“Ayla. You’re a terrible liar. There’s no way you’re going to be able to pull that off.”
She tosses her head. “Sure, I could.”
I have to clench my jaw when I say, “I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.”
She swallows. “I understand.” She lifts her chin. “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about? Were you waiting for me here?”
“I…” Why was I waiting here? I don’t even know. “I just wanted to… you know. See how you’re doing.”
She gives me a narrow-eyed look. “That’s weird when you’re out with another woman.”
She’s not wrong.
We look at each other silently. The air vibrates around us.
“I’m doing great. Thanks.” She squeezes by me in the hall and I watch her walk away.
Shit.That was just weird. Why would she ask such a dumb thing? Christ. She has to tell her family we’re separated. Why hasn’t she? That’s just… batshit.
Ayla’s always been steady and competent, the one everyone relies on to take care of things. She loves looking after people and making sure the people she loves are happy. But this is too far, even for her. She’s never been batty; she’s sensible and optimistic and encouraging. The idea that she’s lying to her family is mind-blowing.
I quickly use the men’s room then return to Emma. She’s now talking to a man and a woman I don’t know, and she introduces us. We spend the rest of the evening schmoozing withpeople she knows, looking at snooty paintings, and drinking red wine. And trying to avoid looking for Ayla.
“It’s alienation giving way to rage and grief,” one woman says as we observe a painting.
“I love how his process brings out the aesthetics of equal proportions on canvas,” someone else remarks.
I don’t know what that means.
Even though I’m trying to ignore Ayla, I can’t help but notice that Rachel has attached herself to the artist and Ayla’s in a far corner studying the art by herself.
The urge to fix things for her mounts inside me. I couldn’t fix things before. Why would I think I could fix things now?
* * *
We leave the next morning on a road trip to Vancouver and then Seattle. I want to focus on hockey, but the flight to Vancouver is long, six hours, giving me way too much time to think. I try to read a book I picked up about the Pyramids. I got interested when I watched a TV show about a guy who investigates unsolved mysteries around the world, and he talked about all the conspiracy theories about how the Pyramids were built. But my mind keeps wandering. Running into Ayla and hearing her crazy proposition sticks in my mind, despite my best efforts to push it away. It’s not my problem anymore.
Keep telling yourself that, bud.
I attempt a card game with Crusher, Trev, and Mack, but I end up folding in record time and I bow out. Then I pretend to have a nap.
Ayla can’t keep lying to her family. That makes me nuts. Family is so important to her. I get it; family is important to me, too. When my dad passed away when I was sixteen, I knew I had to be the one to look after my mom and two sisters. Sometimes,I may have overdone it… been a little overprotective, a little too bossy.
Ayla called me on that shit. I’m almost amused remembering when she flipped out because I always had to know where she was. When I tried to fix every little problem she had, but she only wanted someone to vent to. I’m less amused when I remember arguing with her about how she spent too much time sitting in Kane’s bedroom after he was gone, and telling her how to get over it. Guilt is like a skate blade digging into my ribs as I remember the things I said to her. The throb spreads through my torso. Which is why it’s for the best that we’re apart. And I need to butt out. Not my farm, not my pig shit.
We check in at the hotel located on the waterfront in Vancouver, which is a streamlined process for us; we just have to pick up envelopes laid out for us which have our room keys and also cash for our per diem for traveling. Everything in our rooms is ready for us as Miles, our operations guy, has checked them all ahead of our arrival, making sure the blackout curtains are closed, the room temperature is good, as in cold, and there are snacks and water ready. There are no other guests staying on the floor we’ve booked so things are quiet.
We all go out for a team dinner at a steakhouse that’s only a couple of minutes’ walk from the hotel. We’ve got a big, long table with bench seating on one side that looks out over the harbor through floor-to-ceiling windows.Nice.
I skip the beer and just drink a Coke while I look over the menu. I think every single one of us orders a steak, but we also get a bunch of appetizers for the table: mushroom and goat cheese dip, crab cakes, ahi tuna tataki.
“I’m telling you,” Crusher says while dunking grilled garlic bread into the mushroom dip. “The Wild Robotis the best movie I’ve seen in a long time.”
He hands me the plate and I take a slice of bread.
“Isn’t that a kids’ movie?”
“Nah.”
