Options. Wow. I really do have them. I know my pursuit of a pro career may not work out the way I want it to. Coach Van’s injury and career change is a testament to that. But I also know that if I don’t try, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
I’m done living someone else’s dream. It’s time to live my own.
33
Liza
It’s funny how Isaac always seems to get sick on the nights we have to prep for a home game, and how he miraculously recovers in time to work that game the next evening. And no, it’s not actually funny. It’s annoying as hell.
But I’m done reading the locker rooms for tomorrow night’s game, and I just got home, so I’m going to raid the pantry and pray I’ve got some ramen noodles or mac ‘n cheese cups hiding in some nook or cranny, just begging to be microwaved.
There’s a crowd of people gathered in the living room, but that’s not unusual. Mickey has designated evening visiting hours for the kitties to give Hazel and Doug some time alone, so anyone who wants kitten snuggles or tiny little bites and scratches only has to swing by the hockey house after nine p.m.
“Hey guys,” I call as I walk in the door. “I’m going to heat up some food, but don’t hog all the kittens like you did last night.”
“I make no promises,” Ollie hollers back.
Fallon’s studying at the kitchen table, so I offer her a wave and ask if she wants any pasta if I can scrounge up a box.
“Your dinner is already here,” she says, signing and pointing to a white paper bag on the table.
“I didn’t order anything,” I say, signing back.
She shrugs because we both know what is happening here. As sweet as it is, it’s also irritating.
“What did you get?” Bridgette asks, taking a seat next to Fallon at the table. “It smells yummy.”
“It’s a cobb salad with extra bleu cheese, “ I tell them, peeking into the bag. “With extra croutons and a side of fries. So, basically perfection in a paper bag.”
“You don’t seem too happy about it,” Fallon observes.
I sigh, unsure how to explain this to my friends. And unsure if I know enough sign language to make it make sense. I’ve picked up a lot living with Fallon, so I take a breath and do my best. “It’s sweet. He’s sweet. But it’s completely unnecessary. Do I appreciate Blue ordering dinner for me? Of course I do. But he needs to stop doing it. I know he’s got money, and I know he’s just trying to make my life easier, but he doesn’t have to pay someone to pick up food for me.”
Instead of agreeing with me, or even arguing with me, the girls both stare at me. Ollie strolls into the kitchen, obviously having overheard our conversation. He’s one of the nosiest people I know.
“Check the receipt,” he tells me. “See where he got it from.”
“It’s from Rinaldi’s. But the delivery service is…wait,Whoredash?Is this a joke?” I ask, still signing so it’s easier for Fallon to follow along.
“Who was your delivery person?” Ollie asks.
I check the slip again and read the name aloud. “Someone namedCobalt.”
Ollie chuckles. “He’s funny. Not as funny as I am, but the guy’s got a good sense of humor. You should give him another chance.”
“What?” I ask, trying to put all the pieces together. Thankfully, Bridgette fills in the blanks for me.
“Blue picks up the food and delivers it to you,”she says. “He doesn’t just send someone, he does it himself. And if he weren’t so busy with hockey, he’d probably cook it. He knows you’d never accept it if he offered to drop off dinner, so this is his workaround. And that load of laundry he dropped off the other day? He didn’t pay a service to wash your sheets and towels. He took them to the laundromat himself. He sat and studied while he waited for them to be done. He also texted me ten times to make sure he was doing it right, but I actually think that counts for him, and not against him.”
“But why would he do all that?” I ask.
“Because you’re right. Throwing money at something isn’t the same as doing it yourself,” Blue says, walking into the kitchen and riffling through the fridge for a sports drink. He looks as gorgeous as ever in his grey tee and sweats. I’m not sure why he’s wearing a name tag that saysHello, my name is…Gramps. On second thought, yes I do. That’s got to be Mickey’s handiwork.
“Bridgette’s got a point,” I say, turning to face him. “You’re busy with hockey. You don’t have time to do all of this for me.”
Blue leans against the counter and folds his arms over his chest. I swear he’s showing off his muscles just to mess with me. And it’s working. “I’ve got plenty of time because I really don’t have a social life right now. My girlfriend dumped my ass, as she should have, so that frees up a lot of space on my calendar. And speaking of my girlfriend? She was pretty phenomenal. She saw me at my worst and still believed in me. She’s so damn brave. She put all her trust in me. She was hesitant. Life has knocked her down before, but she believed me when I said I'd protect her, when I said I'd always have her back. She went all in for me, but I didn't do the same for her. I didn’t honor that promise. I acted like a fucking coward when my dad was around. I split myself into two people—the man I am, and the man my dad wants me tobe. I tried to play both sides, figured life is a game and I’m good at games. But it isn’t a game. She isn’t a game. And I’m the one who lost.”
It takes me a second to realize the room has cleared out, and only Blue and I are left standing here. Ollie’s got to be eavesdropping somewhere, but I can’t worry about that right now because all my focus is on Blue. His eyes burn with sincerity and I have to guard my heart or I’ll melt into a puddle right here on the kitchen floor.
