“Yeah, Italy and New York kind of sucked because we just kept texting Mom and Dad for updates on you,” Callan says.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, you should really send us again.” Lola smiles and winks at me. “Or better yet, come with us. This summer. Once you’re cleared for this wonky ear shit.”
I give her a smile, but I’m not feeling hopeful. The paramedics who showed up at the cottage tried something called the Epley maneuver on me, it’s supposed to help with vertigo if it’s caused by crystals in the ear canal, but it didn’t help. Nothing felt right again until they gave me a shot of something in my ass. The doctor was a huge Riptide fan, and so he knew who I was when they brought me in, and I could tell from his somber expression that he also knew about my medical history. So he ordered more testing, and here we are. Waiting.
There’s a knock on the door. First, I see Angie’s face. She’s smiling, but it’s tentative. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Callan came while Angie stepped out to talk to Grady and check on my parents, and see if they got a flight. He hasn’t seen her bump yet, which is accentuated today because she’s in leggings and a clingy shirt. His eyes go right to it. “Hey Angie… are you… feeling alright? You look a little…”
“If you call her fat, I will slap you in honor of all women everywhere,” Lola says frankly.
“I was going to say, bloated?” Callan squeaks and dodges Lola’s hand as it flies out to swat him.
“I’m pregnant,” Angie says and raises her hand when Callan’s eyes bug out of his head. “Calm your tits.”
Callan presses his palms to his chest through his Henley. “I do not have tits. I have pecs. Well-developed, sexy pecs.”
Lola rolls her eyes. Angie walks over to hug Callan, and that’s when I see Grady. He walks in right behind her, filling the overly large opening to my room in the E.R. My heart soars out of some kind of muscle memory, and then it plummets like it should because fuck him.
“Hey man! Garrison, right?” Callan moves past Angie and walks towards Grady with stars in his eyes. “I’m Callan Casco. Nice to meet you. I’m a huge fan.”
I forget sometimes that Callan’s a goalie, like our dad, and his dream is to be where Grady is right now. Wait… “You should be at the rink.”
“I’m not playing tonight.”
“Even if they start Michaels, you still have to be there,” I argue and watch as he moves to the foot of my bed.
“I’ve got the flu. At least that’s what the press release will say because that’s what Coach is telling everyone. About both of us.” He seems so unbothered by this. Coach is lying for him? So he can come see me? Why would Coach do that?
“What? Why? What did you say to him?” I ask, and then my eyes dart to my siblings and back to Grady. “I don’t want you here.”
“Yeah, you do,” Grady replies.
“What’s… what’s going on here?” Lola asks quietly. “Hi. I remember you from Los Angeles.”
“Yeah. Hi. Grady Garrison.” He extends his hand, but Lola keeps her arms crossed and stares at it like he offered her a flaming bag of dog poop.
Lola clears her throat. “So, like, why are you here?”
Grady looks at me so long my heart starts to stutter. “Your brother is my best friend, and I wanted to be here for him.”
“You have a game tonight.”
“They’re gonna put in Michaels and put the EBUG on the bench. It’s fine.”
“EBUG?” Angie repeats, confused.
“Emergency Back-Up Goalie,” Lola explains, her tone annoyed not that Angie doesn’t know a rarely used hockey term but by the fact that she does know it. Lola’s biggest hardship in life is that she was born into a hockey family.
“You can play. You’re going to play. Go to the fucking arena, Grady,” I snap. “I don’t want you here.”
“Yeah, well, too bad. I can’t play. I’m in no headspace for it, and I’ll cost them,” Grady snaps back. “I have to be here with you for my own sanity. I’ve wasted too much fucking time pretending I don’t give a shit. I’ll go sit in the waiting room if I have to, but I’m not going to go play hockey and act like I’m not sick to my stomach over you and all the fucking time I’ve wasted running from this.”
The room is deadly silent. Callan and Lola are staring between Grady and me like they’re watching a tennis match. Angie finally steps forward. “Yeah, so I think we should maybe go to the cafeteria. Take a walk. Give them a minute.”
