"In bed."
"Good. Me too." Something clicked again. "Close your eyes. This song right here. This is how I feel right now."
An organ played softly, then the lyrics came in and I knew it was Coldplay Fix You. I could relate to the song too. "But if you never try, you'll never know just what you're worth." The song faded to its end and I thought I heard him sniff, but dismissed the thought since he said he feared crying. After a minute or so, I still wondered, so finally I asked, "Are you crying?"
"No." Silence again. "My brother's all I have. He's all I have and he can't stand me."
"No he's not." I sat up, wishing I could hug him through the phone. "You have me."
He said nothing.
"What's your favorite movie?" I tried to lighten the mood a little.
"Twelve Angry Men."
"That movie is so well done. So, you like old movies? Do you have a favorite within the last five years?"
"Don't even know if I've seen one. I feel like movies and acting have gone down hill since the world has been deluged in reality shows."
I laughed. "Well, there are some decent actors and actresses out there nowadays. Every now and then a beautiful film comes out." I swallowed the slightest bit of nervousness and continued, "Do you have any celebrity crushes?"
"No way." He laughed. "That's not my style."
"Why not?"
"Just isn't."
"Would you ever date a celebrity?" I almost wished I hadn't asked.
He thought for what seemed like an eternity, then said, "No. That's not the kind of life I want."
"What kind of life do you want?"
"Simple. Real."
"You think just because a woman is famous that she is automatically complicated and fake?"
"Not at all, but the relationship can be. I don't know. It's not going to happen anyway. I'm not one for hypothetical questions that mean nothing."
It did mean something though, and it wasn't hypothetical, but I couldn't tell him that. Early on we made promises that we wouldn't tell each other anything that gave away our identities. It was mainly his idea, but I went along with it because there was something comforting about remaining hidden when everyone knew who you were. It was refreshing and now more than ever I wanted to stick with it, if anything to show him that underneath everything I was simple and real. Maybe one day when the time was right I'd tell him.
Our conversation carried on until 3:14a.m. when he took a while to respond and eventually I realized he was sleeping. I listened for a while, then asked if he was awake. Silence answered back, so I whispered the truth, "I love you, Sawyer. And it scares me because I feel like I'm falling for you, but I'm not what you want so I'm going to try to let you go. I'm going to try to stop myself from falling. I'm going to try … but I love you. As friends."
A light snore responded.
I smiled, whispered, "Goodnight," and ended the call, hoping the empty feeling washing over me would be gone when I woke up.
I stared at the two names and addresses on the paper London gave me and wondered if it was even worth it. I needed someone in the industry, someone who understood and could relate to me in that way.
I texted Ella and London separately, but said the same thing. I’m not going to look for the boy in the picture. I’ve decided to let go. Probably too over the top anyway. I'm just going to take it day by day and see what happens. I'm in no rush to fall in love.
Ella responded first: If that's the guy for you, it'll happen whether you're looking for him or not. True love will find a way.
Then London: Men ... who needs em? Let's go to Paris!
I texted her back: Haha ... when can you go?
London: I want to be with my family to help until my dad is back on his feet. Maybe first week of October?
Me: I'll let you know. I'm reading over a script for a new movie. Not sure what the future holds. Let's see how it goes.
London: fancy pants.
Me: I'm not the one with marble floors.
While bantering with her I tore up the addresses of Jordan DePetris and Ivor Lachlan, trashed them, then found my purse on the table by the door and pulled out my keys. I took the picture of the sand-covered little boy and after a few minutes of entertaining romantic fantasies, I kissed it and said, "Here's to the future, the unknown, and discovering both." Then I ripped the picture and tossed it in the trash with the shreds of paper, grabbed a sheet of paper and a pink marker and wrote:
Our soulmate is the one who makes life come to life. —Richard Bach
I inhaled deeply and exhaled as I set my keys back down, ready to make the most of the path I had chosen, because really, how do you know what you can do until you try?
CH. 11 - Sawyer
The air in the locker room was cool, but I swear you could’ve choked on the heat in there. Guys stopped talking as soon as I walked in, only looking up every few seconds. Coach J didn't pull me aside to talk. He kept it low key and normal, like I belonged there. My hands trembled as I taped my blade and put on my skates. Some guys avoided looking in my direction, others wouldn't stop staring. I'd nod to them, they'd nod back, and I'd go back to what I was doing, wondering if this was really what I wanted to do.
I focused on a strip of old tape across the room and inhaled. The smell reminded me of school. Lockers lined with posters of girls and hockey players of days gone by took me back to my days with The Flyers. Here I was again, wondering if I made the right decision, but smiling inside as I inhaled again and relished in that musty locker room smell.
Most of these guys were younger than me. Fresh passion and skills ready to take on the ice. One practice, I told myself as a few guys drooled over the cover of a magazine. Part of me wanted to take it from their hands and tell them to focus on the game, but I knew I'd only make enemies. If they didn't have it in them naturally, I probably couldn't beat it into them. Maybe Coach J could though. I figured that was his plan. Sure hoped so.
The ice felt good underneath of me. It'd been a while since I rented out a rink or skated on my pond and it felt so good to be back. There's nothing like it. The sound of my blades scraping lines into smooth, clean ice. The speed. The rush. The fear. The energy. I was there. I was ready to give the game a hundred percent, even if only for one practice.
Coach started us with skating drills. Crossovers, quick feet, puck handling, the norm. I could tell within minutes that most of the guys weren't lacking in skill, speed, or strength, but quite a few of them lacked passion. Coach pushed us hard for a while, acting like a cold-hearted bully. I played along, knowing he had a plan. Seemed like a good one too. One I wanted to be a part of.
Exhausted, the others skated off the ice and headed for the locker room. Coach J followed, well aware of my desire to stay a little longer. He kept the lights on and disappeared around the corner.
I looked around at the empty bleachers and imagined them filled with people. Cheering, excited faces hoping their team would win. I pictured an energetic group of guys eager to win, teamed against another passionate bunch of determined faces ready to take on the world.
I stood in the middle of the ice, pretending a face off against one of the greatest centers of all time, who I undeservedly had the pleasure of shaking hands with. None other than Wayne Gretzky. And there to his right and my left, Gordie Howe. The Gordie Howe.
I looked Gretzky in the eyes, then watched the puck drop between us. Stealing it, I pushed forward and when I found myself surrounded by too many players, I shot the puck to Rod Gilbert and when I was free again he shot it back to me, then, close to the goal I spun it back to him one last time. "And he shoots," I yelled. "For the win. Gilbert does it again."
I slid to a stop, spraying ice against the wall, and looked around again.
Coach J stood on the ice to my right. I glided forward and stopped a few feet from him.
"So you'll do it?" He smiled. "I need you, Reed. This team needs you. Hockey needs you. You know what this team lacks and locked inside that v
ault of yours you're brimming with it."
I nodded as my heart beat loud and fast in my ears. "I miss it."
"Come on, Reed."
"My brother–“
"Do what you need to do. Media is going to be all over this and you know it. Set the record straight when the time comes. Your brother had his chance. Now it's your turn."
He walked away and clicked the lights off while I remained on the ice, leaned against the wall, and stared at the Boston bleachers I'd soon call home. Life has a funny way of screwing with your plans.
I told Chris my plans at Starbucks, but I really wanted to ask Nora what she thought. I couldn't do that without giving away my identity and we made a pact not to do that. At least not yet. I had a feeling we would eventually. Talking to her felt right and even though physically she was a little on the odd side, not really my type, I found myself drawn to her through our conversations, but the last few times I called she didn't pick up and didn't call me back like usual.
I figured maybe she met some guy and had someone new to talk to. It's not like we ever said we were anything more than friends, but I worried a little bit when I didn't hear from her. Not knowing her last name, address, or any of her friends, I wondered if I'd know if she died or was in a bad car accident.
"What's on your mind today?" Chris said. "This decision got you a little upset?"
"No." I stood and tossed my empty cup in the trash can beside us. "Thinking about Nora."
"Phone sex girl?"
"Not like that at all."
He shrugged. "What do you talk about that long? Don't you run out of things to say?"
"Somehow ... no. Haven't talked to her in a while though. Hope she's okay."
"I think her phone would be dead if something happened. You still getting a ring when you call?"
I nodded, half relieved and half confused. Was she ignoring me? Did she find out who I was and get scared off? The media was already hounding me and resurfacing all the old crap about me being a liar, cheater, and whatever else they said. Probably freaked her out.
Chris and I parted ways and made plans to meet up tomorrow before I left for Boston. I'd take Gretzky with me, but left Chris in charge of keeping up the house until the season ended. Thankfully I paid it off a few years back, so renting a place in Boston wouldn’t kill me.
When I got home I passed the time by packing necessities and sitting by the pond. I was about to walk back into noise after living in the quiet for so long and I don't think any amount of time could've prepared me for it.
I watched the sun go down, wrestled Gretzky, fed the ducks, went for a summer night jog, then at midnight I called Nora again. No answer. I waited another fifteen minutes and tried again. Still no answer, so I left a message. "Nora, it's Sawyer. I'm worried about you. Give me a call if you can. Hope you're okay."
About five minutes later my phone dinged with a new message. A text from Nora. The first text she ever sent. So sorry. Been busy, we'll catch up soon.
For some reason my pulse quickened and my hands heated up. Why would she respond so impersonally? She must've found out about Sawyer Reed, player of women and hockey. I thought she'd know me better.
I called again. No answer. So I called again.
"I told you I'm busy," she said, obviously annoyed.
"My brother is all I have. 'You have me,'" I mocked.
"Stop." She sighed heavily. "I'm still your friend. It's just that ... I'm just busy, okay?"
"Are you crying?" I paced near the edge of the pond. "Nora? What's going on? Are you hurt?"
She didn't respond. Almost felt like she muted the phone. Then finally she said, "Sawyer."
"What? What's wrong?"
"I can't do this anymore. I'm seeing someone and it's not fair to him. I'm still your friend and I always will be, but I can't ... I can't do this."
"Is there something you're not telling me?" Adrenaline fought for a place inside me. "I thought you trusted me."
"Sawyer." I hated that her voice sounded so sweet.
"I need you." I meant it. "Nora, do you understand what I'm saying?" Did I understand myself?
Silence.
"Do you?" I said.
"As friends," she said, then the call ended.
I blinked at the phone a few times, then chucked it across the field. Gretzky looked at me and rubbed his head into my leg. I knelt down and rubbed his head, wondering why I even let her in. It's inevitable, I thought. I lose every damn thing I love.
Then it hit me like a puck straight to my chest. "I don’t know if I love her, Gretz." He settled by my feet. “But if this is love ... it freaking hurts."
CH. 12 - Nora
Maury helped me get a good deal for my next movie. The script was unique and the fact that some of my role models were playing lead parts definitely helped. I needed something to keep my mind off of romance and relationships and mostly just Sawyer. I kept telling myself that it was impossible to fall in love without spending physical time looking into someone's eyes and that his frustration with me during our last phone call couldn't have been because he wanted to be with me. He just wanted to talk and I wasn't allowing it. He missed my company. Not me.
Literally day and night for a week straight, I talked to myself inside of my head. Going over our last conversation so many times, wanting to call and apologize, wanting to tell him the truth, but fearing what might happen. Picking up my phone, putting it down. Staring at it from across the room, picking it up, putting it down.
He didn't want to date a celebrity. Unusual as it was, I didn't want to ask him to be someone he wasn't for my sake and at the same time, talking to him would slice me into a million pieces. His voice and the way he fell asleep mid-sentence sometimes. Our colorful conversations from dumb stuff to stuff I'd never told a single person in my life. I missed him, but don't they say love knows when to let go? It was for his benefit. I was letting go because I wanted the best for him.
London and I got off of our plane in Paris and navigated the monstrous airport in silence. I wanted to enjoy our time together, but I was way too distracted. She insisted I tell her what was bothering me, so finally we ordered some fast food in the airport and talked over fries and burgers. I told her everything and at the end she chewed a fry and said, "What sport did he play?"
"I empty my heart onto the table and you ask what sport he plays?"
"Just wondering. Kinda weird that it was his idea not to give away identities. Makes me wonder what he's hiding and there just so happens to be a hockey player named Sawyer who just so happens to be famous for using women and betraying his brother."
"That couldn't be him."
"How do you know?" She bit into another fry while raising her eyebrows. "Look him up. Type Sawyer NHL into Google and see what comes up."
"There isn't a bone in that man's body that would use me."
"If it's the same guy I'm thinking about, then he might be pretty adept at using his b—“
"London!" I pulled out my iPad. "Look, I'll prove it." I typed in "Sawyer NHL" and Sawyer Reed came up. Hockey player for the Philadelphia Flyers. I clicked on the images and scrolled until I saw one without his uniform. My heart sunk as I kept scrolling through images of #23 mixed with the man I saw in that restaurant last summer. Every picture off the ice had some woman wrapped around him. A lot of different ones. Some of them were actresses and musicians I knew. Others I hadn't seen before in my life. All of them were gorgeous. I cringed and closed the iPad.
"I knew it." She crinkled her wrappers into a ball and and pushed them to the corner of her tray. "Try not to think about it, okay? Let's enjoy Paris."
I shook my head. "I don't understand. It's like he's two different people."
"I'm sure he just knows how to play his cards."
"I don't get it."
"What? Don't tell me you were falling for this guy?"
I sipped the last of my soda and looked at her. She had to be wrong. I stood and threw my trash away. "It's just weird, that's
all. I mean, unless he knew who I was, all that time he thought he was talking to some weird chick from New York who didn't look like the models he dated before."
"He probably knew it was you."
"Yeah. Just another jerk to add to the list." I lied, but I didn't buy it. Something wasn't lining up and I knew as soon as I got back to the States I needed to see him. In person.
This would be a long vacation.
As soon as I stepped out of the airport in New York cameras were in my face. I smiled and played the part of a confident actress, but all I could think about was Sawyer.
Random people took pictures of me with their phones and of course it started up again as soon as I got to my apartment building. Shoulders back, confident but not arrogant, sweet smile, I reminded myself. When I reached the door a man approached me. "Nora," he said, leaning a camera near me. "Is it true that you cheated on Spencer with Jake Halloway? Are you still seeing him?"
I shook my head. "Where do you people get your information? My life is far more boring than you all like to imagine it." A new doorman helped me inside and introduced himself. "It's a pleasure to meet you," I said. "Don't believe everything you hear. I'll never understand why people are so quick to believe a gossip magazine without even talking to the person their gossiping about.”
"No ma'am." He smiled. "I only believe what I see with my own eyes or hear with my own ears."
I smiled and shook his hand again. "You have yourself a wonderful evening, Connor."
"You too, Miss Maddison."
I insisted on carrying my own luggage and tossed it aside as soon as I entered my apartment. Forget midnight. Forget waiting for him to call again. I sat on the edge of my bed and called him. Voicemail picked up. "It's me," I said. "Meet me tomorrow on Bow Bridge near Central Park. Midnight."
I turned my phone off so he wouldn't have the option of canceling, then I took care of Niles and got ready for bed, although I knew I'd never sleep.
Marilyn Grey - [Unspoken 06] Page 5
