In the hallway, I’m shocked to see Emily wearing a Crush jersey with my number on it paired with dark jeans. Definitely not her usual styling.
“Hey, Cal,” she says, giving me a strange, sad smile. “Good game.”
My mouth must be hanging open. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“It was a last-minute decision, and I didn’t want to mess with your concentration on the ice.”
I take all this information in for a moment before figuring out what to say. To say I’m surprised to see Emily here is an understatement. “Well, you’re here now and I’m starving. Can we grab something to eat?”
“How about a pizza at your place, where we can talk?”
I nod, and she takes my arm as we head through the lower level and out into the balmy night.
“Nice sweater,” I say, mostly to break the silence—which is atypical for me. Awkward silences don’t usually spur me to fill them.
“I got it at the team shop. Had to let go of my Montreal one.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh that sounds a lot sadder than I feel. I’m beginning to accept the terms of my contract and trying to embrace it rather than try to fight against it. Calls with my mom have helped with my attitude, but also time with CFMW. And previously…Billie.
“And it’s not so bad here after all?” She sounds hopeful asking the question.
“It’s not,” I admit.
We stop and grab a pizza, carrying it the two blocks to my apartment, where I flip on the lights and offer her a beer from the fridge. She accepts it, clinking my bottle with hers.
“I’m glad you’re doing better here.” She seems calm now, subdued. It’s a very different energy than the last time she was here when she seemed so angry.
“It’s been good. I like working with the kids at the music workshop, and the team dynamic is getting better, too.”
“Well, when you deliver shut-outs, I imagine they have to accept you.”
“Perhaps.”
“And the woman in the picture? Does she have something to do with your evolving feelings about Las Vegas?”
I meet her gaze. “She has helped, yes.”
“Do you want to talk about her?”
“Do you want to talk about this guy you’re in love with?” It comes out sharper than I intend because, honestly, I’m not bothered by Em being in love with someone. Not anymore.
Look at me being all empathetic and shit.
“I don’t want to fight, Cal. I want to talk.”
“I don’t want to fight either.”
“Okay, then I’ll go first.” She takes a bite of pizza, chews it, then takes a drink from her beer before talking. “Sometimes, being in a relationship with you is more like being your caretaker than being your girlfriend. It’s exhausting, sometimes, living within the structure you need in order to feel okay or whatever. Since you came here, I’ve felt free. I don’t know if you realize how rigid you can be about your routine, but it’s really confining.”
“My f-friend”—I have to clear my throat—“she’s said things about me being afraid of change. And honestly? I know she’s right.”
“This is the same friend who’s in the picture?”
“It is.” I nod. “Billie is her name. She’s a musician.”
“Ah, so that’s the connection. You’ve always loved live music.” She takes another bite. “I’m glad you have someone here. I know the move was hard for you.”
I take a bite of my pizza, but it tastes like ash in my mouth. Conversations like the one we’re having make me have…feelings…and I don’t know where to put all that emotion. It has to go somewhere, but I don’t know what to do with it.
“You’re a brilliant player with a brilliant mind, Cal.” Emily is sounding as sad as I think I feel. “A genius, really, and so exciting to watch. And you’re handsome. Gorgeous. Amazing body. You’re a poster-boy for hot athletes. And to most people, that aloof, rigid thing probably plays like cockiness, but I know what it really is.”
I tense up because I know what she really means. “But you stayed in it because it was fun to be on the arm of an athlete who makes a lot of money. Yeah, you told me that already.”
“I’m sorry I said those things. I do care about you, Cal. But if we’re being honest, have we ever had that consuming kind of love that people write about? Have we ever had much in common?”
“I guess not,” I admit, my thoughts going to my time with Billie, to the way conversation was generally easy and relaxed. Fun. And I can’t deny how my body responds to her, to the way my mouth feels on hers.
I haven’t felt that way with anyone before, not even Emily, whom I was supposed to be in love with. I may be oblivious sometimes, but I know where this conversation is going. My heart should be broken right now and it’s just…not.
“I feel like you see in black-and-white. Numbers and science. And I need someone who can see in color. Does that make sense?”
“Not really, Em.”
“That’s exactly the reason we should break up.”
22
i felt something
Billie
“So, you told the band about Kit’s offer?” Stuart asks as we walk out of the movie theater.
I agreed to a date with him, and it’s almost like normal between us, apart from him holding my hand, which I’m not generally opposed to, even though I know it means something different to him than it does to me.
We saw a blow-up movie. Not high on my list, but it was entertaining, I guess. I don’t go to the movies very often.
“I did, and I also told them I’m not keen on taking handouts from my family. They both rolled their eyes at me and said they understood, but I think it was just a stall tactic.”
“Stalling for what?”
Just then, I get a joint text. From Nikki and Sven:
Nikki + 1: Outvoting you. We’re doing the soundtrack whether you like it or not.
I roll my eyes and hold my phone up for Stuart to see. He chuckles and says, “Well, you called that one.”
I text them back a thumbs-up emoji. What the hell. Might as well give my brother and my band what they all want.
Stuart nudges me with his shoulder. “This is a good thing. So much good can come from it.”
I shrug. “Maybe. Sometimes working with my family isn’t worth the hassle. But we’ll give it a try.”
“Your family just wants to help. They want you to be successful.”
“You know better than that, Stu. You’ve known me a long time. You know why I came here to live instead of staying in that world. My mom had me in makeup, doing go-sees from like age five. She toted me around making me sing, and dance, and act, like I was an ornamental commodity. It was not about wanting what was best for me. And they still don’t know me or what I really want in life. They just want me to conform to live within their idea of success or whatever. Unless they can mold me into what they want me to be, then I am nothing but an embarrassment.”