Disclaimer: I don't own Miracle, blah blah blah...
Author's note: I hit a dry spell with this chapter for a while, on top of being sick. Thanks for your reviews again and onto the chapter!
CHAPTER FOUR
Hasty actions made out of temperaments inevitably come with a price. The price, to O.C.'s dismay, came too soon and in the form of a tall, angrily breathing woman. Jo had fortunately dodged out of the ball's way, spilling her books and bag contents in the process. The shock, however, hadn't quite worn off for either one of them. Jo mentally noted to herself to avoid sharp corners and wide arch doors in the future.
In the midst of the discomfited silence, she managed to shake off some of the numbness to retrieve the ball. "Yours, I presume?" said Jo, her voice cracking slightly.
O.C. deftly caught her purposely gentle throw, as if she was sarcastically demonstrating to him the proper technique. "No," he replied immediately.
"I mean – it looks that way," O.C. raised his hands impulsively at Jo's dubious gaze. "It's not my ball!"
He cringed at how childishly defensive his words sounded. Judging from her increasingly piercing gaze, she wasn't buying it either. O.C. turned back slightly to catch a glimpse of his teammates' reactions. Not surprisingly, Mac appeared the least sympathetic of all with a somewhat mischievous glint in his eyes. And then he remembered. Mac O.C. scorned.
Without hesitation, O.C. quickly got rid of the ball, though perhaps tossing a bit roughly to Mac. Ironically, the action only left him more uncomfortable as his hands felt unaccustomed to empty space. His accuser's eyes of course weren't exactly improving matters either. So out of familiar anxious habit, he began to rub his palms and knuckles. At the same time, O.C. felt an urgency to deal with the delicate situation in the calmest (and least embarrassing) manner.
"Guess I should have aimed for off-field," O.C. remarked lightly. Humor was usually a good reliever of tension.
Jo's mouth twitched slightly. "Yeah," her voice dripped with sarcasm.
Guess not.
"Good reflexes though."
Jo bit her bottom lip and bent down to gather her books. If the guy was attempting to placate the situation, he had just about the skill of Richard Nixon. Regardless, Jo learned enough from past confrontational experiences to maintain a cool, level-headed composure. Anger never lead to productive results, but it certainly had no bounds at the moment. So focused on her thoughts and task at hand, she didn't notice that O.C. had silently come to her aide.
"You're a physics major?" he skimmed some of the titles.
"Nope, but I got a good demonstration of it anyway," replied Jo.
Jo reached out to grab another book, but O.C. beat her to the chase and handed it readily. "Thanks," she said reluctantly.
She quickly averted her eyes to bag, pretending to shuffle and arrange her books. Sensing her need for space, O.C. stood up and backed away. It was hard not to study her. Tall and slender, the chick came up to about 5' 7" and radiated casual confidence with every movement. Her attractive face, of course, wasn't lost upon him either, but her sharp, autumn-colored eyes mostly held his attention.
"Here, I think this anchor belongs to you," Rizzo grunted mockingly.
Try as she might, Jo couldn't help cracking a grin at him as he handed her a large textbook. "You're not much of an excuse for a man, then."
Chuckles erupted around. Rizzo dramatically acted out an arrow aiming at his heart. "Bullseye!" he groaned. "But, if you're insulting me, you're insulting every guy here. You happen to be squatting in the arena of the manliest of all sports."
"Is that a fact?"
"That and we just happen to be the best of the best," said Rizzo. He extended out a hand. "Mike Eruizione. And you are?"
"Evans," Buzz answered for Jo as he approached the group. "Just plain Evans," winked Buzz knowingly.
"I don't think you're plain," smiled Rizzo.
"I hope that's not your best pick up line," Jo remarked. But women generally (and secretly) felt pleased at any paid complements. The evidence became all too evident as the red tinge began to travel up her neck. The effect seemed all the more pronounced in the presence of cute guys.
"Nope, that stuff's best left to him," Mac patted O.C. shoulder. "O' Callahan's not much of a baseball player but his charm is irresistible."
O.C. brusquely shrugged off his hand, adding his own glare to match. Comprehension came to Jo in a brisk and thoroughly unpleasant form. She didn't really know where the headache began and where it ended, but Jo didn't need to look further for the cause. Her face appeared to contort between several emotions before settling on unhappy.
"The quality shows," said Jo acidly.
O.C. tiredly ran a hand through his hair. "Did I mention how very, very sorry I was – am?"
"Must have slipped my mind," Jo replied dryly. She stood up and reached down to zip her bag.
"You do know it wasn't intentional," he tried apologizing again.
"We were clowning around a bit," supplied Rizo.
"You're not really helping," said O.C. through clenched teeth. Rizzo threw up his arms defensively.
O.C. decided to attempt introductions. "Jack O' Callahan."
Jo looked at him in a certain way that spoke out "Are you kidding me?" She slowly brought up her hand and leaned forward….only to reach past his offered hand and picked up her bag. "Good to know," she said and walked off.
"How so?" asked O.C., trying to catch up.
"I know where to send my future med bill."
"Hey, I don't really look loaded," O.C. joked. "I'm just a hockey player from Charleston, Mass. who came to Minnesota to play for the Olympic team. And who also happens to be extremely sorry, and more importantly, just as broke."
Jo paused at the front doors. She raised her eyebrow skeptically, but he had her effectively curious. "C'mon, you're making it hard for a guy to apologize," he teased. "I didn't fracture your pretty head. Maybe a chipped nail, but not your head."
A smile slowly began to tug at Jo's right corner of her lips. After excruciating moments, she replied, "Alright, apology accepted."
"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" O.C. coaxed.
Jo sent him an annoyed glance as she pushed the doors open. "However," he continued, "I think maybe a drink or two might be in order."
"I thought you were broke?" she clarified.
"Had to get your attention somehow," O.C. smirked. "I decided to give sympathy a try. And low and behold, it exceeded my far expectations."
As angry as Jo wanted to be at the guy, she didn't find herself altogether hating him. He was undeniably cocky, probably even pretentious if given the chance. However, his roguish charm did more than compensate at times. It may have helped him in critical times, but she wasn't about to let him off that easy. As she peered at the clock over O.C.'s shoulder, an idea immediately started to form. It required perfect timing and his involuntary contribution, but the plan had potential.
"The offer still stands," said O.C.
"I think I'd rather not risk anymore injury."
"Hockey player," he reminded her. "Not baseball. The only way I could injure you is if I had on a pair of skates and a stick. Toss in a puck, and it should get interesting."
Jo was not only surprised at how well her little scheme was progressing but also how fast he had reached the trigger of its portion. Too fast, in fact. She needed to buy some time. Jo tapped her fingers and tried to appear as if she were deliberating.
"It's either a simple yes or no," said O.C. forty seconds later. "Besides, the company's not all that bad."
She didn't look entirely convinced. "Hockey player, huh?"
"If you want to believe."
"Are you any good?"
"Very," he grinned. "Much better on the ice than on the field, anyway. But if you're not convinced …."
"You better hope so," quipped Jo. "Otherwise, I might think your coach was off his rockers."
"That's accurate enough," snorted O.C. "The man's really obsessed and fully possessed."
"That's a bit harsh."
"Compared to everything else, that's actually tame," he dismissed. "Perfectionist, Anarchist, Slave-driver – just to name a few. If Brooks doesn't kill you in the end, he'd at least wear you down by the end of the day."
"Anything else you'd like to add?"
O.C. froze immediately at the new voice as the shock settled in. Embarrassment, though not as apparent, was thoroughly felt. As far as he could tell, the day didn't and couldn't look to get any worse than now. Herb Brooks had a methodical way of dealing with things, to say the least.
Herb peered from Jo to O.C. and back. "You two know each other?"
"We were working on it," replied Jo.
"You're working on it very closely," Herb observed.
"Fatherly concern does show up at convenient times," Jo smiled humorlessly.
The edgy tone, to her satisfaction, acted out like a double edge sword. It touched a guilt-stricken nerve of Herb's while fueling the shock of O' Callahan and the rest. It was a shamelessly low move on her part – one she probably wouldn't take pride in later. But then bitter people rarely consider the future impacts of their action over their immediate rewards.
"Jo, why don't you wait outside," suggested Herb calmly.
Jo exhaled quietly and smiled apologetically at O.C. "I'm gonna take a rain check on that."
"Oh, and," she paused halfway out, "you might want to pick your words better next time. Some of them aren't big enough for your mouth."
With a last glimpse of O.C.'s shocked face, Jo soundlessly left. It took maybe a moment or two, but he caught on, all right. Thankfully, Herb remained clueless of the words' implication. On one hand, he felt embarrassed and somewhat humiliated about her audacity. On the other hand, he had to admire her tough exterior. It reminded him keenly of someone.
Herb patted O.C.'s arm. "Get a good night's rest, Jack," he said evenly. His eyes, though, promised something other than kindness to the wish. After Herb left, O.C. continued to remain rooted to the floor in utter disbelief.
Rizzo cautiously approached his friend. "Who would have thought, huh?" he jabbed him playfully. "She sure doesn't take after him in looks."
"Sure as hell inherited everything else," O.C. said bitterly.
"C'mon!" Herb honked impatiently.
Signs of the afternoon traffic were inescapable. Jo had occupied herself for majority of the time by gazing boringly out of window, shifting uncomfortably against the sticky nylon now and then. The view didn't offer much – just rows and rows of dully colored cars surrounded by trees. Still, she welcomed any form of distraction from the upcoming dinner and the previous incident.
"So how about it?"
Jo snapped out of her reverie. "What?"
"The campus?" repeated Herb. "You finding everything alright?"
"Yeah," Jo replied. "Just peachy."
And just like their other conversations, the silence seeped back in. Jo clenched her fists in frustration. The old routine felt like a stonecutter chipping away at foundation, deepening and spreading the cracks further with each impact. It was about damn time to cement them.
"The map came in handy," Jo added.
Herb blanked out momentarily before recovering with a wide smile. "Good! I..uh…you know…figured with a big campus, it couldn't hurt. Not that it's changed much, but I wound up lost several times even to .."
"Herb, just say 'you're welcome'," interrupted Jo. But she returned the smile.
Herb chuckled, only to be jolted by a loud honk from the car behind. Traffic began to pick up, and the rest of the drive proceeded smoothly.
"Is there anything I should know about Dan and Kelley?" Jo asked.
"Just the things to know about regular kids," said Herb. "And that Dan's one heck of a pitcher and Kelly loves ballet."
"No hockey?" teased Jo. "Kids are rebelling earlier these days."
"Minnesotan hockey is different." Herb waved his hand dismissively. "Everyone knows how to play the game regardless if you love it or not. Here, we learn to skate before we learn to walk."
"So it's better to risk a newborn falling on ice than on carpet?" Jo raised a brow. It came out sounding like a comment than a question, and all the more apparent with a head tilt. "Fascinating – Minnesotan logic."
Before Jo had realized it, they were making their way up the driveway. It was a simple house, she noted, accompanied with an expansive front yard and garden. Herb pulled out his key and managed to get it halfway to the keyhole before the door budged backwards.
"Thirty minutes, huh?"
Herb grinned sheepishly. "And maybe twenty more?"
Patty shook her head amusedly and kissed him on the cheek. She turned to Jo. "You'll have to excuse me if I say that men have no sense of timing. It's good to see you again!"
"It's good to see you too," said Jo as she was swept in a hug that left her both surprised and slightly out of breath.
"Well, come in! Both of you!" Patty rushed them the doorway. "The kids are practically starving."
In a coordinated fashion, Dan and Kelly both got up from the couch to meet their guest. Their son easily resembled Herb from his blue eyes to his easy manners. Kelly shared her brother's eyes but had Patty's blonde locks. Next to Dan, she appeared stiff and more painfully apprehensive. No smile graced her lips, and her displeasure at the visit was easily traced around the tight contours of her face.
Jo shot what she hoped was a friendly smile. "Hi," she raised her hand in a handshake gesture.
Kelly peered at the hand as if it threatened of disease. Her eyes traveled further south. "Are you a punk?" she asked incredulously.
"Kelly!" exclaimed Patty.
"Mom, she has a ring on her belly button," defended her daughter. "I was just curious."
"Why don't you help me get the food," Patty said in a tightly sweet voice.
Jo miraculously had held on to her smile during the whole exchange, but it seemed rather strained. Herb looked too stumped for a response.
"She gets grumpy when she's hungry," explained Dan.
Beth's evening started out well enough. Normally, a late dinner followed by a shower and some light reading didn't constitute as a fun Friday night, but it was relaxing nonetheless. And yet, her attention didn't seem quite as devoted to her book as to the door. Anticipation became her interfering companion till Jo's arrival.
"Hey," mumbled Jo, dropping her book bag. "No wild parties?"
Beth shrugged. "My definition of a good time is a bit more sophisticated."
"Conservative might be the better word." Jo nodded pointedly at her roommate's state.
"You should take that into mind the next time you dress," said Beth, flipping a page.
While Jo enjoyed their occasional verbal spar, she simply didn't have the energy to retort back. Or at least that was her excuse. Within five staggering steps, she fell into the blessed warmth of her bed. With some ounce of remaining strength, she managed to kick off her shoes and pulled the covers snugly around her. Jo might have fallen asleep earlier if her friend had been more adept at feigning interest in her book.
Jo yawned. "You can stop pretending," she said and turned away.
"Pretending what? I am reading."
"You have interesting choices for material then. I didn't think anyone could be so fascinated with George Orwell in the wee hours of the night."
Beth rolled her eyes and closed her book. "Class assignment. Roberts wants us to compare and contrast Orwell's vision of 1984 to today's political landscape – five pages, single spaced."
"And that is why I avoid enthusiastic professors," professed Jo, as she stifled another yawn.
Beth didn't respond. She did, though, take her sweet time in taking off her reading glasses and preparing for bed. "How was the dinner?" Beth asked as casually as she could muster. It hadn't taken much for her to gather that Herb Brooks was a sensitive issue.
Sure enough, the steady rise and fall of Jo's chest stilled. And though Beth couldn't make out her facial reaction, her friend's stiffened back expressed enough. Jo blew air through her teeth. Inwardly, Jo had anticipated that Beth would come to inquire her night. Curiosity was about the only thing – annoying thing – that came naturally to journalists. Being evasive only fed their appetite for answers and satisfying them would be telling too much.
How was dinner? The meal itself was delicious. But even its aroma was hard to savor in the quiet domestic hell. Dry one-syllable answers pretty much dictated the flow of conversation, or rather fractured it. Dan and Kelly picked at their food constantly. For a ten year old, Kelly displayed an impressive vocabulary that she had no hesitation in directing to Jo a few times. The impression certainly wasn't lost on Patty, clean as the words may be. Jo suspected that Patty made that very clear during their brief disappearance to gather cold ice cream. Quite an ironic symbol for the evening.
"Dessert was the best part."
Author's Endnote: As a warning, future chapters will be intense.