I hop on the 10 freeway which is busy, as always. The only part of LA that grates on my nerves is the traffic at weird hours, like ten at night on a Tuesday. Where the hell are all these people going?
“One shit game so you call me at one in the morning, my time, and you want to shrink your head?” Conner is laughing at me now, which does nothing to improve my mood. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Sorry. I know you don’t have a game tomorrow and you’re a bit of a night owl. And it felt like an emergency. It’s not about the one game.” I sigh. “Look, forget it. I’ll call Grady. He’s way less judgey than you.”
I’m about to punch the end button on the screen on my dash when Conner speaks again. “Hold up! Hold up! I’m sorry. I’m being a dick.”
“You are.”
“Sorry. Again. Honestly.” Conner’s voice loses its teasing tone. “To get back on track, yes. I see a sports psychologist. Ever since the waivers bullshit last year. And I highly recommend it, for on-ice issues and off.”
“You have off-ice issues?” I ask, floored because Conner is the absolute most calm, cool, and collected Garrison… hell, human, I have ever known. I’ve always felt like the expression ‘Golden Boy’ was created for him. He’s smart, talented, level-headed, and life just always seems effortlessly perfect for him.
"Dude, seriously?" He seems one part miffed and one part stunned that I'm questioning it. "I was about to become the first Garrison to fail at hockey. I'm the eldest of a generation that, sometimes, seems far more talented than my old ass. I was trying to woo a woman far out of my league when my confidence was in the toilet. Yeah. I had off-ice issues."
Hearing him talk like that blows my mind. We all knew he was still the best of the best, even if the Barons weren’t willing to admit it. “The only thing that’s true in that statement is that Mac is kind of out of your league.”
“She is, and fuck you,” Conner laughs. “So you gonna tell me what’s up? If it isn’t just an over-dramatic reaction to one shitty game?”
“I…” I want to tell him so badly, but I can’t risk it. If my mother and father find out about their grandchild from him, or Mac because I know he shares everything with her, then I’ll never forgive myself. So I keep the depths of my turmoil to myself. The surface stuff is enough. “Diana Hutchens died in a car crash in the UK and I’m kind of all over the place about it.”
“What? Shit. Tate… that’s horrible,” Conner says and he, once again, sounds genuinely concerned for me. “You guys were close.”
“Yeah. I mean, we were…” I pause. “It’s just fucked. I didn’t… I feel guilty that we weren’t more, you know. Like I don’t know… I just… I never thought I would never see her again.”
“Did you want more with her?” He seems genuinely shocked, which is fair.
“No,” I admit and I envision Dylan’s cute little face as I exit the freeway and I feel like I’m drowning in grief again. “And I hate myself for that.”
"Did she want more?" Conner asks gently. "I know some people, men or women, agree to the no-strings thing but really, they want strings. I can understand feeling guilty if Diana was like that and you weren't and you never got the chance to talk it out."
“No. I mean… she had the opportunity to try and…” I stop before I say too much. “No. She never pushed. Never wanted more. I just… I don’t know. I’m messed up and need an ear. And no offense but not someone named Garrison.”
“Fair enough,” Conner says, his tone soothing and most importantly understanding. Then I hear a muffled sound. “Sorry baby. I’m coming to bed now. Promise.”
There are more muffled sounds and a distant female laugh. I know it's Mackenzie, his girlfriend. When he speaks to me again, it's crazy but I can hear the happiness in his voice. "I will text you my shrink's contact info ASAP."
“We don’t like the term shrink!” I hear Mac call out and I cringe because she’s now going to know I asked for a psychologist. But she’s a full-fledged, practicing psychiatrist so she must not go blabbing about stuff like this, right? Doctor oath or some such crap.
“Sorry Princess,” Conner calls out.
“I don’t like Princess either!” she yells back but her voice is light and happy.
Their whole vibe is nice, cute even. Kind of delightful, but utterly foreign to me, and that doesn't bug me one bit. I don't mind not knowing what a committed relationship is like. I have other things to concentrate on, a lot of other things now. "Thanks, Con, and I don't need to ask you and Mac to keep this out of the family group chats. All of them."
“Yeah of course,” Conner replies solemnly. “You don’t need to ask. And Tater, if you do ever want to unload on a Garrison, I’m your man. Seriously. Day or night.”
"I appreciate it cuz," I say and my shoulders relax a little as I say goodbye and turn onto Abbott Kinney. I have a bit of a plan. I mean, I have a start. Between the lawyer and the psychologist maybe I can make this work, in my head and real life.
Chapter7
Tate
My street is bustling, almost as busy as the freeway. I wonder if the traffic is part of the problem for Dylan’s sleep regression. It’s loud on my street. Always.
I swipe my fob and the gate to my complex slides open. I see Tara, my neighbor who works for some silly celebrity website, getting out of her Porsche a few stalls over. We’ve been flirting for the last two months since she moved in, but I haven’t made an official move. Yet. There was a yet there, but now… well hooking up is the last thing on my To Do list.
“Hi Tara,” I say with a wave and she parts her perfectly painted lips in a broad smile.
