“What do you mean?” she asks, swiveling to face me.
“I want you to listen to that message on my phone.”
“Declan, I can’t. It’s private. None of my business.”
I clasp my hands in my lap. They’re suddenly sweaty with nerves as the past floods back and I anticipate whatever the caller has to say. “I need you to.” I need someone else to filter the message for me.
“Why?” she asks. “The other guys on your team are here. Why not have one of them do it?”
“Because they’re not you. Because they rely on me for my constant strength and focus.”
“Do you mean the content of the message might show weakness?” She’s smart and quick to pick up on what I can’t say. When I don’t reply, she says, “And you trust me with that?” Maggie points at herself and then licks some frosting off her finger.
Despite the subject of this conversation, my mouth waters.
“I trust you because you didn’t jump on the opportunity to use the fact that you had my phone against me.”
“Why would I do that? Who would do that?” she asks aghast.
“Maggie-ums, you’re smart and perceptive, but you have no idea how ruthless people who want a piece of fame and fortune can be. As much as the media gives to my career, they could just as easily take it away. I keep up the bravado publicly and toe the line with Coach Hammer, but despite my persona, I get the point that the commissioner is trying to make. I don’t want the team to be cast into the shadows because of me...” Because of the real scandal of my past.
“I don’t know, Declan.” I’m not sure if it’s a statement or a question.
“Please?” I ask. The desperation in my tone jolts me with a shock of unreality, but so had the call I’d received years before from that same number. Typically, I’m not the kind of guy to say please or to be vulnerable with anyone, but Maggie draws something out of me that I can’t explain.
“What if the call is good news? Something pleasing. A charity event or birthday invite or an upcoming visit from your old friend?”
I tuck my head back and snort. “You could be right. I guess I just expected the worst.” I say it, but I don’t mean it. Whatever it is, it’s pretty close to the worst.
“Someone once told me that life is the way we perceive it. If we expect bad things, that’s what we’ll see. If we anticipate good stuff, we’ll get more of that.” The corner of her mouth lifts in a half-smile.
“Makes sense.”
“That someone was you, silly.” She passes me the phone. It’s as heavy as a sack of bricks. I’d know, my old trainer used to have me haul them.
Maggie inclines her head, indicating I listen to the voicemail.
I debate and then pass it back to her. “Can’t.”
“Won’t.”
“You won’t listen to it?” I ask.
“I mean, youcanlisten to it. You’re choosing not to. Youwon’t.”
“Fine. I admit that. I’d just rather not. Even if it’s good news.”
“How about this? We’ll play rock, paper, scissors. The best of three has to listen to the message.”
“Okay. I’m good at this.” I’m a winner. Only, this is a game of chance. I try to get into the mind of my opponent. Is Maggie a rock, paper, or scissors kind of gal? I should know this. On the outside, she seems like paper, but on the inside, she’s solid, especially given that bit of wisdom she dropped about perception. Not because I said it, but because she remembered it. Maybe needed it at some point.
Sure enough, she goes with scissors. I opt for rock.
“Rock beats scissors,” I say with confidence.
We tuck our hands behind our backs. She goes with scissors the next time and I opt for paper.
“I won, but now we’re tied. Whoever loses the next round has to listen to the call,” she says.
