Playing Hurt

Clint

tactics





Greg!” I shout, banging into the dining room of the lodge. “You don’t need the Minnow tonight, do you?” The Minnow, the small skiff that Greg, Todd, and I bought together a couple of summers ago.

Putting down his burger, Greg wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What for?”

“Night fishing,” I say.

“Why aren’t you using one of Earl’s launches for that?” Kenzie’s voice calls out. I turn to find her standing in the doorway of the lodge gift shop, eyeing me skeptically.

Greg stops chewing for a while to eyeball me, too.

“Because I have—such a small—group—signed up, checking out a launch is ridiculous,” I explain. But my voice is too high, and I’m too fidgety. I’m a crappy liar.

Greg shrugs, like he doesn’t care that I’ve served him up a bunch of bull. “Sure,” he says. “She’s tied to the dock closest to the lodge.” He crams the rest of his burger in his mouth.

“Haven’t seen you at Pike’s lately,” Kenzie tells me as she comes into the dining room. The gift shop door sighs as it falls shut behind her.

Greg stops chewing again, looks up at me from the corner of his eye.

“What?” I say. “It’s not like that means something. Greg’s sitting here eating some crummy old cheeseburger instead of letting my mom feed him.”

“Brandon hauls me up to the stage as soon as I walk in the door,” Greg says around a full mouth of food. “If I don’t eat now, I don’t get any dinner.”

“Everybody asks about you when you’re not there,” Kenzie presses. “At Pike’s, I mean.”

“Well, you know—keeping the paying customers happy’s a full-time-and-a-half job,” I say stupidly.

To prove my intentions, I disappear through one of the staff exits into a supply closet. Burst back into the dining room carrying a couple of poles. I try to make a big show of the poles, jiggling them around before rushing outside. I race right past the Minnow, the early evening sun staining the lake orange, and head straight for cabin number four. I do plan to take Chelsea out on it—but fishing’s not the goal. I’m thinking more along the lines of a beautiful woman under the moonlight, and long kisses with no one around to catch us.

Chelsea throws the door open before I have a chance to even knock. Her smile turns kind of plastic and forced as Brandon’s voice bounces against the cabin walls.

“Night fishing?” he screams.

“Just a minute,” she tells me as I step inside the cabin. She pushes Brandon into a hallway, out of sight.

Their voices hiss back and forth angrily. I fidget in the front room, wishing the TV were blaring so I wouldn’t have to hear their fight.

Sweat droplets form under my arms and trickle down my sides as I wonder if her parents are somewhere in the cabin, listening as Brandon challenges Chelsea’s excuse to be alone with me. Night fishing. It sounds dumb now, even to me.

“Hope you guys all have fun tonight,” she finally calls out, her voice ringing against the air in a hollow way. She’s a terrible liar. Maybe even worse than I am. When she steps into view, I realize she’s got on a pair of jean shorts that show off her strong legs—all curvy and sexy. I can smell her skin, even from here, and I remember the way her soft body always feels beneath my rough hands.

“Forgot your tackle box, didn’t you, sis?” Brandon taunts her, carrying his guitar case into the front room.

“Got her covered, Brand, thanks,” I say, my crappy-liar voice ringing pathetically. “Drop you off at Pike’s?” I offer, trying like hell to save face even though the suggestion is stupid. If Chelsea and I really were going fishing, the last thing I’d want to do is drive all the way to Baudette and back.

“Forget it,” Brandon mumbles. “I already got a ride.”

“Greg’s in the lodge—” I offer stupidly.

“I know,” Brandon tells me. “Who do you think my ride is?”

“Tell—tell Todd I said hi,” I try. But Brandon shakes his head.

“You guys don’t fool me,” he says. “You don’t.”

“Enough,” Chelsea tells him, as footsteps start a stampede toward the living room.

“Sure you two don’t want to come?” her mother calls.

“Everyone’s leaving—going to Pike’s to hear Brand play,” Chelsea informs me as her dad steps into view. She shrinks a little when he shows up.

It’s uncomfortable, being around the friction between the two of them. The kind of uncomfortable that makes me want to fix it, somehow. So I blurt, “Chelsea’s been at me to take her night fishing for a while now.” I hold up the poles to prove it’s true.

“Night fishing,” her dad repeats, his stare turning into an I wonder what’s really going on with you two glare.

Good idea, Clint, I congratulate myself. Way to amp the tension right up.