Free Agent

by Catherine Gayle

  “It isn’t just stretch marks,” I cut in, taking small sips from my bottle of water that I always carried with me. “That’s not even the half of it.”

  “Well, everybody has something. I’ve got old, wrinkly skin. And I don’t have any tits anymore. Cancer took ’em. But shit like that never stopped me from knocking boots with the mailman.”

  I spluttered on my water, almost spraying her. “The mailman?” I choked.

  “Once or twice. But he wasn’t perfect, either. Had a massive beer belly and hairy balls. Don’t like getting pubes in my teeth when I give oral. Makes me choke, and I do that well enough on my own these days without any help.”

  I was about to choke, myself, but mine was due to surprised laughter.

  “Point is, Blake’s got enough sense to know it isn’t all about superficial shit. He’s had to deal with more than his fair share of that kind of thinking over the years—because of his ADHD and shit. But he’s not gonna give a rat’s ass what you look like, as long as he likes you and you like him. He just wants to be with you. So maybe you need to figure that out, too.”

  Blinking in surprise at her frankness, I said, “Maybe I do.”

  “So see to it. Because I don’t think I’ve got that much time left, and I need to know he’s got someone looking out for him when I’m gone. If it’s not going to be you, I need to help him figure something else out, without letting him onto the fact that I’m interfering.”

  Before I could respond, Blake had returned, toting a nurse who very clearly did not look like she could be named Brett.

  “I thought I told you I didn’t want Nurse Ratched,” Lil groused.

  “Mm hmm,” the nurse replied. She headed for the bed and pulled a curtain, shutting Blake and me out.

  He reached for my hand and nudged his head toward the hall.

  A series of tingles raced up my spine when the warmth of his palm met mine. I felt an urge to inch closer to him and allow his warmth to seep all through my body, but I didn’t want to use him, and that was exactly how it would feel. At least to me, it would. Maybe not to him.

  Had I used him earlier? Again, he probably didn’t think so, but I was starting to think I had—especially since I’d almost immediately shut him out afterward.

  “She give you a hard time?” he asked once the door to her hospital room closed behind us. “She can be kind of blunt. I love that about her—I need blunt—but some people don’t get it.”

  “Maybe I need a dose of bluntness, too.”

  He snorted in laughter.

  “She wasn’t any harder on me than I deserved.”

  “Stop that, all right?”

  “Stop what?”

  We were wandering through the halls of the hospital without any true destination in mind as far as I could tell—neither of us had any need to eat, and we’d already been to the gift shop today. Before long, I realized we were heading toward the pediatric ICU and oncology units. That probably wasn’t the best destination for us, but we kept walking, Blake guiding me as though he knew exactly where he was going and why.

  “Stop beating yourself up,” he said. “And maybe stop pushing me away without telling me what I’ve done to deserve it.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I insisted. “You don’t deserve me treating you the way I have been.”

  “Hmm.”

  I tried to turn us down a different hallway, but Blake tightened his grip on my hand and tugged me through the double doors.

  “What are we doing? Where are we going?”

  “There’s someone I want to see in here,” he said.

  A woman at the nurse’s station looked up when we came in, and she smiled at him. “Back again?”

  “Grandma sent us away so she could yell at her nurse, so I thought we could come and say hello to Christopher.”

  “Christopher?” I asked Blake softly, but he didn’t react. Maybe he hadn’t heard me at all.

  The nurse grinned, oblivious to my query, her eyes glued to Blake. “They didn’t send her boy toy this time?”

  “If they’re smart, they’ve reassigned him to a different ward for as long as Grandma’s in this hospital. Maybe they can prevent a lawsuit. So is it all right if I check in on Christopher?”

  “Absolutely. You know where to find him. He’ll be thrilled. He hasn’t had any guests all day—hardly any all week.” She walked around to the front of the desk to join us and bent her head close to mine. “Both parents are working two jobs just to be able to pay for his treatments, and his grandparents don’t live in the state. Sometimes his friends from school stop by, but no one’s been here all week other than his parents for overnight stays, and he’s usually sleeping then.”

  She waved us back through the halls, and Blake took off as if he knew exactly where he was headed.

  He knocked on a partially closed door, poking his head into the room.

  “Koz!” a crackling child’s voice shouted with unbridled glee.

  “Mind if I bring my girlfriend in to see you?” Blake asked, drawing me into the room alongside him without waiting for the boy’s response.

  “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Christopher replied as we slipped inside the room.

  He had the face of a gaunt ten-year-old but the body of a seven-year-old, with protruding bones visible everywhere. Not a hair was to be found on him, but he more than made up for that with IVs and hospital bracelets galore. A bulletin board hung on the wall next to his bed, covered in get-well-soon cards and artwork that I imagined his classmates had created for him.

  My heart did a flip, but not because this little boy thought I was Blake’s girlfriend; it was because Blake had taken it upon himself to spend time with a sick child. For all the faults he had—and they were numerous—he truly was a good man underneath it all.

  His grandmother was right. He had a good heart, if you could learn to see past his issues. And who the heck didn’t have issues? Lil had made it perfectly clear that my own issues were easily as big as Blake’s, if not bigger.

  “I haven’t had a girlfriend for very long,” Blake replied, squeezing my hand. “Not too many girls would know what to do with me. But Bea does.” Then he faced me again and dropped his voice so that only I could hear him say, “At least, I think you do. Do you?”

  This time, my heart flipped so hard that it almost stopped beating and I wasn’t sure it would recover. But somehow I managed to nod.

  And then I hoped he was right.

  I smiled for Christopher’s benefit and took a seat near the window so he could have Blake all to himself for this visit. Blake dragged one of the chairs closer to the little boy’s bed, and in no time, they were deep in conversation. They started off talking about hockey, and then they moved to football and the Bills’ chances at getting to the Super Bowl this year. Before long, I lost track of their discussion, my thoughts returning to everything Lil had said.

  If she could be believed—and I saw no reason to doubt her—then Blake just wanted to be with me.

  Which meant somehow I had to get over myself.

  Because, whether he was ready for it or not, he was going to need someone in his corner sooner rather than later.

  He wasn’t alone in that regard, though. I needed someone in mine, too.

  And I wanted that someone to be him.

  THAT EVENING, BEA found a quiet waiting area not too far from Grandma’s room, and she took her laptop with her to do some work and give me some time alone with my grandmother.

  I recognized the opportunity to get some advice, and I jumped on it as soon as Grandma was awake and lucid enough to carry on a conversation.

  “I need ideas,” I said, dragging my chair closer so I could hold her frail hand in mine.

  “What kind of ideas? You’ve always had plenty of those, but usually the sort that’ll get you into trouble.”

  I chose not to give her the satisfaction of admitting she was right; Grandma already knew she was, anyway.

  “Idea
s for how to get Bea more comfortable with me,” I said.

  “You mean sex?”

  “Not sex, exactly. More with letting me see her.”

  Grandma stared. “It’s not you she’s uncomfortable with.”

  “But—”

  “It’s her,” Grandma cut in, and she pierced me with a hard gaze. “She needs to be more comfortable with herself. With her body.”

  “But how do I make that happen?”

  “You don’t. Only she can.” At my grumble of annoyance, Grandma added, “You can’t make a person think anything or feel anything they don’t want to think or feel. Life doesn’t work that way. All you can do is encourage her. Maybe help her see herself the way you see her.”

  “But how do I do that?”

  “You’ve got a brain between your ears. You’ve got all sorts of ideas going on in there all the time. Figure it out, Blake.”

  Figure it out. Yeah. If only it were so simple.

  LATER, WHILE GRANDMA napped and Bea was still in some waiting room where she could work in peace and quiet, I searched my brain to come up with something that would help Bea feel more at home in her own skin.

  The only thing that came to me was to call Brie Burns.

  She was married to one of my teammates, and she’d struggled with her weight for as long as I’d known her, up and down and up and down again. But she’d never seemed to lack confidence, at least outwardly in my presence, so I hoped she could be a decent starting point if nothing else.

  I made sure my ringer was on silent so it wouldn’t disturb Grandma’s sleep and shot off a quick text message.

  Me: Suggestions for how to get a woman more comfortable in her own skin?

  Brie, responding almost as soon as I’d sent the message: I would think your grandmother has larger concerns on her mind right now…

  Me: Not Grandma. A woman I’m dating.

  Brie: Didn’t think you were there for dating…

  Me: She lives in Portland. Just came out because of Grandma. Anyway, she used to be heavy. Won’t let me see her naked. Barely lets me touch her. Did you have issues like that?

  Brie: Not exactly. Kind of, though. I’d say it was similar but still different. But body image is a big deal for a lot of women. Works itself out in unique ways for each of us. And it’s hard to feel sexy if you’re worried about your man staring at stretch marks or whatever.

  Me: So how do I help her get past that?

  Brie: Depends on the woman.

  Me: What helped you?

  Brie: I needed to learn to see myself the way Keith sees me. Help her with that.

  Me: …

  Brie: I don’t know who you’re talking about, so I don’t know what it’ll take. She might not know what she needs, either. She might not ever be able to see herself the way you see her. Our brains are evil that way. We’re predisposed to see the worst in ourselves. Especially women. It’s one of the curses of being born without a Y chromosome. Pretty sure it’s genetically hardwired into our brains.

  Me: Yeah, tell me about it. So ideas on how I can help her see what I see?

  Brie: Maybe take her to a lingerie store? Have her try some things on, and maybe let you see her in them? I don’t know… Ooh! And then do a photo shoot? I’ve seen a few online lately. Sexy ones—women of all shapes and sizes, sometimes with their partners, maybe in some slinky lingerie, which you could get her when you take her shopping first…

  Me: Now there’s a thought. But would she think that was about me and not about her?

  Brie: Depends on her, I guess. And on how you present the idea.

  Me: So I’m screwed. That’s what you’re saying, right? I’m screwed?

  Brie: Use some tact. Maybe ask Babs how to phrase things…

  Me: Tact has never been a strength of mine. Not even with Babs helping me. And I don’t want him to get involved, anyway, because he might say something to Katie, who would probably say something to Dani, and I don’t want Dani involved in this.

  Brie: ???

  Me: Let’s just say Dani and my girlfriend are friends and Dani doesn’t approve of me.

  Brie: Hmmm…

  Brie again: Hey! You’re near Buffalo, right? Somewhere in upstate NY?

  Me: Yeah. Why?

  Brie: Q and Mia are there.

  Me: And…?

  Brie: And Mia is a photographer, dummy.

  Me: Oh. That’s right. I forgot.

  Brie: Is your girlfriend with you now?

  Me: Yeah, she’s here. Not right beside me at the moment, but she’s here in NY.

  Brie: Call Mia. I bet she’d be all over doing a shoot like that as long as she’s got the time. She loves capturing people—real people, not models. She’s been doing shoots lately for women who’ve had mastectomies and stuff like that. She’s awesome. And she’s good enough that she’ll be able to get all the angles and lighting right so that your girlfriend can see herself in a new way. She can help you figure something out and find a way to present it to your girl without sounding like you’re a jackass. I mean, you kind of are, but…

  It was the truth, so I couldn’t even be mad at her for bringing it up.

  Brie, again: And say hi to her kids from all of us.

  Me: Sure. Will do.

  In reality, though, I had no intention of calling Mia Quincey. Maybe she was married to a former teammate of mine, but I doubted she’d want to help me with anything.

  I could be a tough pill to swallow, and I knew it.

  Brie: Any idea when you’ll be back? The guys will want to get together…

  Me: Why? They doing okay on the ice?

  This conversation made me realize that I hadn’t even bothered looking at the scores since I’d left. I had no earthly idea how the team had been doing without me. Fuck. I should probably do something about that… What sort of hole had I left them in? They could’ve gone on a massive losing streak without me, and I wouldn’t have the first clue.

  Brie: Because you’re part of the team and you’re having a hard time, and they want to show you support, dumbass.

  Me: Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Well…not sure yet. A week or so? Two weeks? Depends what the doctors say, I guess.

  Brie: Tell us once you know. Keith wants to have everyone over at the house. He says it’s been too long since we had a party, even if it’s about you. And tell me what Mia says once you’ve asked her about the shoot. And what your girlfriend says about the shoot. What’s her name, BTW?

  Me: Bea.

  Brie: Bea, as in Dani’s friend, Bea?

  Me: I don’t want Dani involved in this…

  Brie: Mm hmm…

  Brie, again: Anyway, I want to see the pictures. If Bea’s okay with that. Make sure she’s okay with that because I want to see them but I don’t want her to be pissed that you shared them with me.

  Brie, apparently still not finished: And if they’re half as awesome as I imagine they will be, since I know Mia’s talents, then I’ll probably need to get some done, too. I’d imagine Mia is probably about to get a whole lot busier. Hope she’s ready for this.

  Brie, one more time: Actually, now you’ve given me an idea. I might have to call Mia, myself, to see if she’d be game… I think we should do a Storm WAGs charity calendar or something. We’re hot. We could raise money for the Light the Lamp Foundation…

  Me: I should really go now or something.

  Brie: Wait. How’s your grandmother doing?

  Me: Not good. Really bad.

  Brie: Really, really bad?

  Me: Dying. They said there’s not really any hope. Just trying to keep her as comfortable as they can, now.

  Brie: I’m so sorry. Let us know if we can do anything to help.

  Me: Thanks. So what’s Mia’s number?

  While I appreciated the thought, there wasn’t anything anyone could do. Pretty sure Brie knew that, too, but offering to help was what people tended to do at times like this. She sent me Mia’s number a moment later with another note about how she
’d be contacting her soon about the calendar idea.

  If Brie was going to call Mia, too, I supposed that I’d have to at least give her a shout to see what she had to say. With any luck, she’d be too busy and have to decline.

  I had to admit, though, the idea of a photo shoot was intriguing. Especially if it could potentially have the sort of effect on Bea that Brie seemed to think it could.

  Next thing I knew I was calling Mia Quincey for the first time ever and hoping that it wouldn’t lead to Bea walking out of my life for good.

  WHEN I RETURNED to Lil’s room, I found it jam-packed with people, and none of them appeared to be employees of the hospital.

  Blake was seated in his customary chair next to her bed, close enough that he could hold her hand. But a gorgeous blonde woman was seated across from him, and a man with an athletic build was standing near the window, a nurse was changing out Lil’s IV bag, and there were two kids—a bit younger than most of my students—on the floor playing a game on an iPad.

  Everyone but the nurse looked up at me when I entered the room, making me uncomfortable. Blake’s nervous grin helped, though.

  But then I had to wonder why he was nervous. I was the intruder…

  “You must be Bea,” the blonde woman said, getting to her feet and crossing over to me with a warm smile and a hand outstretched to shake mine. She had a camera in her other hand—not just a cheap digital one that anyone could buy at Target, either, but a professional camera with detachable lenses and the whole shebang.