“Gran?” I said lightly. “If there’s a chance that my parents won’t send me my Hallmark card this Christmas, I’ll carry on somehow.”
Her shoulders slumped. “That’s not funny, John.”
“It isn’t?” I was pretty sure it was. Because my parents had already done their worst to me. Now they were freaking out because I’d made the news, and their church friends would see it.
Whatever. Not my problem.
“It’ssadis what it is,” Gran said, turning around. “Because some day your mother is going to be an old woman. And old age has a way of stripping away the distractions, and making you see the big picture of your life. So she’ll be sitting alone in some nursing home asking herself ‘what have I done?’ And it will be too late for her to fix it.”
That did sound depressing. Except that Gran probably overestimated my mother. As an old lady, she would probably pat herself on the back for doing everything the Bible told her to. And she’d probably be feeling pretty smug about it.
Again, not my problem. As long as my parents still paid the portion of my school fees that financial aid did not cover, then I could live with their rejection. “Let’s just eat more cookies,” I suggested.
“Let’s,” Gran agreed.
Breakaway: taking possession of the puck when there are no defenders other than the goalie in the way of the net.
—Graham
As the plane taxied up to the airport, I took off my seatbelt.
I’m sure that Rikker would have bet any amount of money against me actually getting on a plane to Burlington. He’d probably been stunned when I’d texted him my flight information last week. Even now, he was probably in that airport wondering if I’d really show.
We may have known each other for a long time, but Rikker doesn’t really know how my fucked-up little brain works. I’m always looking for the loophole — for any way that I can get past all the rules I’d made for myself. And Vermont is the perfect loophole. Except for Rikker, I didn’t know a soul there. I bought my ticket with my personal credit card, and had my dad drop me off at the airport’s curb, so he’d never see my boarding passes.
The man hates to pay for parking. You can take that to the bank.
So here I was, shuffling down the narrow aisle to visit a state I’d never seen, and nobody but Rikker had a clue.
When I deplaned, I noticed that the Burlington airport was, if possible, even smaller than the one I’d left that morning in Grand Rapids. After passing two or three gates, I left the secure area toward baggage claim. I spotted him right away. He was wearing a flannel shirt over faded jeans, and leaning casually against a poster for rental cars. Damn, my heart skipped a beat just seeing his face.
Engage deflector shields.
Before I reached Rikker, a big black dude stopped to talk to him. They shook hands as I approached. Rikker spotted me anyway, beckoning me over. “Hey! You made it.” I got the same handshake as the other guy. “This is Ross,” he said, indicating the bruiser standing beside him. The guy wore a “UVM Weightlifting” T-shirt and a duffel over one shoulder. He’d been on my connecting flight from Chicago, I think. “Ross,” Rikker continued, “this is my teammate, Mike.”
Mike. I hadn’t heard Rikker call me that in years. Maybe never.
“Nice to meet you,” the big dude said. He had a goofy smile for such a mountain of a man. “You haven’t seen Skippy?” he asked, looking around.
Rikker shook his head. “But he’s never on time, right? The apology texts won’t even start rolling in for another ten minutes.”
Ross laughed. “Good point.”
“Got another bag?” Rikker nodded toward the luggage carousel.
“Nope. I’m good to go,” I said.
Rikker eyed the door. “Can we drop you somewhere, Ross?” There was something a little stiff about the way he said it, as if Rikker hoped he’d turn down the offer.
“Naw, I’m sure he’ll…” The guy didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Because a skinny, dark-haired streak ran up, leaping into Ross’s arms. The big man swayed for a second as his mouth was taken in a hard kiss, and his face grabbed in two long, skinny hands.
It took a great deal of effort not stare at the unlikely sight of two guys making out in the Burlington airport arrivals terminal.
“Jesus, get a room,” Rikker grumbled.
With an exaggerated groan of affection, the newcomer released Ross’s face. “Sorry, it’s been a long ten days.” The skinny guy turned with a smile and then tackled Rikker in a hug. “Damn!You’relooking good. Even better than in your press photography.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
