He frowns. “Suck it up, buttercup. Come on.” He slaps my shoulder then gives me a shove along the path.
I eye the mascots across the field. My gut clenches. I’ll stay far away from them. Jesus.
I get involved with a game of golf frisbee with a bunch of kids. A few of them are hockey fans and are excited to meet me. I’m not a star like our team captain or our top scorer, but fans like me because I’m a physical player and I come through with the odd clutch goal.
I flick my wrist and send the plastic disc sailing, to land right in a basket. I pump my arms in the air and cheer. Then I help one little dude who doesn’t know how to throw a frisbee. We get it close enough to bounce off the edge of a basket. I high five him. “Super close, buddy!”
I look up to see a mascot approaching. It’s Mr. Met. Sweat breaks out under my Storm T-shirt. The urge to run is real.
I take my frisbee and move to another group of kids as Mr. Met jokes around with some of the others. Fuck. I swipe my hand across my forehead.
“I have to move on now,” I tell the kids a little while later. “You keep practicing, Mick, you’re going to be great at this sport.”
I hightail it across the grass to a food truck. I’m not even a little bit hungry, but I can hide out there for a while. I wonder if they have beer.
No such luck. But I grab a lemonade slushie and gulp some down. I survey the crowd. There are no mascots over at one crowd I see preparing for some other activity. So I walk over there and introduce myself. There are two guys who turn out to be baseball players, Gord Delman and Antonio Reyes. Their girlfriends are there too, Ellie and Nira, who are busy filling water balloons.
“We’re playing water balloon dodgeball!” a little girl tells me excitedly.
“We’re gonna get wet!” another kid yells.
I laugh. “I’m not gonna get wet. You won’t get me with one of those balloons.”
They all jeer me.
Of course, when the game starts, I make a show out of trying to dodge their balloons, letting them hit me. Soon my jeans and shirt are soaked and the kids are gleeful. The balloon I take in the face isn’t one I wanted; I didn’t see that one coming. I shake water out of my eyes and hair and swipe at my face. Nira hands me a towel, grinning.
I hear a voice behind me. “Hunter?”
That sounds like Kate. I turn quickly, then stumble back. It’s the New York Bears mascot.
A bear, naturally. Wearing a hockey jersey. But the face…Jesus fucking Christ. The eyes are evil and that big smile with teeth showing is creepy as fuck.
I save myself from falling on my ass on the grass.
The bear lifts a hand and does a circular wave at me.
What the fuck?
“It’s Orson!” a couple of boys cry, running at the bear to throw their arms around its legs.
They’re better men than me.
My shirt is already wet, which is actually good so people can’t see the sweat soaking through it. My armpits prickle and my legs feel weak. I rub my mouth. I have to get out of here.
Since Orson is distracting the kids, I bolt back toward the food truck. There was a big trash can there I can puke in if I need to.
“Hunter!”
I don’t turn to see who’s calling me, although weirdly it sounds like Kate again.
At the food truck, I keep an eye out from a distance. I spot one of the Bears players talking to Orson. Hey, that’s Kevin Beaven, one of Kate’s clients. One of the guys I talked to about her. As long as they stay over there, I’m good. Also, I warily watch the big black and white spotted Dalmatian with a huge black firefighter hat, and the giant Pikachu. I suck air into my lungs and hope my heart slows down before I have a heart attack worse than Vern’s.
How the hell did I get myself into this? Fucking Hakim. He owes me big time.
I order a hot dog, mostly for something to do so I don’t look like an idiot, and I’m holding it in my hands when I see Orson bouncing toward me. Fuck no.
I look wildly around for an escape route. I start to move but Orson calls, “Hunter!”
I’m so fucked up right now. I stare at the goddamn bear running toward me. That bloodcurdling smile. Those spine-chilling eyes.
I toss my hotdog into the trash can, turn and start run-walking across the park, probably looking like a five year old about to pee his pants. I glance over my shoulder to see Orson in pursuit, now running, if you can call it that, the bear lumbering over the grass, waving his arms.
I nearly crash into a family, not watching where I’m going. “Sorry, sorry!”
I dart around them and glance back again just in time to see Orson trip over his big paws, er, feet…whatever…and go flying flat on the ground. I can hear the “oomph” from here.
A bunch of kids watching break into laughter, no doubt thinking this is part of Orson’s schtick. This is my chance to escape. But I pause. There’s a person in there (which makes it extra freaky, in my opinion).
I watch Orson struggle to get up in the bulky costume, rolling around on the ground. Kids are screaming with laughter. Fuuuuck me.
Heaving a sigh, I turn and jog back to the bear to help him up. I can do this. I can do this.
“Thank you!” Goddammit, that sounds like Kate.
What. The. Fuck.
I gape. “Kate?”
Orson’s hands go to the head of the costume to lift it off. Only it won’t come off.
My mouth drops open. My heart is still racing.
“Oh shit.” The voice inside the head comes out muffled, but it’s…Kate. “I can’t get this off. And my shoulder hurts.”
“Oh hell.” Did she hurt herself when she fell? “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. Help me!”
“I can’t.” I can’t get close enough to that disturbing face to help her. But it’s Kate.
“What?” Her voice is a muffled screech. “Hunter! I’m stuck in here! It’s bad enough barely being able to breath and…and I fell.” She lets out what sounds like a small sob. “I’m going to suffocate if I can’t get this off!”
People are still watching. If she takes the head off here, kids could be freaked out.
If she doesn’t take the head off, I’ll be freaked out. Okay, I already am.
“This way.” Swallowing, I take her paw and tug her toward the road. There’s a big rock outcropping on the other side. If we can get behind it, we’ll be hidden from the picnic.
Orson can’t move as fast as I’d like so I’m practically dragging…her? …along. Once behind the big rocks, I stop. “Okay, let’s get this off you.”
She starts tugging at the head again. “I can’t.” She sounds like she’s crying.
Kate doesn’t cry. Except for that one time in college I found her in the gym, overwhelmed and tearful, and she nearly broke my goddamn heart that I tried to wall up.
I can’t look at the bear face, so I step behind her and feel around the neck of the costume, trying to loosen it. I have no idea how this thing works. But I manage to pry something loose and between us we wrestle off the head.
Kate appears, her face red and wet, her hair limp and plastered to her head. “Oh my God, thank you!”
“Are you hurt?”
“I-I don’t know.” She sniffs and rolls her head around. “My shoulder hurts, but I think I’m okay.”