I wish I were one of them.
ELEVEN
OF ALL THE BONEHEADED STUNTS
Neil
I take a seat at the counter and watch Charli hurriedly tap a few orders into the terminal. Her hands look shaky, and I know that look on her face.
It’s fear. She’s freaked out, and the attention she’s getting this morning isn’t helping. Unfortunately, it’s about to get worse. ESPN and Sports Illustrated won’t be the only media outlets that report on us. My family has baggage. And people love to write about that shit.
“Charli,” I whisper. “I’m sorry about the article. And all this attention.” She slaps a menu down in front of me, and I grab her hand before she can flit away again. “Hey. Are you all right?”
“Not really, no.” She takes a shuddery breath. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Okay,” I say immediately. “Do you want me to walk right over there to Georgia and tell her to call off the dogs? She could tell the media that it was all a joke and tell the world that we’re getting a divorce.”
Charli’s pulse flutters in her throat, and her eyes look wild. “Would you really do that? What about your plan?”
“My plan doesn’t matter,” I say quietly. “If it’s making you very uncomfortable.”
She lets out a shaky breath. I’m still holding her hand down on the counter, and she doesn’t pull it away.
My watch beeps. She takes a deep breath. “You need to eat, right? Is that alarm bad?”
“It’s just a reminder, not an emergency.”
“Oh. You want the usual?” She removes her hand from mine. “Two eggs, whole-wheat waffle, side of ham?” She grabs a cup and pours me some coffee, with a swirl of half-and-half, because she already knows how I take my coffee and what I want for breakfast.
“Yeah, of course. But only after you answer my question. Are you okay?”
Charli visibly pulls herself together. She drops her shoulders and straightens her spine. She takes a slow breath. “It’s out there now, whether we put your plan into action or not.”
“That’s true,” I agree.
“If we call off our deal, it doesn’t make the hounds go away.”
“That’s hard to say. If we yell divorce, maybe we’re less interesting.”
She grabs a dishrag and wipes down the counter. “Man, how I would love to blame this whole thing on you.”
“Go for it,” I offer. “I really don’t mind.” It’s not worth it to see her so stressed out.
“No, it is what it is. I can just suck it up for a little while, like I always do. We can still do this your way.”
That’s not what I expected her to say, and so I hesitate. “How about this—I’ll start calling around before the game, interviewing lawyers. Just so we have options.”
She taps my order into the terminal. “Isn’t that when the thoroughbreds are supposed to be in their stalls resting?”
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure I can manage a phone call or two between the massage and the catered meal.”
She laughs quickly. “Do you really have a massage booked?”
“No. It does sound like a good idea, right?”
Charli just shakes her head. “Seven minutes until your meal comes out. I’ll pour the waffle now.” She gives me a fierce smile. Her game face is already back on straight. “Find that lawyer. But I’m cool, okay? Don’t worry about me.”
“All right.”
She flits off, and I settle in and pull out my phone. There are approximately one billion text messages waiting for me. Seems like everyone I’ve ever played hockey with has reached out this morning.
Most of the messages are some variation on Dude, no way! Or, Congrats, man!
Then there’s a grumpy three-word message from my cousin Fred—my uncle’s evil minion. Call me ASAP.
Pass, thanks.
I also discover a message from my mother. Neil, my love, what on earth is going on? I got a nastygram from your uncle, demanding that I talk sense into you. That’s a fairly common occurrence so I didn’t think anything of it. But this morning all my friends started emailing to ask who you married. MARRIED? I’m trying not to freak out, here. Call me when you can.
Oh boy. I’m not looking forward to that call. Although Mom is on a beach in the Caribbean right now, so at least I don’t have to deal with her questions in person.
“Hey, Drake.” Sal—the owner of the diner—sidles up to the counter in front of me. “You really a billionaire?”
Well, shit. This is why I hate the media. “Not exactly,” I hedge. “Why? You’re looking for an investor? Got expansion plans?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Running one place is hard enough. But if Charli married a rich guy, she’ll quit the diner. Just tryin’ to figure out when I have to start interviewing.”
Yikes. “Don’t do that, okay? Charli would not appreciate you looking to replace her. She likes this job.”
“If you say so.” There’s skepticism all over his face. “If I married up, though, I’d be sleeping in. Just saying.”
“Sal! Knock it off,” Charli says, poking him in the arm. “We already talked about this. Neil—cook is plating up your eggs.”
“Thanks.” Charli knows that I need to dose myself with insulin before I eat.
“Sure thing, hubby.”
With a snort, I open the app that’s connected to my insulin pump and activate my breakfast dose. That done, I turn my phone over, so I don’t have to think about all the people who want to grill me about this recent turn of events.
My breakfast lands in front of me a moment later. Charli is gone before I can even thank her. I stare down at two eggs scrambled just how I like them, a slab of ham, and a whole wheat waffle that’s dripping with whipped butter but no syrup. There’re a couple orange wedges on the side of the plate, because Charli knows that I enjoy them.
I pick up my fork and sink it into the waffle. If this is what it’s like to be married, I guess it isn’t half bad.
After breakfast, the crowd at the diner eventually disperses. As fascinating as my drunken foibles may be, my teammates and I have a playoffs spot to clinch.
I’m the last to leave. I pay my check—tip fifty percent—and push a key card across the counter to Charli. “Here. This is your copy, okay? Miguel and the rest of the staff know that you’re staying with me. Nobody will give you any trouble.”
She blinks. “Thanks,” she says, slowly pocketing the key.
I stand up and tuck my wallet away. “I’ll see you after practice, okay? Just text me if you need me.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says.
“Good.” I lean across the counter and give a surprised Charli a kiss on the cheek. “Take care of yourself.”
Then I head outside, where I’m ambushed by my friend Anton Bayer. “There you are,” he says, leaning against the wall of the diner. “Thought you were never coming out.”
“Well, you know how newlyweds are,” I deadpan, and he chuckles.