Page 21 of Hell Bent (Portland Devils #5)

A LACK OF ENTHUSIASM

Sebastian

Noon on Saturday, and in the locker room again. Taking a shower even though all I’d done was a walk-through, because routine was important, and it would be better not to actually stink when I picked up Ben.

Owen said from beside me, “You OK?”

“Huh?” I looked over at him. He was buttoning yet another button-down shirt over yet another T-shirt. Some football players are fashion plates. Wide receiver, defensive back, QB, guys like that. Offensive line? Not so much. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Asked if you were OK,” he said. “The Chiefs are beatable, whatever their record says. Every team’s beatable, and we know how to win. And it’s not all on you.”

“Oh,” I said. “No. I’m not worrying. Not much of a worrier, not about kicking.”

“Huh,” he said. “See, I’d have said you were worrying.”

I considered making some excuse, but what was the point? “My nephew’s coming to live with me. I’m picking him up now. ”

Owen’s hands stilled on his buttons. “How old?” Which wasn’t the question I’d have expected.

“Fourteen. I’m trying to remember what he looks like. It’s been three or four years. He had these big teeth and kind of a baby face.”

“Maybe not anymore,” Owen said.

“Yeah. Hope I recognize him.”

“Got somebody to stay with him tonight while you’re at the hotel?”

“Uh … no. But I have a neighbor right next door with a kid about his age. I figure that if he needs help, he can go knock on her door.”

“Huh,” Owen said. “You know, Jennifer’s grandpa Oscar is still at their house. Jennifer too, obviously, and Annabelle and Nick. That might be a place. Family place. If he’s coming to live with you for some reason, it may be better for him not to be alone.”

“What, he gets here and I instantly send him somewhere else?” I said. “No.”

“You’ve got a point,” Owen said. “But hey. If I can help, let me know. I’ve got four nephews living next door on my ranch.”

“On your ranch?” OK, that was surprising.

“Yeah. In Wyoming. We run some cattle.” He grabbed a brown barn coat and buttoned that up, too. “I know some about kids. If you get in trouble, ask me.”

I pulled on my jacket, and as always, the heavy leather settled over me, reminding me of who I was and where I’d come from. “Thanks, but I was a kid in circumstances not too different myself. And my sister says he’s independent. I think we’ve got it.”

An hour and a half later, I was standing near the foot of the escalator, watching people stream down it and head for baggage claim.

The screen above me had been showing Arrived for Ben’s plane for a good forty minutes now, but there was Customs to get through.

People were carrying heavy winter coats, though, and talking in an accent I recognized.

Families hefting mountains of baby gear.

Single people, some dressed for business, some dressed in a way I wouldn’t even consider for taking out the garbage.

One teenage girl was wearing pajamas and slippers.

Another ten minutes. The Canadian accents and puffer jackets changed to Mickey Mouse ears and kids clutching lightsabers, and still he didn’t come. I looked at my watch. I had to check into the team hotel by five.

I heard, “Hey,” and looked up. There was a kid, all right. A gangly one with ears that stuck out and curly dark hair that stuck up. Wearing headphones.

I said, “Ben?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Obviously.” He was scowling.

“Hi,” I said. “Welcome. Let’s go get your bags.”

He lifted the backpack he was wearing over one shoulder. “I’ve got it.”

“You didn’t bring any stuff?”

“Why? I’m not going to be staying.”

That took some thought. In the end, I said, “Well, you’re here now, so let’s go. We can talk about it at my place. You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, then,” I said. “I’ll fix you a sandwich at home.”

His feet stilled. “I thought we could get, like, Tim Hortons.”

“No Tim Hortons here,” I said.

“You’re kidding.” He looked as appalled as if I’d told him Americans only ate cat food. “OK, McDonald’s. ”

“Another no. I need to eat lunch myself, and I can’t eat that stuff before a game.”

“The game’s tomorrow.”

“It is. And I need to be ready for it. Come on. Let’s go.”

He didn’t say anything during the walk to the parking garage, just put his headphones in and his head down, probably listening to his music, and I tried and failed to think of suitable topics of conversation.

Asking about his mom would be tricky right now, and I wasn’t sure what else to talk about.

When I approached my car, he pulled out the headphones and asked, “This yours?”

“Yep.”

“Do you have, like, a more NFL car at home?” he asked, making no move to climb in.

“No. I have one car. I’m one person.”

“If I was playing in the NFL,” he said, “I’d have a Lamborghini. Or at least a Porsche 911.”

“Yeah? Which trim line on the Porsche?”

“Carrera GTS,” he said, with more enthusiasm than he’d shown for anything else so far. “It’s a hybrid, but it still does 0 to 60 in under 3. And it’s not an SUV like you’re a soccer mom.”

“Only one problem with that.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “What?”

“Can’t fit a golden retriever in it,” I said, and opened the door.

We were met by ecstasy. Lexi was shoving her furry face forward, sniffing my cheek, barely overcoming her urge to lick—we’d been working on that one—her wildly wagging tail banging against the window with a whack, whack, whack.

She transferred her attentions to Ben, then, and he put up a hand to pet her, which was a good sign.

“What I do have,” I told him, “is a dog. This is Lexi. She’s a rescue dog.

A grateful one, obviously. We’re still getting to know each other. ”

“She’s cool,” he said. “My mom never let me have a dog.”

“Same. Though it was my dad in my case. He said it was too much trouble.”

“My mom says dogs are dirty,” Ben said.

“Mm. Probably true, especially in Portland. We have a whole routine after we come back from walks, but the floor can still get a little crunchy. I need to buy one of those stick vacuum cleaners. Put on your seatbelt.”

“I don’t need it. Don’t you have to have, like, good reflexes or something? Which means you won’t crash.”

“Except that it’s the law. Put it on.”

He sighed, but he did it, and I relaxed a little. When we were out of the garage and on the ring road, I asked, “How’s your mom?”

“She’s dying, dude. How do you think she is?”

“I don’t know. She told me she has better days and worse days. I assume she had a hard time saying goodbye to you, too, so that probably didn’t help.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, and looked out the window. I drove in silence for a few minutes, and finally, he burst out, “I could’ve taken care of her. I was taking care of her.”

“I know,” I said.

“If you know, why am I sitting here? Why did you say I should come live with you? My mom doesn’t want that. I know she doesn’t, whatever she says, and she can still make up her own mind!”

I had no idea what to say here. I went with, “I can’t think on an empty stomach. Let’s go get those sandwiches, and we can have this conversation.”

“I don’t want to have a conversation,” he said. “I just want to go home. I don’t even get to go to school here for some lame reason. I’m just going to be stuck in your house all day. How is that fair?”

“I get it,” I said, stretching for serenity with everything in me.

“I do. And you’ll be in school just as soon as we jump through all the hoops.

” I didn’t say, until your mom dies and I figure this whole thing out, but said instead, “For now, let’s go home and talk it out.

I’ll tell you everything I know, and you can ask any questions you have, too.

We’ll talk it over, and we’ll make a plan. ”

Alix

Going to a man’s NFL game is an unusual second date.

Picking up his unknown nephew first is a really unusual one.

I checked the address again, then headed into a very posh lobby in the fanciest part of what the street signs said was the Pearl District.

Black marble, some kind of art glass installation, and a security guard behind the sleek desk.

I gave my name, and the woman picked up the phone.

It must have rung and rung, because she hung up at last and said, “No answer.”

“There has to be an answer,” I said. “I’m picking him up. Did you call the right apartment? Sebastian Robillard, in number 1301?”

“I did,” she said, “and there was no answer.”

I thought a minute, and then I thought some more and said, “He has a neighbor. Right next door, a woman with a thirteen-year-old daughter. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

“Francine Waters.”

“Yes. Her. Could you call her, please, so she can knock?”

“Sorry, why?”

“Look,” I said. “Have you met him? Ben? The kid?”

“No,” she said. “I didn’t know he was there, except there was a note today.”

“Well, he just got here, and I suspect he’s not having an easy time. I’m picking him up to go watch Sebastian play for the Devils, and that’s not something he’s likely to have forgotten. If something’s wrong—he’s fourteen. He’s a minor child, and he’s alone.”

“What do you suggest I do?” she asked.

“Call the neighbor. That’s not overstepping, surely.”

She hesitated, but she did it, and after a moment, said, “Hi, Ms. Waters. I’ve got a woman here who says—” She looked up at me. “What do you want me to tell her?”

“Can I talk to her?” I asked. “Just for a minute.”

She handed the phone over, and I said, “Hi, Francine. My name’s Alix, and I’m a friend of Sebastian’s, here to pick up Ben for the game today. He’s not answering the phone, though. Do you have any idea where he is?”

“No,” the voice said. “He came over to our place for dinner last night, because Sebastian arranged it, but I haven’t seen him today. He could be walking the dog, I guess. Do you want me to check the apartment?”

“Yes,” I said. “Can you do that?”

“Sure. Sebastian gave me a key, because of Lexi. You’re on a landline. Give me a cell phone number, and I’ll call you back on that.”

A minute where I stood and tapped a toe and the security guard went back to whatever she’d been doing, and then my phone rang. I snatched it up and said, “Hello?”

“I think you’d better come up here,” Francine said. “We have a situation.”