Free Breakaway by Avon Gale

Lane was perfectly happy about his performance in both games. He was happy his team won, happy it was sunny, and happy Zoe had seen him get a hat trick.
    Happy he was going to get laid in a week.
    Happy his parents were going home.
    “Oh man, Lane, that was great .” Zoe threw her arms around him and gave him an exuberant hug. “You got a cap trick.”
    “Hat trick,” he corrected, hugging her back. “Yup. I did.” He could feel his parents watching, and the anger hit him harder than he expected, because they were probably happier he was hugging a girl than because of the game he’d just played.
    “Next time you better shoot that T-shirt thingy at me, though,” she said, punching him as he pulled away. “What’s the use of having a friend on the team if I can’t get any free swag?”
    Lane hadn’t said a word to her about his parents, or how they clearly thought he and Zoe were dating. He saw his mother and father watching him with the obvious question in their eyes—“Doesn’t she mean boyfriend?” or “Aren’t you two dating?”
    Lane didn’t say a word. If you want to know, you can ask me. He wasn’t going to lie if they asked him about it.
    But they didn’t ask, and Lane didn’t say anything. He watched them go and wondered what they would take away from the trip—what they would say to his family and friends back home. If they’d talk about Lane’s hat trick and the excellent hockey he was playing, or how he was, for the first time ever, really part of a team . Or if all they’d take away from was that he had a girlfriend.
    He stopped calling them after games and practices. If they wanted to know what his stats were, they could look them up on the Sea Storm website. If they wanted to know about his personal life, they could ask. They’d nurtured him, sure. But it was Lane’s talent, Lane’s hard work that had gotten him where he was.
     
     
    ZOE WAS just finishing her bar shift at Cruisers. She’d been promoted to bartender, but it wasn’t all that much better than waiting tables. “It’s better hours and more money, but I’m really tired of wiping water spots out of glasses. And also, what’s up with people who order drinks like a ‘Ronald Palmer’? What the hell is that?”
    “I don’t know. All I drink is beer and sometimes whiskey.”
    Zoe snorted, slinging a towel across her shoulder. “All you drink are milkshakes and Dr Pepper, Lane. Come on.”
    “I meant alcoholic stuff,” he protested. “Also I drink water. And sometimes Gatorade. I had some coconut water the other day because our goalie told me it was good. But it wasn’t.”
    Zoe sighed. “You’re bad at stories sometimes.”
    “I know. Can I have a Dr Pepper refill?” He pushed his glass at her and smiled. “I got you a T-shirt, by the way. Because I felt bad I shot that cannon at a kid instead of you.”
    The man next to Lane gave him a weird look. Lane cleared his throat. “It was a T-shirt cannon,” he explained. That didn’t appear to get him any leeway. “At a hockey game.”
    “Mike, this is Lane Courtnall. He’s a center for the Jacksonville Sea Storm. Which is a hockey team. That thing they play on ice, with a puck.” Zoe gave Lane his Dr Pepper. “Lane, this is Mike Barrie. He owns Cruisers.”
    “Oh, hey. Really?” Lane held his hand out to shake. “We come here a lot, the team. You have good burgers. Unless you’re really busy, and then sometimes whoever makes them isn’t paying attention and they’re not that great. But the milkshakes are always good. And Zoe is definitely the best waitress here, so she’ll probably be the best bartender in a week or two. Once she figures out what all the drinks are. Do you know what a ‘Robert Palmer’ is?”
    “Sometimes I think you’re not a real person,” Zoe said, glaring at him.
    Lane shrugged and looked around as if the answer to why she’d think that was hidden in the mostly-empty bar area. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and they had the