Sure enough, I couldn't sleep, so I rolled out of bed at eight and ate an apple on my balcony. Niles kept me company after he ate his breakfast, then I took a shower and did my hair and makeup. Subtle and pretty. Nothing over the top. I wanted him to see the real me, not the disguised or dolled up me. Just me. His response would prove if he knew my real identity and if so, we'd have a little chat. If not, well, I was still figuring that out.
The time couldn't have gone by any slower. I ended up taking a nap, watching a movie, and pacing my living room. Tied in knots, my stomach was literally beginning to hurt. Eventually I called London and talked with her until 10p.m. when I freshened my makeup and decided to make my way to Central Park. I knew I needed to be sneaky to avoid any people trying to catch a glimpse of a candid celebrity, so I went to a few nearby places first and meandered about the city until a half hour to midnight. Making sure I had no followers, I walked to Bow Bridge, stood in the middle overlooking the water, and tightened my scarf. Thankfully I wore my favorite crocheted hat, because the temperature dipped and I thought I smelled a hint of snow in the air. Not unusual for October, but certainly not fun either. Autumn never lasts long enough. I buttoned my jacket and waited, hoping he'd show up, but at the same time scared to death. The idea of him being famous in any way made me nervous. As big as my name got within the last year, I still hadn't gotten used to it. Silly as it is, I had my own celebrity role models and the idea of meeting many of them made me feel like a thirteen-year-old standing in front of her favorite boy band member.
I turned my phone on to see if he tried to call, but I didn't see any texts or voicemails. My phone said it was 12:13a.m. and I felt myself wilt like a sunburned rose.
Two minutes later, my phone rang. Sawyer. The wilted rose perked back up as I answered the phone. "You called," I said.
"I did."
The call ended. Confused, I called back, thinking I hit the button somehow, but I heard his phone ring to my right. I turned around and saw him, standing under the street light in the middle of the quiet bridge, hands in his pockets. I tried to move or speak, but could only look at him as he smiled ever so slightly at me. I let go of the bridge and dropped my hands to my sides as a smile warmed my face.
"I'm no artist," he said, still standing too far away from me to clearly make out his features, "but someone should paint this. Right here. You...."
I wondered if my cheeks were as red they felt. "Come here, Sawyer."
"I don't know." He took a step and my pulse ... I think it stopped and accelerated all at the same time. "I don't want to ruin a work of art."
I tried to speak, but I couldn't even move my legs. He took another step and slowly made his way to me. His eyes didn't scan my body, but they seemed to devour my face.
“You ... look different,” he said. “I mean, beautiful. You look beautiful, but”—he touched my hair, then twirled the ends between his fingers, keeping his hand there on my shoulder—“different.”
I shivered, but I wasn't cold.
"Say something." A laugh barely escaped his lips.
"I..." Shaking my head, I tried again, "You…."
I gave up and wrapped my hands around his neck, pulling my body against his. He gently pressed his face into my neck and smelled my hair. The strength of his hands on my back and the tenderness of his embrace made me wish I could die in that moment, simply to never lose it, but like the edge of a sunset, it was already fading.
I inhaled the sweet masculine scent of his skin, then turned so my back was against his chest. His arms cradled me as I leaned into him and looked at the city lights reflecting on the water. We stayed like that for a long time. No words necessary. After a while, he led me to a bench and never let go of my hand. We held hands as we talked, like normal, like we'd been there a thousand times before. We talked about everything, as usual. He asked me if I planned to pursue acting while in New York and I avoided the question. I didn't want to ruin a perfect night. With my head on his shoulder, I listened to him talk as the dark blue sky turned a little lighter in the east. I wanted the stars to stay a little longer. Never had I so dreaded a sunrise.
"I've gotta get back to Boston," he said eventually. "Can't be late."
"For what?"
"I could tell you, but it would break the rules."
I smiled. "It's okay to be a little rebellious sometimes."
He thought about it for a few seconds, then searched my eyes. "I don't want to ruin a work of art."
"How do you know it will ruin it?"
"Maybe it won't." He stood and pulled me up. "I don't want to lose you, Nora. I thought I already did."
I closed my eyes to keep myself from kissing him, then felt his hand on my neck. Before I had time to imagine his lips on mine, they were there. It was a soft kiss that stayed still, paralyzed by passion.
It just didn't stay still long enough. He stepped back and sweetly said goodbye, but watching him walk away from our first kiss, I couldn't let it be the end. I looked behind me at the rising sun, then turned back as Sawyer halted on the path and looked at me. I ran toward him with a huge smile on my face and jumped into his arms. He held me there as we kissed again and again, but I knew it needed to end. The sun had fully woken and the city was no longer asleep, so I stepped back and said, "Good morning, Sawyer. You should go."
He kissed my cheek. "Good morning, sweet girl. I'll call you."
And less than a minute later my heart was a little less full and the horizon a little too bright.
CH. 13 - Sawyer
Coach J drove us hard into the season. I forgot what it was like to bond with a team and lose touch with my other friends, but quickly remembered. After that amazing night with Nora I barely had a chance to talk to her. Even when I could call at night, I was always with at least one other person and I don't know, I'm kind of a private person. We didn't text much either. I was never much of a texting guy and just didn't want that kind of relationship with her. So we didn't talk as much, but I thought of her constantly. Also feared she'd turn on the TV and see an interview or something. When I finally broke free from the guys after another near perfect game, I called her from a Los Angeles city bench at exactly midnight and thankfully she picked up. It was finally time to tell her who I was before she found out another way.
"You called," she whispered.
"I did." I smiled. "It's been too long. How was your week?"
"Good. Low key. I need to leave for a work-related thing next Thursday and I was hoping maybe we could see each other again before then?"
"Why do you sound sad?"
"I don't know."
I rubbed my chin and ignored the paparazzi who was obviously taking shots of me from across the street. "There's something I need to tell you."
"Okay...."
"Nora, I'm a hockey player. My brother and I got into the tabloids a few years back, then I did something dumb, pretty much the worst mistake of my life, and he hasn't talked to me since. He had to give up playing because of me and I never felt like going back either. Hated the attention. But I'm playing for Boston now."
She didn't say anything. I stood and walked down the street as she slowly breathed into the phone. Could barely hear her over the passing cars, then finally she sadly whispered, "Does that explain the blonde girl in your hotel room a few nights ago? No wonder you've been too busy to call."
"What?" I stopped walking. "What blonde girl? And you knew? You knew and didn't tell me?" I exhaled. "Why didn't you tell me you knew? How long?"
"I didn't believe it at first. London told me you were trouble, but I didn't believe it." She sniffed. "I should've believed it. I'm just another card in your game."
"No." I raised my voice. "You are so much more to me. Look, I just played a game in LA, but first thing tomorrow I'm flying to you. Meet me at the bridge." She said nothing. "Please."
"Sawyer."
"No. Don't." I closed my eyes. "This is supposed to be the beginning, not the end."
"You only hav
e one heart and it can only break into so many pieces before it's ruined."
"I didn't do it, Nora. I don't even know who you're talking about."
"Maybe she'll know be—”
I looked at my phone as it shut down. No battery left. No charger in sight. I wanted to punch the pole in front of me, but knew it wouldn't do any good, so I sprinted back to the hotel, hoping to dispel some of my frustration, but it didn't work.
When I got back to the room a few of the guys bunking with me were watching TV, so I took a shower and processed everything, wondering if I'd ever win her back. I needed to somehow. She quickly became my best friend, but now she was more than that.
I finished my shower and sat on the edge of one of the beds. "What are you guys watching?"
No one responded.
I tapped Jones. "What's the flick?"
He leaned toward me without taking his eyes off the screen. "That”—he pointed at a beautiful woman—“is the only reason I'm watching."
My lungs refused oxygen for a few seconds. I leaned closer to the television. "Who is that woman?"
"Shut up, Reed." Kurt, best left-winger I've ever played with, said. "Trying to watch a movie here."
I stood, trying to control myself. "What's her name?"
"Nora Maddison." Jones slapped my forearm. "Chill, man."
My lungs had no problem with oxygen now. My chest rapidly expanded and receded. My pulse exploded in my ears. I stuffed a few things in my bag and walked to the door, wondering what the hell I'd say to her when I got to New York. Wondering, also, what the hell to say to myself.
How could one person be everything I wanted and everything I hated at the same time?
The airport was obviously slow, but the next flight to New York wasn't until 8:15a.m. So I plugged my iPhone in, followed by my iPad, and as soon as the iPad powered up I signed on to the airport wifi and sent Nora a simple text. I think it may had been the first I ever sent her. Meet me at the bridge. Noon.
If she showed up I'd consider the possibility of us together, captured and lied about by every magazine in America. If she didn't show, if she didn't know me well enough to not believe the media's lies about me, forget it. Love. It couldn't be love, I thought to myself. It had to be infatuation. That's all. I was lonely and infatuated.
I stared at the iPad, knowing that there are some things you may want to do that you shouldn't do, but I knew myself and I knew I'd look. So I typed her name into Google and waited. I clicked on the images first. Saw a few glamorous shots from award shows or something, a few candid walking down the street pictures, and then about ten million stills of her with some guy who looked like a complete ass who thought he was pretty slick. They didn't even look like they wanted to be together. Whatever happiness existed in those images seemed fake, like a major act.
I clicked back to the Google search, read a few headlines like:
Heartbreaker Doesn't Deserve Second Chance
Once a Cheater Always a Cheater
Spencer Finds Love with Nora's Agent: Nora in Rehab This Summer
Alone and Miserable: Nora Maddison Can't Sleep
Nora Maddison Pro Gay Rights
Nora Maddison Homophobe
I shut the iPad down, closed my eyes, and leaned back. Pictures of past magazine covers with my name on them flashed through my mind one after another. I hated it. More than I can ever begin to express. It practically ruined my life and my brother's life. I could see they were doing their best to make Nora into a villain too. On one hand, I felt sorry for her. I could relate. On the other hand, I already saw the future splashes of lies about us all over those glossy spreads and I didn't think my love for her–sorry, infatuation–was stronger than my hate for that scene.
I'd play one last season out of love for the game, then I'd hide away again. This time forever. That's what I wanted. That's what I'd tell her.
My phone rang. Jones.
"Hey, man," I said. "I have a family emergency. Tell Coach I'll be there for practice Monday. I won't miss anything."
"Oh, good. I thought you were pissed about the joke the guys played on you. I wasn't involved. I swear."
"What joke?"
"You don't know?"
"What joke?"
"Kensington put on your jersey and the guys snapped a picture of him from behind with some stripper going into your hotel room. He blasted on Twitter and the thing blew way out of proportion."
"That's messed up. I don't give a crap about my reputation. That's stained forever. But come on, Jones. We're supposed to be a team here. This stuff is messed up and immature. Coach is gonna be pissed."
"I know. I told them to stop."
I exhaled and shook my head. "Get some rest. It's like 3a.m."
I hung up and stared at the ceiling, longing for the days when hockey was played from the heart by a bunch of guys who knew what it meant to be a brotherhood, a real team who loved everything about the game except the undeserved media praise and criticism.
I made it to the bridge with fifteen minutes left until noon. For some reason the idea of seeing and talking to Nora in the middle of the day made me cringe. For some reason the entire situation made me cringe. Then just as it began to snow I saw her walking toward me with a red scarf and a white coat, her beauty like something out of a classic piece of art. This was not infatuation. "Shhhh..." I tapped my overworked heart as she slipped her hands into her pockets and stood in front of me, snowflakes melting in her coffee-colored hair, no cream or sugar.
"You came," I said.
She nodded and softly said, "I did," as her breath visibly drifted to my lips.
I rocked on my heels and started to reach for her face, but hesitated as I fought the magnetic urge to kiss her, to forget the day and get lost in her. Trying to speak, but failing miserably, I hoped she'd say something. Anything. But she only stared into my eyes. When I looked into hers I saw heartache and confusion. Loneliness. I know because it looked like me.
I brushed my fingers against her wrist, then her cheek. "I'm sorry," is all I could say. Her eyes held tears somewhere behind their specks of amber and gold, but she seemed confident in their captivity. "I know," I said. "The guys were watching one of your movies when I got back." She looked down at her feet and sucked in her bottom lip. I touched the edge of her scarf. "Say something," I said. "What are you thinking?"
Her eyes locked with mine, then she turned her head and stared out over the bridge. The edges of the river would soon begin to freeze, then inch their way to the center until the entire surface was skate-worthy.
I zoned back in on her face. Her cheeks and ears and lips. My pulse sped up again and without thinking I pressed my lips against the corner of her mouth, but she turned her face from me. I stayed there against her cheek for a few seconds, then pulled away. The few inches between us felt like five miles.
"Have I lost you?" I said as a camera flashed from behind a tree.
"Did you ever really have me?" she finally said. "I mean, who are we kissing, Sawyer? You don't want this. You don't want me."
"You just said kissing."
She seemed oblivious to the flashing lights. "No I didn't. I said kidding."
"You said kissing."
"Sawyer."
"Sorry." It was getting hard to ignore the looming cameras, so I focused on the snowflakes on her lashes. "I don't want this stuff. It's true. I want a quiet life away from lies and manipulation. That doesn't mean I don't want you, Nora." I forced her to look at me and kept my hand along her jaw. "I want you."
"This is me. Don't you see that?" She motioned toward the excessive flashes. "This is who I am."
"The woman I fell in lo–“ I cut myself off, then figured what the hell. "I fell in love with you. Nora Maddison is an actress, but she's not defined only by that. You're so much more than all of this. When I finish this season, I'm done for good. You can be done too. We can be together and you won't regret it." I tugged on her scarf. "I love you, okay? I don't know how and don't ask m
e why ... I can't figure it out, but I don't think I stand to think of my life without you.”
"But you can't live with me either." Her voice cracked. "You need to accept me as I am if you really love me, Sawyer. Otherwise I'm afraid you still love yourself more than you could ever love me. What are you so afraid of? Some stupid rumors? I've been lied about and it hurts sometimes but I won't let that stop me from being with someone I love."
"But it will. Don't you understand? They'll rip us apart until there's nothing left but some ridiculous money-making magazine article. We're easy targets. Sawyer Reed, hockey playboy. And Nora Maddison, lonely adulteress. We're prime targets. Google our names tonight and you'll see. Probably already twittered or whatever to millions."
She squeezed my hand and started to say something, but stopped. I waited as she untied her scarf and wrapped it around my neck, then untied mine and wrapped it around hers. She opened her lips, but I told her not to say it. Not yet. "If this is the last time I see you," I said. "I want to say goodbye with a kiss."
She kept her lips parted and moved toward me with her eyes closed. I gently gripped the back of her neck with both hands and savored the feeling of her hair falling on my arms. Then she kissed me, and turned her head to the other side, kissing me some more. My hands gripped tighter as she lit a fire inside of me, then pulled away and blinked at me with longing still glistening on her lips.
I ran my hands down her arms and kissed her hand. "Goodbye, sweet girl.” Still confused about why we needed to end it too soon, I called out to her as she turned and walked away, but it only escaped as a barely audible whisper, "I do want you. All of you." Yet I knew, just as she knew, that the logistics were against us. As is, we'd never make it. So I buried my face in her scarf, inhaled the sweetness of heaven, and walked by the flashing lights into the bitter afternoon. Alone.
CH. 14 - Nora
You know how sometimes life becomes a blur? Or maybe it's just us. We become the blurs, just passing lights on a twilight freeway. Can't make out the make or model, the color, or the faces inside. A blur. Blurring by. That's how I felt in the plane, when it touched down, when I got my hair and makeup done for my first scene, and when I kissed Dan for the first time, in our third scene, on the fourth day of shooting, in front of a bunch of other people, twenty minutes before he asked me out on a date, not in front of a bunch of other people. Thankfully, because I said no. "But I felt a spark between us," he said and I reminded him that we were supposed to. Our characters were falling in love. It was an act, but don't get me get wrong, Dan was as charming as it gets. Sweet smile, pretty eyes, down to earth, and smart too.
Marilyn Grey - [Unspoken 06] Page 6
