten chicken sandwich in front of him. Her father arrived, greeting everyone jovially, a bruise swelling his cheek as he settled in to listen intently to Max. She joined them.

“So this reporter really wants to speak to Laney. Said he’s called many times,” Max finished. “Do you remember hearing from him?”

Her father frowned. “What’s his name again?”

“Hugh Peterson,” Laney said, sliding onto the bench in time to see her father clank the glass down on the table so hard he spilled a puddle onto the wooden surface.

She blinked. “You told him no before, I take it?”

“Yeah, I did. He doesn’t listen very well.”

“Have you met him, Dad?”

“He’s no good,” her father said vehemently.

“How do you know him, Mr. Thompson?”

Her father waved a hand. “Not important. I know I don’t like him.” He turned a direct gaze on Laney. “You’re not to talk to him. He shouldn’t have come here after I told him no interview.”

The anger in his tone surprised her. “Why do you dislike him so much?”

“I already said that’s not important. Do you trust me to manage these things for you or not, Laney?” He stood, pushing back from the table.

She went to him then, circling him in a hug. “Of course I trust you, Daddy. If you don’t want me to talk to him, then I won’t. I was just curious, that’s all, and worried about that guy with the club who nearly decked you.”

“Max scared him away. He won’t be back.” Her father embraced her gently and rubbed circles on her shoulders, soothing, restoring the easy connection between them. “I’m sorry, Laney. I didn’t mean to bark at you. I just want to take care of my girls. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

She pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks. “I know that. Sit down and let’s eat. I’m going to Skype Jen soon and we can talk. She’s cramming for her biology finals now.” Laney felt the thrill of pride that her little sister, who’d once been an abandoned foster kid, was close to finishing her premed requirements. It was an achievement for anyone, but more so for a girl whose life had started out living in cars and stepping over dirty needles on bathroom floors. Laney thought Jen’s accomplishment outweighed any medal from any race.

He set her at arm’s length. “Later. I’ve got to have the car window fixed.”

“But...” She didn’t want him out on his own in case he was wrong about the violent stranger.

“I’ll be back.” He gave her shoulder a final squeeze and made his way through the throng.

“Why don’t you get something to eat?” Max said.

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

He pulled her to sit next to him. “A girl who burns five thousand calories in a day needs to eat. I’ll get you something. Stay here.”

She didn’t argue. Her thoughts swirled around her father. Dan Thompson was not a man quick to anger. If anything, he’d been blessed with an abundance of patience and an overwhelming helping of compassion. An overworked cabbie, struggling to start his own small taxi business, he’d needed them in order to take in foster kids in the first place. It was a decision he and his wife Linda had made, having no children of their own. And what well of grace had made them take on two girls—a wild six-year-old kid with dirty hair, used to finding food for her and her sister in the garbage can when their mother left on her drug binges, and a selective mute who would not speak until she was nearly ten?

He could have walked away at any point. Perhaps when she’d taken Jen and ran away after being punished for punching the neighbor kid. Maybe when the teacher had sent her home for refusing to wear shoes in class. Certainly when Linda had died of breast cancer as they were still in the process of formally adopting the girls.

He’d stayed and loved them through it all, and introduced her to the ice. Stolen hours between his cab fares, precious moments where she’d discovered a passion and let go of the hurt. God-blessed moments. Her father’s face was composed and calm as he stopped to make some comment to Jackie, and it cheered Laney to see him that way as he left. Maybe there really was nothing wrong, after all.