I deserve it.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll call her.” I stand, gripping my phone.
“Stay here. I’m late for a meeting.” She hustles out of her office, closing the door behind her so I’m alone.
I try calling, but Arya doesn’t pick up. I leave a pathetic voicemail, but somehow I know she’s not going to call me back.
I try again on the plane, and again get voicemail. This time I leave a longer message. “I need to see you,” I say in a strangled voice. “I need to apologize. I’m an asshole and I don’t blame you if you never want to see me again, but please just let me tell you how sorry I am.”
It’s not good enough. I know it isn’t.
While the guys chirp and joke around the entire flight to Vancouver, I’m collapsed in a window seat, head against the wall of the plane, staring at nothing, thinking about everything that happened today. Mom’s honesty. Dad telling me he’s proud of me for being a good man, when I’m not a good man, I’m so far from that. Then Everly giving me shit for being a selfish jerk. Shame burns a hole in my gut.
Chapter 23
Arya
“You were right.” I sniffle a little, staring down into my cocktail. It’s lime and pineapple juices with a hint of ginger. And vodka. A lot of vodka.
Taj rubs my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“I told him what happened. And he couldn’t handle it. You were right. How could we have a relationship if he couldn’t deal with it?”
He sighs. “I actually didn’t think that’s how it would turn out. He seems like a decent guy.”
“Other than the stalking.”
“Come on,” he gently chides me. “You know he wasn’t stalking you the same way Lucas was.”
“I know. I was nervous at first, but…I wanted to be brave and it didn’t take me long to realize he’s a good guy.” I sigh. “And I’m working on not beating myself up over taking the chance. I thought I was ready for it. Turns out I was…but he wasn’t.” I sip my drink. This is going down like water on a hot summer day after a 10K run. “They won last night, though. Yay.”
“You don’t sound very happy.” He picks up his beer.
“I am happy. For him. They needed to win to stay in the playoffs, so that’s good. He didn’t play very well, though. Not that I know much about hockey, but he seemed…invisible. He didn’t seem to be on the ice much, and when he was, he didn’t do anything.”
“Shit.”
“I know. I was worried about talking to him during the playoffs in case it distracted him. I don’t want to be the reason they lose.”
“Uh…they won.”
“Right.”
“Also, that’s giving yourself a lot of credit—the whole team losing because of you?” He lifts an eyebrow.
I snort-laugh. “Oh my God. You’re totally right. I’m being a drama queen. Thanks for keeping me real.” Then I sigh again. “I just want him to do well and be happy.”
“He was probably happy they won.”
“Yeah.” I nod, yet somehow I know he wouldn’t be satisfied with his performance last night.
“You haven’t heard from him since?”
“He called me earlier. Twice. I was in class, but he left voicemails. He says he wants to apologize.”
“For…?”
“I don’t know.”
“Call him.”
“I just said I don’t want to be a distraction. He’s in Vancouver. At least it’s not a do-or-die situation for them, but it is for Vancouver, so I’m sure they’ll be fighting hard.”
“Don’t leave him hanging.”
Slowly, I move my head up and down. “You’re right. I’ll text him. I need to think about what to say.”
We hang out at the Golden Fish for a while, and I drink way too many Mexican Mules and try to smile when Indigo and Arlo and Ziggy join us. Inside I’m cold and weary, with an uncomfortable heaviness in my chest.
When we get home, I make myself some tranquility tea, and holding my mug, I sit cross-legged on my bed, my phone in front of me.
I still don’t know exactly what to say. As usual, though, just being honest is the best thing, painful as it is.
I finish my tea, then tap in my message and read it about ten times. Then I send it.
Chapter 24
Harrison
Landon looks after our travel arrangements, hotels, and meals all year long, but during the playoffs it’s even more important that everything is taken care of for us. We’re super spoiled arriving in Vancouver, being whisked to our hotel and checked in and not having to worry about bags or gear or lost reservations.
It’s also great that we’re in the same time zone. It can really mess you up, flying across the country and having to deal with a two- or three-hour time difference.
Our bus takes us to the Rogers Arena for a practice, then back to the hotel. A bunch of us go out for a walk before the team dinner. From our hotel, we can walk to Gastown. The weather is cool and damp, the area is bustling with people. We pass bars and restaurants and funky shops, meander the brick pavement of Maple Tree Square past the statue of the man this neighborhood is named for, “Gassy Jack” Deighton, and move on to the famous clock.
I don’t really hear what the guys are yammering about as we walk to the restaurant we’re meeting at for dinner, Boucher. The restaurant is kind of industrial-chic, with low lights, lots of brick, and exposed ducts. It seems appropriate to order the salmon, even though I’m not hungry at all, a cold lump amassing in my stomach.
I force myself to eat some of the salmon. I’m only drinking water tonight, and the waiter keeps refilling my glass as I guzzle it down.
Everyone’s finished dinner and chilling when my phone vibrates. I pull it out to check it. I have a text. From Arya.
Finally.
My heart bumps in my chest. I stare at my phone, then tap the icon for the message.
It’s long. My eyes skim over it and I force myself to slow down and read it all from the beginning.
Hi Harrison. I got your voicemails. I don’t want to bother you when you’re away and I know it’s a big game tomorrow but I wanted to let you know I got your voicemails and you don’t have to apologize. I’m okay and don’t let what happened with us interfere with the playoffs. I watched the win last night, congrats. I’ll be cheering for you tomorrow. I know things worked out for the best with us. What happened to me was terrible and I’m working on getting past it but I know it’s a lot for other people to deal with. I understand. Going out with you was scary for me, because you’re the first guy I’ve wanted to go out with since Lucas, but I wanted to be brave and take the risk. I’ve learned that fear means I’m doing something that matters, and even though things didn’t work out, I know I’m stronger because of it. So thank you and good luck.
I read it again. And again.
“Harry’s picking up the tab for all of us tonight.”
My head snaps up to stare at Bergie. “What?”
He grins. “What the hell, man? Pay attention.”
“Sorry. Just got a text.”
“Ah. The future wife.”
I haven’t said anything about what happened, because it’s embarrassing that I’m such an idiot, plus I know Arya wouldn’t want me telling the guys about her stalker.
Going out with me was scary for her, but she wanted to take the risk.
My throat clogs up. And I hear my mom telling me, “Take a risk. Give it your all.”
Maybe I have been holding back. Maybe I have been afraid. If I never measure up, I don’t want it to be because I didn’t try.
I want to be as strong and brave as Arya.
She left her family and her hometown and a job she enjoyed, to move across the country so she could feel safe. She started a new career, made new friends. That’s gutsy.
> I remember how nervous she was when I invited her for a drink…how upset she was when I made that stupid comment about us being meant to be together, how apprehensive she was when she wanted to take an Uber home instead of telling me her address. Like she thought I’d be pissed off.
Jesus Christ.
Yet she kept seeing me, even though I was being an idiot. Now, knowing what happened to her, I admire that so goddamn much. It swells up inside me, a hot and powerful force that makes my heart expand in my chest. I love her even more.
“Must have been a good text,” Jabber says.
“Was it a sext?” Scotty asks. “Did she send a dirty picture?”
I roll my eyes. “Jesus. No.”
This text message was clearly meant to end things between us, and to end things between us on a friendly note. No hard feelings. Ha. She has no idea. I’m wrecked over this.
I don’t want things to end between us. But clearly, pushing her harder isn’t going to be the right thing to do. So…I’ll give her up, if that’s what best for her. If she needs time, I’ll back off. If she needs to be left alone, I’ll do it. I just want her to have what she needs and to be happy and safe.
But…there are a couple of lines in her text that bug me…I know it’s a lot for other people to deal with. I understand.
She should be pissed at me for bailing because I couldn’t deal with it. Because I couldn’t deal with my own guilt, which doesn’t even matter in the face of what she’s been through. I should have been there for her when she spilled her guts to me, and I ran away like a stupid kid. And now I’m a thousand miles away, and I can’t get to her. I’ve got a game to play tomorrow and I need to be here for it. Not just here, present. All in.
Right now, I feel like the only thing that matters is setting things straight between Arya and me. But it also matters that I prove I’m not afraid. And now it’s not about showing my dad I can do it, or my mom, or even Arya—although I want her to be proud of me.
It’s about proving it to myself.
* * *
—
The score is tied, two–all. One of those goals is mine, and I assisted on Eddie’s. I fucking love playing on this line with him and Pavel. We’ve really clicked and our styles complement each other. Adrenaline courses through my veins while I sit on the bench watching the play as the third period nears closing. Christ, looks like we’re going into OT.
We all jump to our feet as Jimmy and Archie go in on the Canucks’ net. There’s a bunch of whacking and smacking, but the whistle blows as their goalie covers the puck. I hop over the boards for a line change along with Eddie and Pavel.
Eddie takes the face-off but loses the puck to their center, who flicks it over to his winger, and they’re off up the ice. We race after them, Bellsy and Jabber defending. Bergie’s alert, standing tall in goal as a Canuck player skates toward him. The Canuck player tries to shoot the puck, but Bellsy tips it away from him, except another Canuck is there and pokes at it. I see it squeak through Bergie’s legs and behind him.
Shit!
I don’t know if the puck has enough momentum to cross the line, but I’m not taking that chance, so I dive for it, my stick outstretched, and sweep it away only an inch from the goal line as I slide on my belly. My shoulder and hip smash into the post, but I don’t even care. I’ve gotta get back up and make sure the Canucks don’t have the puck again.
Just as I’m on my feet, my body throbbing, the horn sounds to end the third period. The guys are mobbing me, slapping my back and my helmet in thanks for saving that goal.
“That woulda been the game!” Bellsy cries. “Holy fuck!”
I make it off the ice and into the dressing room. Teddy checks out my shoulder and hip. I think I’m okay, just bruised. He gets me ice packs and, with my jersey off, I stretch my legs out in front of me, grinning like a fool even though we haven’t won. Yet.
* * *
—
We play a whole period of overtime with no scoring. We’re dying. The winner will be the team that doesn’t literally die on the ice. Both teams are playing great, both goalies are like goddamn brick walls.
Now we’re into the second OT period. We have to finish this. My legs are seizing up, my shoulder is stiffening, but I keep going. We have to fucking do this.
Bellsy has the puck at the blue line and takes a shot at the net. There’s a crowd in front, and somehow the puck is deflected to the corner. Pavel goes in and scoops it out as Eddie and I both go to the net. I look up at Pavel. He’s looking at Eddie, and so is the Canucks’ goalie, but I know…somehow I fucking know…that puck is coming to me. In perfect timing and reading, Pavel slides the puck over to me and I tip it in as the Vancouver goalie watches Eddie.
I’m fucking jumping up and down, stick in the air, laughing. “Holy fuck! Holy fuck!” I’m immediately mobbed, the entire team coming off the bench. We just won the series.
“Fuck, yeah!” Eddie yells near my ear.
Guys are jumping on each other, hugging, smacking each other. It’s nuts, but holy fucking shit it feels good.
The Canucks are sitting on their bench dejectedly, others leaning on the boards, heads down, shoulders slumped. Dave and Stan and Teddy are shaking hands and hugging behind our bench. Eventually we slow our celebration—you’d think we just won the cup!—and start back toward our bench. We have to do the handshake line, and I gotta say, it feels a lot better doing it when you’ve just won the series. But we’ve all been trained from the moment we put on skates that good sportsmanship is paramount, and we shake hands and hug and thank our opponents for a hard-fought series.
I see Théo come onto the ice. He was watching the game from the visiting manager’s box high above…with Dad.
And there’s Dad behind him.
I don’t think he should come on the ice in street shoes. He seems frailer these days. So I skate straight to him before he’s taken three steps. I open my arms. A smile breaks across his lined face and we hug. “You did it, son.” He slaps my back. “You goddamn did it.”
“I did.” I grin too. I might never stop grinning.
Okay, I do have other problems lurking at the back of my brain. But right now, I’m smiling.
“You worked your ass off out there.” Dad grips my shoulder. “That’s determination.”
I nod, choking up. I’m not the only one who’s emotional. Dad’s eyes are watery and so are most of the players’, to be honest.
I stay beside Dad as he joins in the handshake line, making sure he stays upright, though I’m trying to be discreet about it so as not to embarrass him. My chest is bursting with pride that I had a role in getting this team to the next round of the playoffs. I’m also feeling relief and satisfaction.
I fucking did it.
Chapter 25
Arya
I’m considering starting rage yoga classes.
We could drink beer and swear and yell. Let go of all our anger and frustrations. The idea is really appealing to me right now. We could be Zen as fuck.
But the reality is, I’m ready to do a Saturday SUP class at the marina. Everyone would probably be taken aback if I yelled at them to release all the fucking tension in their neck and shoulders. An alternate way to higher peace and motherfucking acceptance. Ha.
There’s an ache in my chest because I miss Harrison and I’m so, so sad that things are over between us, but after watching the game last night and what he did, I feel happy and proud and…satisfied.
I still don’t know if I did the right thing sending him that text. He didn’t respond, which I didn’t expect. But it didn’t negatively impact how he played, so that’s good. They won their game and they’re going on to the next round of the playoffs. It might even be against the Golden Eagles, if they too win their next game.
So I feel at peace with how things are. I’ll just try not to think a
bout Harrison and how much fun we had together and what an honest and honorable, determined and talented man he is, and even though it didn’t work out with us, I had that time with him. I’m really using those affirmations, repeating them over and over. I can’t compare how I feel now to how I felt after Lucas assaulted me; it’s totally different, but damn, it hurts. It hurts a lot.
I am capable of anything.
I lead the class outside. The clear, blue sky and sparkling water help ease the heaviness inside me. Not completely, but a little. I turn my face up to the sun and let its warmth seep into me as we paddle away from shore. Despite the beauty all around me, an aching longing fills my chest, a wish that things could be different.
We find our places and drop our anchors, and I begin the class. “Stand-up paddleboard yoga is a great way to develop mindfulness, focus, balance, and breath skills. These are all important for being present during this practice. Let’s start in Mountain Pose, holding your paddle like so.” I demonstrate. “Feet together, big toes touching. Inhale and lift your paddle above your head, using it to keep your arms level. Exhale as you bend your knees, bringing your thighs as low and as parallel to the board as you can.”
As I bend my knees, I look straight ahead and see someone paddling toward us, apparently a latecomer to the class. Except the class is full and…my eyes widen as I take in the size and shape of the man on the board.
Harrison.
He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, his biceps bulging as he digs his paddle into the water and rows in strong, even strokes, the board skimming across the ocean toward me. Sunglasses hide his eyes, but I recognize him.
He finds a spot not far from me, drops his anchor, and slides his sunglasses up onto his head, revealing dark circles beneath his eyes.
His eyes meet mine.
Sunshine bursts in my chest. My breath stalls and my heart crashes against my breastbone as we stare at each other. My lips tremble into a smile that he returns, his eyes warm and crinkling up at the corners.
For the Win Page 22
