Keeping Seven

by T. A Richards Neville

  The LA Kings practice at the Toyota Center had been over for a full thirty minutes before I arrived for one-on-one figure skating lessons. I had two newbies and one regular, the three separate sessions taking me right through the three hours of allocated ice time.

  I would miss this rink when I left Los Angeles. Considering there were ice rinks in Florida, it was a silly pastime to get sentimental over when I could skate anywhere if the facilities were available, but my training and coaching process had all been carried out here. This rink contributed to so much of who I was. Kept me sane and level-headed too many times to count. It had become a refuge to me, and knowing I wouldn’t be coming back here, maybe ever, hit home with a resonating thud.

  It had been agony the first time I’d been forced to leave LA and start over in Boston, the two cities nowhere near similar. Aware now the second time around how much hurt was in store, it helped that I had Julian waiting for me. Making room in his life so he could share it with me. And he’d made sacrifices, too. Raised in Boston, Massachusetts, Miami was a whole new scenery to him. The only difference between us? Los Angeles was my home. Boston, to Julian, was just somewhere he’d lived. He was flexible. He’d go where the football was. And now, I was going where he was.

  “Angel.”

  Beau powered up the steps in the emptying stands. He wore a black ballcap pulled low over his eyes, incognito key when anyone here would know instantly who he was, then proceed to bombard him. But the Kings t-shirt was a total giveaway. Also, the tatted hockey bod wasn’t doing him any favors, either. Those thighs in his shorts basically spoke for themselves.

  “You found me,” I deadpanned. I’d already packed away my skates, and I sat in my thermal leggings and matching jacket, hands tucked between my knees while I’d been staring at the rink, torturing myself over today counting toward one of my last visits.

  “Bad time?” One eyebrow tipped up from under the shade of Beau’s hat. He stood on the mid-point step, folding his inked arms over his broad chest.

  “No worse than any other time.” I pushed a smile to my lips and leaned forward to pick up my skates. I peered up at Beau as I hooked my finger through the tag. “Unless you’re about to make it a bad time?”

  His pasted-on grin told me otherwise.

  “One of the head coaches with the Junior kings asked me to set up a meeting with you. His Name’s Erik Nillson.”

  “Okay. And he wants to meet me why?”

  “I’ll let him tell you the gory details. But if you’re ready—”Beau glanced over my fully-dressed self, skates guarded and zipped away in their case, shoes securely on my feet—“I’ll take you back there and you can find out for yourself.”

  I barged through my front door, frustration from our 21-26 loss against the Steelers screwing my muscles into barbed wire and creating one hell of a headache.

  The game didn’t go our way today, and the Steelers put their best offensive side forward and showed us they wanted the win more. Fair play to them. Tomorrow at practice, though, my guys would be making up for it. I’d discussed a number of new plays with Coach on the flight home, and we’d test them out in the morning and see how they looked in motion. Working new guys into the lineup meant preparation for failure was non-negotiable, and both our defense and offense had fallen victim to uneven footing. Today, especially. It was going to be one long fucking day tomorrow, and sleep tonight was the last thing I was going to get. Our loss would hound me until the sun came up. And then I would start the mental torture all over again.

  I tossed my bag against the wall by the door, then went into the kitchen and pulled ingredients out of the fridge for a smoothie.

  “Tough break,” Rebecca said, emerging from her room in yellow spandex shorts and a sports bra. “I listened to the game while I was at work.”

  “Then you know already that I’m not in the mood to hash it out. With you.”

  She nodded at the bullet blender on the counter in front of me. “Make me one of those?”

  I doubled up on the fruit and veg and spooned out another measure of protein powder. “You’ve been distracting Tate.”

  “Have I? First I’m hearing.”

  “He played like shit today. And I caught him sending pictures of his fucking junk in the locker room and sending them to you.”

  “Hey,” Rebecca shrugged one shoulder. Not a care in the goddamn world. “He has a pretty dick.”

  “Lay off, Rebecca. I need all my teams’ heads in the game if we’re going to catch even a sniff of the playoffs this year. Tate doesn’t bring his in tomorrow at practice, I’m holding him and you responsible.”

  Rebecca dismissed me with the condescending half-roll of her eyes. “If you’re done cockblocking, you miserable fuck, Angel called me just now. Said she’d gotten your voicemail three times. Dead battery?”

  “Yeah, I’ll finish these and go charge it.”

  Smoothies ready, I poured equal parts into two glasses and took mine upstairs while I found an outlet for my phone. I called Angel when the battery percentage reached ten.

  “What’s up?” I asked when she answered. “Rebecca said you’ve been calling.”

  “I have been. And sorry about today. Make it up next week?”

  “For sure. I’ve been looking at some new plays to run during practice. This is nothing we can’t turn around and learn from.”

  “You winning today would have made what I’ve got to say to you so much easier.”

  An uncomfortable silence started on my end. I leaned my forearms on my thighs and flexed my fingers, mentally gearing up for what Angel had to say. “What is it?”

  “Before I tell you and you go all raging Hulk on me, I haven’t made any decisions. This is me speaking to you first.”

  “Right,” scraped between my teeth like grit, taking shards of my fortitude with it.

  “I got a job offer.”

  “Okay…”

  “The details haven’t been finalized yet because I only sat in for a brief meeting on Monday, but basically I’ll be the skating coach for the Junior Kings bantam league. It’ll be more than just one team, but all the kids are eighteen and under.”

  “The Junior Kings?”

  “The job’s in LA.”

  “But you’re moving here…” I was fucking confused. Beau’s name hadn’t been brought into the equation yet, but he was behind this badly timed U-turn. There was no fucking doubt about it.

  “I know, but this isn’t really an opportunity I can just say no to without giving it some consideration. The money—for me—is excellent. And to have the LA Kings on my resumé will open so many doors.”

  Yeah, she’d already made up her mind. She just needed me to agree. Well, I couldn’t be more opposed to the idea.

  “I don’t get what you’re asking me, Angel. Are you saying you’re staying in LA? Because a long-distance relationship is one thing, but a long-distance marriage? I mean, have you changed your mind about us?”

  “Of course I haven’t.” Angel’s outrage didn’t do much to put me at ease. “How can you ask me that?”

  “Same reason you call and ask if I’m cool with you staying in Los Angeles to start a new job and set up a brand-new fucking life without me in it. Beau did this, didn’t he?” I wasn’t going to mention his name, but Angel hadn’t left me any choice.

  “He passed on the message.” The stubbornness in Angel’s voice only annoyed me more. She was defending him. “He didn’t offer me the job. The Junior Kings are completely separate to the LA Kings.”

  “Then how’d you get it?”

  “The coaches saw me during my one-on-one sessions, and they approached me to see if I would be interested before they recruited externally.”

  “What the hell do you know about hockey?” My passive aggressive attitude steered me rapidly into asshole territory. On top of the humiliating loss earlier, I was running on empty, shit out of understanding and empathy. I couldn’t deal with this right now, tomorrow, or any day.

&nb
sp; “I wouldn’t be coaching hockey, asshole. I would be a skating coach. I’m footwork only. And in hockey that’s fairly important.”

  “Do you know what I really think’s going on? You’re out there living a double fucking life. You’ve got me here with my tail between my legs, and as long as you’ve got him there to fill the fucking void of us then you won’t ever leave. You’re too comfortable. Any other girl would just be pleased to get a fucking ring on her finger. But not you. Take the job, Angel.”

  “Why does that sound like you’re telling me to do more than just take the job?”

  We’d entered into an all-out argument.

  “I’m not telling you to do anything. You want the job, take it. You’re gonna have to choose, though. He’s not me, Angel. I’m here. Waiting for you. And if we’re doing this, exchanging legally binding vows, then I need a wife. Someone who wants to be here. Someone who can handle my career and be supportive. You know damn well the expectation on me this season is massive.”

  “That’s all you need?” Angel was raging now. “Then I sure as hell wish you luck finding your modern-day slave!”

  The line beeped twice and then went dead. I growled in frustration and launched my phone across the room. It missed the floor-to-ceiling windows, bouncing off a narrow wall panel and cartwheeling across the floor.

  M y phone rang in my hand, the second time this afternoon the unknown number had tried contacting me. I thought about it for a moment, then I swiped to answer, ready to give the cold caller a mouthful.

  “Hello?” I snapped. Since my argument with Julian, I’d been a nasty bitch to everyone. The asshole hadn’t even sent a message to apologize. I hadn’t heard a peep from the stubborn mule, and hell would freeze over before I apologized first.

  “Angel Rivers?”

  “Who is this?” Suspicion crept into my voice over the formality.

  “Scott Hilton. Julian’s Agent.”

  “Oh.” Why was he calling me? “Is there a problem with Julian?”

  “I’ve been instructed to liason directly with you regarding exclusivity to your wedding day. There’s a multi-million dollar deal on the table put there by OK magazine USA.”

  “There’s no wedding date?” I turned on the air conditioning in my car. I’d called into Ralph’s after work to stock up on a few groceries. Groceries meaning ice cream in three different flavors, potato chips, and fried chicken from the deli. I was in that kind of mood. And I was blaming all those extra comfort calories on Julian and his horrific temper.

  “I’m suggesting you arrange one. Soon. Will the end of the week work?”

  This was why I disliked Julian’s agent. Not only was he was pushy, he only listened when what he heard suited him.

  “Hold up.” I propped my elbow on my steering wheel, massaging my temples with the tips of my fingers. “Why are you calling and not Julian?”

  “He said the decision had been left to you.” Scott made it sound like the idea of me deciding anything was absurd. “But only someone with half a brain would say no to the figures being offered.”

  “You need to sort this out with Julian. I’m busy.”

  “I’m sorting it out with you.”

  “Funny. I don’t remember you being my agent.”

  “Listen, Miss Rivers—”

  “Rivera.”

  “Julian’s already expressed his interest in this deal. But it can’t happen if you arent on board.”

  “He’s already said yes.”

  “In so many words…”

  I dropped my head on the steering wheel, then brought my head up slowly, raking my hair back from my face. “Okay. If he sets the date, I’m fine with it.”

  “I’ll let him know. It’s been a pleasure.”

  Reeling from the turn of events I couldn’t have seen coming even if it showed up in my rearview mirror wearing a flashing neon sign, I left Ralph’s parking lot, stopped by the house and put my groceries away, and drove to Malibu to meet Hayden.

  Grabbing my waterbottle from the center console cupholder, I wedged the car door open with my knee and climbed out. Hayden stood waiting for me on the pedestrian and cycle path along the beach, pristine white sand stretching for miles along the Pacific Coast Highway, five-foot swells barreling onto the shore.

  I locked the car, paid for a ticket, and jogged over to her, securing my keys in the fannypack fastened around my waist. We’d taken up jogging as part of our new keep-fit truce. If we were honest with ourselves, though, we mostly powerwalked, our mouths getting more exercise than our legs. While we ‘jogged’ I released my pent-up anger, bringing Hayden up to speed on the latest in my rollercoaster of a love life. At the rate Julian and I were going, I’d be amazed if I stepped foot on a wedding aisle at all.

  “A magazine? Really?” Hayden cast me a doubtful look, elbows out and arms in sync with her brisk strides. “Okay. Didn’t see that coming.”

  “I don’t think he did agree,” I said, marching along beside Hayden, ponytail swinging. My skin glistened with sweat in the simmering heat. “He was leaving it down to me, and using Scott rather than use his spine and ask me himself. Lately I’m just so sick of him. Oh, and wait until you hear this. He said Beau’s his stand-in? I mean, as if.”

  “How so?” Hayden said between timed breaths.

  “Like Beau’s a stand-in Julian, and I’m too comfortable here with him and that’s why I’m dragging my feet over the move and the wedding.” I glanced sideways at Hayden, frowning when I saw her wince through her deep breathing. “Hey! I saw that.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “The boy might have a point. You and Beau are as cozy as an old wool sweater in the dead of winter.”

  “No we are not.”

  “Oh, stop it. Yes you are. No judgement from me. You’ve got a great life here. Why the hell would you want to leave it? But if you were going to—and I’m just putting this out there—it would be for a guy like Julian. How long has the poor bastard been sitting tight now? You haven’t been the msot willing girlfriend, Angel.” She threw me a look. One that said she knew she was onto something, like a dog with a damn bone. “I dare you to disagree with me.”

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t take this job? And have my wedding day staged for a bunch of invasive cameras? How unauthentic.”

  “I’m saying try viewing this picture through a different lens. What are you giving up here? Nothing. But Julian’s giving up you in order for you to stay here and start a new job. You get engaged, your life should probably move in sync with the person you intend on marrying.”

  Hyden made so much sense I punched her in the arm. Lucky for her, I couldn’t hit for shit.

  She hit me back, and unlucky for me, she could. “Figure your shit out, woman. There are a lotta thirsty chicks out there who will be more than happy to take Julian off your hands and look after him.”

  “If you love someone, you shouldn’t have to choose. I don’t see why taking this job is such a huge deal. We’re in the twenty-first century. Joining at the hip isn’t necessary.”

  “I’ve got an idea. Don’t get married at all,” Hayden suggested, full of sarcasm. “You both keep doing your own thing and nothing has to change.”

  “Will you stop with the point-making,” I huffed.

  “That depends. Have I gotten through to you?” Hayden tapped the side of my head with her pointer finger. I ducked, laughing as I grabbed it and threatened to bend it backward at the knuckle. “Yes, for crying out loud. Message received. I’m a bad girlfriend.”

  “Faincée.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Next time you make like that I’m rubbing your nose in it!”

  Three days later, the same day I received an in-detail email regarding the OK! USA! wedding rights deal, a package turned up. And not just any old package. I signed for three boxes big enough to fit human bodies inside. The courier brought them into my living room, then left me alone to open the enormous surprises. Fetching a steak knife from the kitchen, I carv
ed through the seal, careful to pierce it and not plunge the blade in and damage whatever was inside.

  I pulled the two cardboard flaps back and peered inside at the thick, translucent plastic. I picked up the knife and cut through the top. Peeling back the layers, my fingers slowed as the dress inside was revealed. The stylish tag, printed in gold swirling font, was signed with love from a French designer, yes, you guessed it, all the way from France.

  I gaped at the wedding dress, moving to sit on the floor in front of it, mentally processing the value of what was in my living room.

  The ivory satin strapless gown was fastened to a polystyrene torso, the tulle skirt arranged neatly in the box around it. When I got around to opening the other two boxes, two more dresses greeted me, all from the same designer. Three beautiful, expensive, over-the-top dresses straight out of a couture bridal magazine. There was a card in the last box I opened. Wedging my fingernail under the seal, I pried it open.

  To the future Mrs. Lawson,

  It would be our great pleasure here at La Belle Paris to dress you on one of the most important and treasured days of your life. Please accept these gifts on our behalf, and we hope one our finest, handstitched dresses is to your satisfaction.

  With love,

  La Belle x

  I slumped back on the floor, the engraved card clutched in my hand.

  That week, packages from three other wedding suppliers were delivered. Shoes, veils, and jewelry keeping the wedding dresses (still in their boxes) company. Julian and I were barely speaking to each other, but our wedding—no date confirmed—had grown a life of its own.

  One reason I was so good at my job was my ability to tune shit out. Start every game like it was my last and I had no such thing as a life outside of that field. If I didn’t have football, my situation with Angel would drive me up the walls. But even as I sat at my locker and buttoned up my suit pants, our fight wormed its way between my game-winning high and self-induced amnesia, leaving an Angel-slicked residue that pushed me deep into a foul mood.