Page 28 of Almost Ravaged (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #1)
Chapter twenty-four
Sawyer
W hen Cam offered me this job, I couldn’t have imagined I’d be thrilled to work behind the skate rental counter, yet here I am.
I appreciate the easy, monotonous work after spending the weekend poring over my assigned reading lists and coming up with thoughtful questions for the online discussion board for Mercer’s class.
When I sent him a list of ideas for this week, he replied with a single word: Approved. The message came through so quickly I’m not sure he even read the email.
This morning, we met at Evercrisp Orchard rather than in his office for what was supposed to be a quick tour of the premises.
More than two hours later, I booked it back to campus, where I discovered all the parking spots near my residence hall were full.
I barely made it back to the Wheeler Center before class.
When Tytus didn’t show up, I texted him, but Mercer kept me too busy to do any further investigating. Even after class, I was forced to stay behind and alphabetize the assignments I’d collected before he’d release me .
The number of hours I’ve spent on my assistantship already far exceed the time I’ve spent on my own schoolwork, and it definitely exceeds the average of twenty hours a week outlined in the graduate assistant handbook.
But I refuse to let Mercer wear me down. Just like I refuse to call him Professor Eden in my mind anymore. He doesn’t deserve that level of respect.
“Now she says these are too tight.” A white woman in her mid-thirties wearing minimal makeup sets the skates I just gave her on the counter with a huff. “Can we try the size twelves again?”
I hand back the little skates I’ve yet to sanitize and restock and smile. The kiddo who needs them has the grumpiest scowl on her face. The two smaller children cling to their mother, pulling on her coat sleeves and whining.
“Are you here for Learn to Skate?” I ask the kid as sympathy for both her and her mother washes over me. She clearly isn’t used to the way bulky hockey skates fit.
The scowl is back as she scrutinizes me. “I’m here to learn how to be a figure skater .”
As understanding dawns on me, I come around the corner and crouch low so we’re eye to eye. “ Oh . Can I tell you a secret?” I mock-whisper.
Eyes widening, she nods and steps closer. One of her younger siblings creeps forward, too.
“The best figure skaters in the whole world all learned how to skate on hockey skates, just like those.” I tip my chin toward the skates in her mom’s hands.
“Really?” she whispers.
“Really,” I promise. That factoid may not be 100 percent accurate, but most young kids do learn on hockey skates. That was standard back home, and the tots and level one and two classes here require them.
“Try those on again and let me know what you think. It should feel like the skates are giving your foot a hug, but make sure you can still wiggle your toes. It’s okay to feel a little wobbly when you stand up. That’s why we have benches inside the rec rink.”
“Okay.” The girl races off toward the rec rink, one sister giddily darting after her.
The mom lifts the youngest onto her hip. “Thank you,” she says with an exasperated laugh.
“Hey, new girl,” a man calls as she walks off. “Where’s your uniform? ”
Bryant saunters up, wearing a tight-fitting standard-issue ice arena tech shirt and the required khaki pants, cradling a clipboard in one arm, with a pen tucked behind his ear.
“I’m wearing the uniform,” I defend, eyeing my outfit.
Like him, I’m dressed in an ice arena shirt.
And my pants are both khaki-colored and made of khaki material.
The importance of that was emphasized in the handbook, then again at new-hire training, ensuring everyone who works here is aware of the multiple definitions of the word khaki .
Though I did slip the flannel Noah let me borrow over it. It’s unbelievably soft and fits surprisingly well. And according to the employee handbook, layers are encouraged as long as they aren’t linked to another school or team.
He grunts, his chin lifting, as he gets a look at me from the front, where my ice arena shirt is visible.
“Why are you calling me new girl? Did you forget my name?” I ask.
“Of course not. You’re Cam and Kai’s new friend. The girl from Canada. We all went out together on Thursday night.”
Lips pursed, I tilt my head and blink. “And my name is?”
His attention flits to my shirt, where my nametag should be. Joke’s on him. I haven’t been given a name tag yet. And if I’m not mistaken, he’s the one who was supposed to make it for me.
“Dude. Her name is Sawyer,” Arjun hollers from the doorway that separates the skate rental counter from the concession stand.
“Sawyer. Sawyer, Sawyer,” he repeats, hoisting his enormous frame onto the rental counter. “And your name tag is where, exactly, Sawyer?”
I cross my arms over my chest and take a step back. “I haven’t been given one yet. I was told you—”
“Right.” He hops off the counter, whips the pen from behind his ear, and makes a note on his clipboard. “On it.”
He strides toward the back offices, clearly on a mission. For a moment, he hesitates outside Cam’s door, but with a shake of his head, he powers forward and pushes through the next one instead.
“He givin’ you trouble?” a gruff white man with a straggly ponytail asks. We haven’t been introduced, but he drives the Zamboni, and yesterday, he was behind the skate counter replacing the latch on one of the cabinets.
“Oh, no. Not at all,” I insist. The last thing I need is to unwittingly get a coworker in trouble .
The older man thrusts his hand out. “Name’s Tobias, but everyone calls me Tony.”
Tony .
And he drives the Zamboni ?
I press my lips together, but my poker face has always been shit, and a smile breaks through.
He chuckles. “Ridiculous, I know. But Tobias was my father’s name, and he was a mean old bastard. The kids who worked here in the nineties started calling me Tony Zamboni, and it stuck.”
My stomach twists slightly. Atty and I both got our names from our dad, too. But he was the antithesis of a mean old bastard. Neither of us was named after him, but he chose monikers representative of two novels he categorized as the most important in American literature.
He loved classic American literature, and his research focused on the evolution of how it was taught in public high school classrooms. It’s honestly a wonder we never moved to the United States for his work.
He had several opportunities, but once Tytus was placed with us, there was never a question of whether we would leave the country.
What would he think of us now? Would he and my mom have moved to the US eventually? In another life, would we all be living in this country?
I like to think he’d be proud of my dedication to my studies.
He’d probably brag to friends about how I earned an honors degree from McMaster University in three years.
And he’d be thrilled that my master’s program is similar to what he studied.
He’d be proud of Atty’s and Tytus’s budding careers, too.
He’d attend every game he could. My dad wasn’t just the antitheses of a mean old bastard. He was the most supportive, loving, generous, and kind person. The best man I’ve ever known.
I clear the emotion from my throat and pull my shoulders back. “Sawyer Davvies.”
“Davvies?” Tony asks, his brows shooting into his hairline. “Isn’t one of the new D-men a Davvies?”
There’s no stopping my grin. “That’s my brother, Atty. And the other one, Tremblay, is our best friend.”
He plants his hands on his hips and peers out at the rink, then turns back to me. “And here you are, already working at the rink. ”
Arjun appears in the doorway, grasping the frame on either side of him and leaning in. “She’s already one of us,” he says. “Even came out to Mae’s with us last week.”
The older man grins, showing off a couple of missing teeth. If he’s worked here since the nineties, he’s probably got plenty of stories to tell.
“Y’all are from Canada, right? You play, too?”
Before I can tell him that I can skate and know the game well, he continues.
“We have a broomball team here. Intramural. You should join us.”
“ Yes . Epic idea.” Arjun whips around and shouts, “Grant, Tony just recruited Sawyer for broomball.”
I suck in a breath. “I—”
“Gods,” Arjun goes on. “Ever since they banned hockey players from joining, we’ve been suffering. This is perfect. Tony, you’re a genius. The Poppin’ Cherries won’t see us coming with Sawyer as our secret weapon.”
Cringing, I peer back at him. He’s already standing at his station again, talking loudly about this year’s shirt design.
Tony gives a small chuckle. He knows exactly what he just did. “Good to have you on the team, Sawyer.”
Not a minute after he retreats, Cam pushes through the swinging wooden gate and stands beside me, immediately adjusting the program guides and the postcards on display. “Heard you’ve officially been recruited.”
I scoff. “Apparently. But I’ve never even played broomball—”
“It’s hockey in sneakers.” She waves a dismissive hand.
Her hair, curly last week, is now done in braids that fall down her back and over her shoulders.
“If you’re not scared of the ice and know the basics of hockey, you’ll be our best player.
I’m technically on the team, too, but I rarely get to attend games since we can’t leave this place completely unmanned.
Speaking of which…” She pulls out her phone and unlocks the screen.
“I’m working on the schedule for next month and saw you blocked out all the home games. ”
Trepidation courses through me. Shit. With my luck, that’s not allowed.
“Is it so you can watch your brother play? Or do you actually need those nights off?”
I need to be off, full stop. There’s nothing this job or even my graduate assistantship could require of me that would make me miss one of Atty and Ty’s home games .