Then Cross thumped Rusty on the shoulder, muttered something about not seeing Tyler and good luck tomorrow, and turned away.
Probably Rusty had been imagining anything more…
The cool, damp night air beaded moisture on his skin as he crossed the parking lot. Oregon was a lot less frigid than Kansas. Back home in early March, snow was still a possibility. Here the overcast and damp made forty degrees feel miserable. He hunched in the collar of his jacket and trudged to the corner of the lot where he’d left his truck, passing a few vehicles, probably the staff still cleaning and closing the venue. The only people around stood in clumps near the front doors a hundred feet away.
Rusty shivered and glanced around. He wasn’t afraid of Tyler, but he’d given a hundred and ten percent on the ice in their four-one loss, and he didn’t have the energy for an argument. Luckily, Tyler liked his comforts. The idea that he’d hang about a cold, wet parking lot for hours, just to give Rusty a hard time, was ludicrous.
Nothing moved as Rusty approached his truck. He heaved a sigh of relief, rounded the back to the driver’s side, and stopped.
Well, fuck.
Someone— guess who, although there’d been a few “wages of sin” types two weeks back— had taken a can of pink spray paint to Rusty’s black truck. Most of the graffiti was just sweeps of color across the panels and up over the side windows. On the front fender above the wheel, there was a scribble that was probably meant to be a cock and balls. On the driver’s door, a crooked smiley face grinned at him.
Well, shit.
No slurs, no F-words. No God hates. This sure looked like “Pay attention to me.” The only surprise was Tyler risking getting paint on his clothes.
Rusty touched the nearest splotch and tried to smear it, but the paint was dry under his fingertip. Not super recent, then. He’d been in the arena almost four hours. Tyler was no doubt long gone.
He knew what he should do. Drive home, ignoring anyone who stared or honked. Go out tomorrow and buy paint remover and a scraper. See if he could at least get the windows and mirrors clean.
But prickly heat rose up behind his eyes, and he rubbed at them with a fist.This sucks.He was trying so damned hard to make his life work, but it seemed like every time he turned around there was one more thing. Not just Mike and his family and leaving home, but if it wasn’t the bigots in the Gryphons’ room, it was playing a crappy game in front of a coach who just glowered, or dating a fucking creep, or having to take paint remover costs out of his fucking food budget.
He pulled out his phone and took a couple of pictures of the truck. He was about to text Kris, his best friend back home, to bitch about it tosomeonewhen he realized how late it was in Kansas. Kris worked on Scotty, Will, and Casey’s ranch. Ranch work started at dawn. He didn’t need her commiseration enough to wake her up in the middle of the night.
One row down from his chat thread with Kris was Cross. After that text of his with the address of the bar, and from Cross with his ETA, were a bunch of more recent hockey comments back and forth, showing Cross had taken the time to watch video of Rusty’s games. Nothing personal in there, but friendly, at least.
The Rafters had flown back from a road trip that morning which meant no practice or game. Cross was probably still up.
Rusty took a deep breath. He’d get his shit together and deal with the truck soon. He was good at that, he could problem-solve. But he could use a friendly word, just for a moment.
Before he could second guess himself, he sent,~So this happened.
Followed by a picture of his truck with the pink cock-and-balls décor.
The reply pinged back gratifyingly quickly.~Is that your truck? Any messages?
~Other than the paint is pink? No.
~Any damage?
~Not that I can tell. Unless you count not being able to see the mirrors.At this hour, traffic would be slow enough he was probably safe.
Cross sent back,~I can drive down give you a ride home. It’ll be midnight though.
The chill in Rusty’s core warmed at the offer.~Fuck no. As long as it drives I can get home.
~Any chance the bastard was caught on a surveillance camera?
Rusty glanced around but saw only trees and fence.~I don’t think we have that kind of security. I’m near the back of the lot.
~What can I do? Want me to get in Tyler’s face?
The thought made him smile for perhaps the first time that evening.~I don’t even know for sure this was him. Could be because I fucked up and gave away a bad goal tonight.
~Assisted on one too. Nice pass.
~You were watching?Rusty hadn’t thought the game was televised anywhere but the local network.
