Carried Away

Pulling a hundred-dollar bill out of the back pocket of his jeans, Turner stops one of the waitresses. He tells her to settle his tab and to keep the rest, her eyes lighting up when she sees the bill.

“Fucking chump,” we hear one of the Dumb and Dumber twins say. Ignoring them, Jake wraps a steady arm around my shoulders and guides me toward the door.

I have to give credit where credit is due. I’ve always assumed hockey players were hotheads, lacking self-control and quick to pick a fight. Jake is no such thing. In fact, his self-control is something to admire.

“You’re good at not letting the smack talk get to you…it’s impressive.”

He shrugs and holds the door open for me. “Decades of practice.” Then he throws a sideways smirk and points to the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t always this good at it.”

Outside things get very quiet and a little awkward, an elephant sitting between us. Jake starts walking in the direction of the Comfort Cottages and I hurry to keep up with his long strides. It’s a cold clear night and a dusting of snow covers the ground from yesterdays freak snowfall.

“Why did you do that?” he says a few minutes later, puffs of cold air hanging by his mouth.

I take his wrist to stop him, and he turns to face me in front of a dark storefront lit by a Main Street lamppost. “Why do you let people talk to you like that?”

“What do you want me to say? They’re right.”

“Give me a break, Turner. It was an accident. It could’ve happened to anyone.”

“Somebody died, Carrie.” He starts walking again and I jog after him.

“So for the rest of your life you’re going to take abuse from people? How long are you going to punish yourself?” I say a bit too loudly.

We pass a young couple headed in the opposite direction. They turn to stare before walking on toward the bars.

“Turner…Jesus Christ Superstar, slow down I can’t keep up with your oafishly long legs. Jake, c’mon!”

He slows enough for me to see he’s hiding a smile.

“Hey, asshole. Miss us?” We both turn to find Dumb and Dumber standing ten feet away, all puffed out and looking for trouble. Crap.

In contrast, Jake’s face is a portrait in serenity. Albeit with a slightly murdery undertone.

“Don’t do it, Jake.” I can see it now––a lawsuit, a possible arrest. His name in the news once again, which is his biggest nightmare. “Jake, please…” But he’s not hearing me. He steps forward and I scuttle after him.

“You get one shot at this so make it a good one,” he tells Dumber. “Then it’s my turn.”

Wearing matching sinister smiles, Dumb and Dumber glance at each other. Steroid Boy steps up and rolls his shoulders. Bouncing on his toes, he raises his fists while Jake stands perfectly still. Meanwhile, I fret in the background.

I mean, what do I do? Play accomplice to this mess? Get in the middle of it? I’m thinking if I get in the middle of this, I’ll be the one knocked on my ass, and I will not be the dumb girl in this story.

Steroid Boy throws a punch and his fist connects with Jake’s jaw. His head snaps to the side and I screech. It’s violent and ugly and I immediately want to go check his face, but I take one step in his direction and he shakes his head at me.

Then it happens, lighting quick. Jake swings so fast at Steroid Boy that I don’t realize what’s happened until he’s on the ground, squirming and moaning, holding his bleeding face while his friend laughs at him.

“C’mon, Carebear. Let’s go home.” He frowns at his knuckles and stretches his fingers. After which, Jake Turner, painter, fighter, one-time hockey God, takes me by the hand and leads me there.

“Of all the idiotic things…” I soak a cotton ball with hydrogen peroxide and step closer. “You could’ve been sued.”

As soon as we got back to the cottages, I dragged him––under heavy protest––into the Austen and ordered him to sit on the pink tufted armchair. The punch split his lip open and his jaw is swollen. He needs medical attention even if he did chuckle sarcastically when I told him so.

Seeing him now all big and dark perched on a delicate pink chair brings a halfcocked grin to my face.

“What are you smiling at?”

I’m standing and yet we’re almost face to face. “You. In that chair.”

“You still think you have to live in a big city to have a grand adventure?”

I chew on that for a moment. Since I landed in Albany, everyday has been an adventure. “I think I’ve had my fill of adventures for a while. Bailing you out of jail would’ve been my limit for the year.”

“You weren’t worried he’d hurt me?” he says in a mocking tone. Stepping between his splayed knees, I grab a chunk of his hair and push his head back, dabbing the cotton on the corner of his bottom lip. He winces when the peroxide hits the cut.