Tomboy

The headline was accompanied by an image of him looking like he was smiling down at Fallon as she looked back at him, a soft, sweet look on her face. What had actually been going on in that millisecond? Who the fuck knew, but it sure looked like they were totally into each other. How in the hell Marty had managed to click his shutter at just the right moment to show the wrong thing, Zach had no idea. The photographer must have pulled over before getting on the Parkway and uploaded the pics. It was probably a smart plan. Knowing Shelly, it was only a matter of time before she whispered her version of events into some reporter’s ear.

“Fucking A.” Zach shoved his fingers through his hair.

Lucy was going to kill him—if Fallon didn’t get to him first. He was so screwed.

Chapter Four

This Is the Defenseman We Were Looking For

Well, it finally happened, fellow Ice Knights fans. Defenseman Zach Blackburn showed up to work and played better than he has in years. No one was more surprised than those of us at your favorite hockey blog, The Biscuit. To be honest, your humble correspondent with a killer manicure had written him off as an overpaid journeyman with a bad attitude and molasses on his skates. Last night’s game against the Toronto Kodiaks, though, showed just what the front office must have seen in the six-three Minnesota native who started his career with the Detroit Blades, where he had a stellar rookie season before becoming the mayor of Mediocre-ville.

It all started last night with Blackburn’s crushing hit on Crispin Ferris shortly after puck drop and ended with his body-sacrificing dive in front of the home team’s goal to block what would have been an empty net score in the final minutes. That move led to Chris St. John scoring in the final seconds and a squeaker of a win for the Ice Knights.

All of that leaves us with two questions here at The Biscuit HQ:

1. Can Blackburn repeat last night’s performance?

2. How much of the improvement has to do with a certain mystery woman photographed outside of his house the day before the game? Was last night a case of a woman soothing the savage beast, or did our boy just finally remove his head from his very well-paid ass?

Guess we’ll have to wait until tomorrow night’s game against the hated Cajun Rage to find out if she is Blackburn’s Lady Luck.

Chapter Five

Sundays at the Beacon All Access Clinic were always busy, and today was no exception. Sure, Fallon could have tried to beg off today’s volunteer shift after she’d already put in eight hours at St. Vincent’s, but she hadn’t. The clinic and the clients who visited the one place where they wouldn’t have to worry about making the choice between groceries and healthcare needed her. She wasn’t about to let them down.

And when the funding came through for her to work full time at the clinic and not just as a volunteer? She’d finally be able to do the kind of work she really wanted while also paying off her college loan.

“Make sure to take two of these the first day and one a day after that for four days, even if the symptoms go away first, okay?” Fallon handed the young mom the sample Z-PAK the pharmaceutical rep had provided the clinic. “You should start feeling better quickly.”

Sylvia accepted the antibiotics with a weary smile. “Thank you.”

“Now, was there anything else? Are the kids doing okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking over at her twin four-year-olds drawing at a low table in the corner of the family-size exam room. “It seemed to skip right over them and hit me.”

That was the way it worked a lot of the times for the folks who came into the free clinic. Young single moms existing right at the poverty line made sure the family resources went to the kids first. That meant when something came around—like strep throat—their immune systems weren’t up to the task of fighting the infection off.

“You know we’re starting a services center in the warehouse next door. Employment help and skills training. A food pantry. A closet for interview clothes. Eventually, even a preschool.” Fallon busied herself with straightening the wellness and parenting pamphlets in the hanging rack, knowing that the key to getting a lot of her clients to accept help was to make sure they didn’t view i

t as charity. For some reason, a lack of direct eye contact seemed to help with that. “It’s only open as a pilot program right now, but I’d love to have you take a look when you’re feeling better so you can try everything out. We’d really appreciate some feedback on how we have it set up and what improvements we can make.”

“Feedback, huh?” Sylvia asked, sounding as if she knew that wasn’t exactly the whole truth.

“It would be a huge help,” she said as she walked over to the kids and checked out their drawings.

“I’ll think about it,” the other woman said.

Okay, she could totally take that as a win. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

After Sylvia and the kids left the clinic, there didn’t seem to be a single break in the action until almost 7 p.m. Fallon was dragging by the time she walked into the break room for the monthly staff meeting.

She sat down at one of the round tables next to Harley, a fellow nurse at St. Vincent’s who also moonlighted as a bartender at Marino’s Bar and Grill, and closed her eyes. What Fallon needed was a do-over of her weekend.

Harley cleared her throat, making Fallon crack her eyes open. Turning her head, she got the full force of Harley’s always-cheery expression. It was a lot to take on a limited amount of sleep.

“Dreaming about your weekend with Harbor City’s most fuckable hockey player?” Harley asked, her voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry beyond the two of them.

Fallon bit back a groan. Yeah, it seemed like everyone and their dog had spotted that stupid photo of her and Zach that had run on the metro area’s most popular hockey site and then been picked up by all the major news outlets. Her mom included. Questions? Oh, she’d only had about a billion hurled at her by her family. Some days she wanted to kill whoever invented group texting.