35. The Brotherhood of the Traveling Hat
35
THE brOTHERHOOD OF THE TRAVELING HAT
Beck
On Friday morning, I hit the gym to work off that stuffing and those pies. But that meal was worth it. The whole day was worth it. These last few weeks have been worth every garage exit and entrance, every late-night visit, and every morning escape.
Today, though? I need exercise and lots of it.
I pound the treadmill on a high incline, blasting Beethoven, running through plays for this Sunday’s matchup against the Vegas Pioneers. As I’m finishing, Carter strides in, heads over to my row, and claims the treadmill next to mine. I pop out my earbuds. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty good, man. I had a date last night.” He punches in a program on the machine and starts a light jog.
“On Thanksgiving?” That’s unusual.
He wiggles his brow. “She likes me, dude. I told you, I’m an excellent boyfriend. We went out last weekend too. Her name is Sasha. And, get this,” he says, stretching across the machine to smack my arm. “We’re meeting for a coffee in an hour at Doctor Insomnia’s. She’s an athlete too, and she loves post-workout dates. She’s at a jump-rope class nearby.”
“She sounds great,” I say, thrilled for my friend.
His face turns ashen. “Shit. What should I do if I’m still seeing Sasha at the auction next month?”
I laugh at his quandary and offer an obvious solution. “Have her bid on you.”
He rolls his eyes. “Sheesh. Of course. But I’d need to foot the bill, right?”
“Probably,” I say.
“What about you? Are you still not dating?”
A flash of guilt rushes through me. “I just want to focus on football. That’s all,” I say, hoping he can’t tell I’m lying. If I can ever come clean about Jason, I hope Carter will understand why I kept it a secret.
“So when some chick or some dude bids ten large, you’re just going to go on a platonic date, right?” he asks.
“Well, yeah. The marketing agency has that in its bios, I think,” I say.
I picture the auction. Me on stage in a sharp suit. An emcee reading my bio. I smile. I pose. I wait for bids like a cow at the market. Yeah, that night will require about ten thousand hours of meditation and an extra serving of breathing exercises. Why the hell did I sign up for it?
Oh, right. To make Jason jealous.
What a brilliant plan that was.
But I smile to myself. The night he showed up at my house, hot, bothered, and jealous, was all worth it.
I finish my workout and tell Carter I’m taking off. “Good luck on your date.”
“Thanks, man. See you at practice this afternoon.”
I head out, walking the few blocks to my home when my phone pings with a text from Carter. Dude! My hair looks like shit. You’re close to the gym, and I don’t have a hat with me! Can you bring me back that Seductive hat?
I stop in my tracks at the curb, my throat hurting. I knocked the hat behind the shelves at Jason’s house on Halloween.
But I’ve got this. I open my mental playbook, flip a few pages, and pick a play fake. I’ll tell him I lost it. Easy enough. I start to reply, but he writes again.
Oh! Did I ever tell you I thought Jason was with Seductive too? I was sure I saw a Seductive hat at his house. I swear that hat is like The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and before you ask how I know that book, I have a little sister, and I’m the guy who likes T-Swift. Also, that book is awesome.
My stomach slams upside down like an underground fighter just flipped me to my back.
Is this his way of telling me he knows I’m with Jason? I’m standing on the corner of Hayes and Linden, thoroughly flustered as I reread his note. Do I go home? Do I answer this message? Do I make a joke about hats or books or Taylor Swift? No idea, so I respond with, Sorry, bud. I don’t have the hat.
I draw a deep breath, trying to stay ahead of my worry. I practice four deep breaths in, then four breaths out the rest of the way home. If I can just calm myself, I won’t have to worry Jason about Carter’s texts. I can manage this minor situation on my own. But when I get to my house, my phone buzzes again. This time, it’s an email from Wilder.
And it’s titled How’s today?
My hands shake as I open it.
Can you and Jason McKay meet in my office at noon?
I pace, wearing a rut on the floorboards as I wait for my phone to ring after texting Jason and asking him to call me ASAP. Finally, my cell takes mercy on me, and his name flashes on the screen.
I slide my thumb so fast to answer it, slamming the device against my ear. “Hey. I got this email from Wilder asking to meet with him and you in an hour. Do you know what’s going on?”
“No idea. I got an email from Nadia asking the same thing. Asking to meet with you and her,” he says. “I got it twenty minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” I snap.
“I was trying to figure out what to do. What to say. I don’t have a clue. Okay?” he fires back.
I sigh, but I’m still annoyed with everyone. Mostly myself, since I’ll need to tell Jason about Nadia in the garage. That will suck. “Sorry. This is just freaking me out. They know. They obviously know. I mean, Carter might even know.”
“Why would Carter know?”
Still flustered, I run through the text exchange from Carter, telling Jason everything.
“Shit,” Jason says, and he sounds guilty.
“What? What is it?” I ask, strung tight with something worse than nerves. With utter fear.
“He asked about the hat at the bookstore event. Well, he asked if I was working with Seductive. He said he thought he saw a Seductive hat at my house.”
I sink onto the beanbag and drop my head in my hands. This is bad. This is so fucking bad. “What did you say?”
“I said his mankini must have drained out his brains, and then Nate said something about it going to his balls. It was nothing, Beck. The whole thing was nothing. Carter laughed it off. No one thought it was a thing,” he says, trying to reassure me.
But clearly, Carter thought the hat was a thing, and it is a very big thing. My heart gallops like a thoroughbred in the Belmont Stakes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were already stressed that night,” Jason says, defensive and this close to exasperated. Then he takes a beat. “And I didn’t want you to worry,” Jason adds softly. “I wanted to handle it. I care about you.”
He sounds worried now—but in a way I never expected. Worried that he hurt me.
I drag a hand down my face, slumping deeper into the chair. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. I should have told you I saw Nadia at the parking lot last week. When I kissed you,” I say, hoping he won’t hate me for hiding the truth.
The line goes deathly silent for several horrible seconds. “What did you say?” he whispers.
I feel like I’m confessing a crime. “When we pulled out, her car drove past us. I don’t think she saw us, and I didn’t want to say anything because we were having such a good time, and we’d made Thanksgiving plans, and I don’t want to be the guy constantly causing problems for you.” The words come out in a six-car pile-up.
Jason breathes out hard. Once. Twice. “We need to go see them. Now. I’ll pick you up. We have to figure out what to say.”
Then, he hangs up. Dread roars through me as I wait for him to arrive.