Tomboy

Chapter Eleven

The Beacon clinic was tucked away on the border between a middle-class neighborhood and one where the cracked windows weren’t always replaced but fixed in a long-term way with clear packing tape instead. Zach’s Uber slowed down in front of the clinic ten minutes before Fallon had told him to show up. People, most of them in Ice Knights gear, were lined up down the block and around the corner.

“Damn, man,” the driver said. “Think they’re here to stone you or take pics?”

“Probably both at the same time.” The crowd looked friendly, but they always did until he got within a few yards and things turned growly. He’d been hoping for a good turnout, but he hadn’t been expecting all this. “I’ll give you an extra ten to drop me off in the alley.”

“You got it, man.”

The driver did, zipping his sedan down the alley and stopping in the employee parking lot behind the clinic. Zach pulled his baseball cap down low and hurried over to the back door. There was a keypad but no handle or intercom.

Shit.

He got out his phone.

Zach: Help. I’m at the clinic back door.

LL: Why?

Zach: There are a million people out front. How could you have missed that?

LL: Holy crap. Just peeked out front. Hope we have enough hot dogs and balloons.

Zach: Can you let me in the back?

LL: On my way.

Thank Gretzky. The last thing he wanted was to do a meet and greet before he was mentally prepped. Some players took it all in stride. Not him. After what had happened with his parents, his biggest fear was having something slip and then being confronted with it out in public. At least his parents had kept their mouths shut about the whole fiasco, which had been an unexpected blessing. There was no way he wanted anyone to know what a fuckup he’d made, how stupid he’d been. The one-million-dollar kiss-off check he’d written to his parents had probably helped. They knew there wasn’t any more money coming because that had been the last of it and his broke ass didn’t have any more.

“Oh my God, Abby, you know Emma is just a judgmental hag.” The woman’s voice was coming from around the corner, but it wasn’t far off. “No one in their right mind thinks your butt is too big.”

He glanced back at the door and willed Fallon to open it right then.

“Then why did she just tell me that back pockets this size on my jeans were not recommended?” another woman asked.

The voices were getting closer. He took a step farther back into the shadows by the clinic’s back door.

“Abby, you have got to listen—oh my God, you’re Zach Blackburn! We came all the way from Huddleston to see you today.”

“That’s awesome of you.”

She pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “Can we get a picture?”

“I think they’re going to have a little table set up for me inside where we can take a pic after the fundraiser starts.”

“Oh, this will only take a second,” said the second woman. Abby, he was guessing. “Promise.”

“Heidi,” the first woman hollered loud enough to be heard three states away. “You gotta come back here, we found Zach Blackburn.”

The woman’s words had half a second to process before the sound of people—a lot of them—rushing around back reached his ears. He’d bet his grocery budget, which wasn’t exactly Whole Foods organic big, that this wasn’t how Fallon had planned for the fundraiser to go.

He may not know her super well, but he knew this: she was going to kick his ass for fucking up her plan.

The woman in front of him had her phone ready to go as the other woman approached him when the clinic’s back door opened. Fallon walked out wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with her hair pulled back into a braid that fell over one shoulder.

“It’s Lady Luck!” the woman said, her voice going high-pitched and squeaky. “Oh my God, you work here? No wonder Zach’s doing this. Abby and I were talking, and we were trying to figure out why Mr. Never Signs Anything was finally doing an appearance. BAM! This explains everything.” She reached past Zach and held her hand out to Fallon. “I’m Sarah, but everyone calls me Sugar. You totally should, too, since we both have cool nicknames. At least I’m assuming your real name isn’t Lady Luck. That would be nuts.” She threw back her head and laughed while Fallon just stood there and blinked.

It was the first time he’d ever seen Fallon thrown off her game—a speed-talking fan could be a little overwhelming, though.