“I’m leaving. Do you need me to go with you to your parole officer tomorrow?”
“I don’t go until Thursday!” she screams at me.
Oh joy, the drunk is pissed off. I roll my eyes. “Hey, tomorrow is Thursday!” I yell right back at her.
“You’re a liar. Go to your room, you fucking liar.”
I rub my temples. I’m too hungover for her delusions right now. “Fine, I’ll go to my room.” I pick up my purse and leave her crappy apartment.
I walk through the neighborhood I grew up in. Nothing but crack heads, prostitutes, and the ever-present drug dealers.
Welcome to Liberty, Maine.
This town would have been bankrupt if it weren’t for the college and the professional hockey team, the Liberty Eagles. Of course, I don’t go to either one of those places. College isn’t meant for someone like me. My fate directed me to my future: Big Mike’s Strip Club. I’ve been there since I was old enough to be a stage. Now, I’ve thought about trying to save money and making something of myself, but it lasted about two minutes because that’s not what’s supposed to happen in my life.
I’m my mother’s daughter. Well, minus the drugs. I’ve never touched the shit. I’ve seen too many ODs in my life. I’ve tried to slow my drinking down, but that’s what helps me the most when I’m on stage. According to Big Mike, I’m his headliner. That’s really a bunch of shit. I’m the only one who doesn’t fall off the stage when dancing, no matter how drunk I am.
I walk into my place, which is exactly like Mom’s, but on the other side of the projects. I’ve been so used to living here that the noises and people don’t really bother me. Mainly because they know I’ll beat their asses, and I don’t take any shit from anyone.
I double bolt the door and make sure the blinds are pulled tightly. I look around my place. It’s a dump, but I pay my rent every month, so it’s mine. In my living room, there’s a couch and a small TV I bought off one of the druggies down the street. I don’t have a kitchen table and the couch is a pull out for my bed.
I never understood why people waste their money on furniture. It’s really over-rated, if you ask me. I go into the ‘bedroom’, which is where I store my clothes and costumes for the club, but there’s nothing in that room either, except a chair to steady myself on when I put on high heels. I change into a pair of sweats and a shirt and curl up on the couch.
The only thing on TV is a stupid hockey interview. I roll my eyes. I swear to the clouds if Liberty ever lost this team, the whole damn town might die. The announcers are going on and on about their new captain, Mr. Finnish-Not-From-America. I flip it off and close my eyes, listening to the hustle and bustle outside until I fall asleep.
Chapter Two
Valo
I’ve been in Maine for a while now. I bounced around a few teams after initially playing in Indiana with the Mustangs, who drafted me. Maine has become my home now, and this s
eason is my first as captain. I am looking forward to this new challenge. My father played and was the captain of his team. It feels good to know I’ve reached the same level.
The town has its pitfalls, but I love it here. The people are crazy about hockey, so that’s definitely a plus. They seem just as excited as I am over my captaincy. I’ve been here long enough to have favorite bars, restaurants, and the like. I have the night off with no plans to hang out with any teammates, aside from Gus, a rookie who lives with me.
“Why do you always pick this bar, Valo? Every single time, we come here,” he asks curiously, as we take a seat on stools at the bar.
“I’m a creature of habit,” I say. I am, but there’s another reason I pick this particular place when we go out for drinks. Because of a girl, of course. I don’t always see her, and I don’t know much about her. She has long, curly black hair, is tall, around 5’8”, and the one time I caught a good glimpse at her eyes, I swear they were purple. She’s most likely single because I’ve seen her flirt and she often leaves with a guy.
As if my thoughts have the power, she walks in, taking a seat about five stools down from us. God, she’s beautiful. She looks like a stunning, goth-like, rocker chick with her black leather mini skirt, yellow halter top, knee high boots that make me think of biker boots. Even from the side view, I can tell her eyeliner is on a bit thick. Her fingers thrum on the wooden bar top; her bright yellow fingernails even catch my eye.
Fingers snap in front of my face. “Earth to Valo.”
“What?” I look at Gus, waiting for him to answer.
“You fed Honeybun, right?”
“Oh, yeah.” Honeybun is my cat. She was a stray who kept hanging around the entryway of the building over the summer and she won’t leave. I had no choice but to take her in, and now she’s mine.
The bartender finally comes over, and we order our drinks. Gus starts talking about stickhandling, but I’m only half paying attention. I’ve watched rocker chick for long enough, and before we went out tonight, I decided that if she was here, I’d talk to her.
She’s here.
Time for me to talk.
Gus reaches a stopping point, so I absentmindedly pat the bar top twice. “I’m going to talk to the girl with the yellow halter top. What are my chances?” Gus is usually pretty accurate about these things, and it’s interesting to watch him eye the girl and then me before he answers.
“Hmm,” he hums. “Slim to none. And slim is being generous. I’ll have another drink waiting for you when she kicks your ass back here,” he grins. I don’t return it. I already figured those were my chances and having him confirm isn’t good.