CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cal
God. This place smells like a grandma’s attic. The musty smell invades my senses as Aspen and I stand inside a thrift store. Racks upon racks of used clothing fill the store. Shelves and glass cases display old Halloween knickknacks and decorations as the holiday quickly approaches. I have no idea what we are doing here; this woman has more money than she could ever know what to do with, yet she chose to come here.
It’s morning, and the store is empty, sans the little old lady who looks to be in her eighties. I hand her a few hundred-dollar bills to lock the doors to the shop behind us until we’re finished with whatever this is.
“Why did we stop here again?”
As we pass a glass case, I tap a bobblehead black cat wearing a witch’s hat; the head wiggles and wobbles around. I look around, and a chill visibly runs through me as I take in all the used clothes. Aspen rolls her eyes, grabs my hand, and pulls me towards the men’s section.
“Don’t be such a name brand whore, Hotshot. We’re here because I want to be, and you’re going to be a good sport about this. We’re playing a game. Capisce?” She laughs. “Okay. Now, close your eyes. And don’t peek!” She warns.
I didn’t come shopping with her to play games; I came with her today to help pick out Tuck’s hockey gear, since his first practice is this evening. For the past few weeks, since agreeing to sign him up for hockey, Aspen has been busy with work, and I’ve been in grueling practices. Our time to buy him gear has run out. When she gives me a pleading look and pouts her bottom lip, I relent with a sigh and close my eyes. Air hits my face, and I can only assume she is waving her hand in front of it.
“I’m going to guide you through the store, and you’re going to feel and grab.” She giggles.
“Feel and grab sounds like an interesting game, Firecracker.” I chuckle.
“Shut up,” she laughs. “Okay, start here; just run your hands along the clothes and pick out something.”
Aspen goes on to explain her ridiculous rules, then with my hand in hers, she leads me through the store. My fingers fumble along the racks of shirts, feeling the textures; I’m only allowed to touch the upper part of the sleeves. I can’t see the color or print, but I come across one that has the texture of a dress shirt and snatch it up. We do the same thing with the pants; the same rule applying. I feel for texture and pluck the hanger from the rack, handing it to her. When we get to the ties, I’m not allowed to do anything except touch the top part; it feels silky, so I point, and she removes the tie from the hook.
Throughout our game, her laughter plays on like a melody. I’m only allowed to feel the top of the shoes and the rim of the hats. I have a suspicion she is making these rules up as she goes because these weren’t the ones we started with. I’m being a good sport, doing as the boss woman says. We come to a dead stop. Slowly, I peel my eyes open. As I glance at everything in her hand, my eyes spring wide. A booming laugh escapes my mouth.
“Now, go put all of this on.” She shoves the clothes at me haphazardly.
I look down at the them. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen once I picked everything out, but there is no fucking way I’m putting this shit on. She’s out of her ever-loving mind. It’s not that I’m stuck up; it’s just the thought of putting on someone else’s clothes that makes my skin crawl. Probably because that’s all I was afforded as a child. With one raised brow, she gestures her hand toward the dressing room. I want to put up a fight, but I know it would be useless.
I give her a scathing glare. “Fine, but you’re next!” I point at her.
My gaze lingers on the clothes hanging on the hook and the hat laying on the dressing room chair; I hesitate. The shoes aren’t that bad; they’re stylish, though they’re way too small. I’m going to look like a complete idiot; my hesitation isn’t about that. But, to hear her laugh, I would do just about anything. A long inhale fills my lungs.
Am I fucking doing this? Reluctant, I stand with my hands on my hips, making no move to change.
“Just put it on, Hotshot, and don’t look in the mirror,” she calls out on the other side of the dressing room door.
“You’re still making up rules as we go, I see.”
I change into the atrocious get-up. This is stupid; I don’t need to look in the mirror to know how ridiculous I look.
When I step out of the dressing room, Aspen immediately bursts out laughing. She’s bent over, one hand on the arm of a chair, holding herself up. She pauses; her face is red with tears streaking down. Then, she burst into more uncontrollable laughter. I know it’s bad, but damn, how bad can it be? I face the mirror, catching sight of myself. I try to hold it in, but a laugh flies out of my mouth. I look completely unhinged, sporting a purple blazer with faux fur on the lapels, Hawaiian shirt with flamingos, neon green golf shorts, and a silk scarf decorated with tiny snowmen and Christmas trees tied around my neck. The brown leather dress shoes don’t fit at all, so I wear them as slides with my feet resting on the heels. An ugly black hat topped with big purple peonies rests on my head. She snaps a picture with her phone.
My eyes widen, and she laughs. Reaching for her, I try to grab the menacing device from her hand, but she pulls away—twisting her body one direction, then the other. I wrap her in my arms, swinging her around, as I try to pluck the phone from her hand. She squeals and shoves her device into her pants.
“Oh, you laugh now, little missy, but paybacks a bitch. You better not send that picture to anyon e.” I set her to her feet.
“Only if you wear that the entire time I pick,” she volleys.
Taking the scarf from around my neck, I turn her around. I lean in as I place the silk fabric over her eyes and whisper in her ear.
“I don’t trust you not to peek.” I tie the silk around her head.
When I turn her back around, she’s biting her lip. I wonder what her lips would feel like.
Shaking the thought, I guide her to the most hideous items I can find, making up my own rules as we go. Aspen comes out of the dressing room, looking utterly ridiculous. She’s in a white, nineteen-nineties, poofy-sleeved, mid-length, floral dress, a pair of baggy khakis, a green boa draped over her arms, and resting on top of her head is a vintage red beret with a red veil and feathers. The heels are sexy, though. I take picture after picture of her posing ridiculously. My body is shaking in laughter, so half of these are probably going to be blurry. I feel life breathed into me.
“Hold on,” she says, plucking the phone from my hand.
Aspen asks the store clerk to take our picture. The old lady chuckles as she takes several of us together. Aspen retrieves her phone and angles it above us. I bend down to her height and she takes a selfie of us cheek to cheek.
“You two are just adorable together,” the little old lady says.
Both of our eyes widen. We burst out laughing again. We put back all the items, and I slip the little old lady another one-hundred-dollar bill for her time. Then race Aspen to her new Range Rover, plucking the keys out of her hand on the way. Rounding the SUV, I open the passenger side door for her, holding out my hand to help her in. She hates it when I do this because she says it’s not a “friend” thing to do. Whatever. I’m doing it anyways; I guess I’m old-fashioned.
“I can drive, you know?”
“Pfft. Tell that to the front end of my car,” I counter.
“So, tell me more about you.”
I hesitate, “I grew up in Washington and went to college in Seattle, where I was drafted into the NHL. My rookie year, until about three and a half years ago, was spent playing for Colorado. Then, I was sold in a fire sale to your dad. I’ve been in New York ever since.” I keep it brief, not wanting to relive the depressing details of my life. It’s just not something I share with anyone. “So, what we did back there, you’ve done that before?”
“The game we just played?” She asks chuckling, and I nod my head. “Oh yes. Where I’m from . . . well, you see, it’s a very small town. There are literally two stoplights . . . wait, no, three actually, but one of them is a blinking red and yellow light that doesn’t work anymore. Anyways, there’s really nothing to do close by, so when River and I were bored, we would go to this old consignment store on Main Street and play that game; we’d use the pictures as blackmail.” She laughs.
“So, you lived in Washington and in Colorado. What was it like in Colorado?”
I immediately want to shut down. Seeing the perfect opportunity to keep her out of my past, I pull into her favorite coffee shop. “What’s your favorite coffee?” I ask, jumping out of the car to avoid any more questions about my life.
“White chocolate mocha latte.” Her face lights up.
We stroll into the coffee shop, and once we’ve ordered, I hand my black Amex card to the barista. While we wait for our drinks, I open my cell to make sure the store I’m looking for is within walking distance. With our coffees in hand, we head out the door.
“I have a treat for you.” I steer her down the sidewalk to the store at the corner of Broadway and twenty-second street. “Close your eyes.”
She rolls her eyes, then closes them. As I guide her through the entrance, someone greets us, “Welcome to the Harry Potter Store.”
Her eyes pop open as she looks up and turns around to take in our surroundings. She faces me, and her smile is enough to knock me on my ass.
“Wow,” she whispers. “This is amazing.”
As we roam around the store, Aspen takes me by the hand, dragging me along with her from one thing to another. Toward the back of the store we find a bar. Her text notification pings at the same time as mine.
Aspen takes out her phone and barks a laugh that catches me off guard, and I peer over at her questioningly. I pull out my phone to find a text from Carter; I type out a quick response, then shove the device back into my pocket.
“I just got a text from River.” She flashes the phone at me to look at her text.
River: Can I run Carter over with the Zamboni?!?
River: Never mind; that’s too messy. Could you just trade him?
I bark out a laugh, pulling my phone from my pocket and handing it to her.
Carter: This girl does know I’m up for a challenge, right?
Me: What girl?
Carter: River. I asked her again if she wanted to have a drink with me, and you know what her response was?
Carter: That if I asked her again, she was going to run me over with the Zamboni.
Carter: She hates me for no damn reason, but that’s okay, hate sex is great sex.
“They will never happen,” Aspen says.
She doesn’t know Carter very well. That guy doesn’t back down from shit.
The bartender moseys over and interrupts us, “One for you both?” He questions in an English accent while slinging a white towel over his shoulder.
I hand him my card. “Please.”
Turning back to Aspen, I say, “Eh. I’ll take you up on that bet. I’ll put one hundred dollars on them hooking up within six months.” I hold my hand out to shake hers with no intention of ever making her pay if I win.
“Bet, Hotshot.” She shakes my hand.
I pluck my phone from Aspen’s other hand and stuff it back in my pocket to give her my full attention. Once the bartender places our butter-beers in front of us, we talk about her childhood with River, then we touch on mine a bit, but still, I try to steer away from too many details. We finish our drinks; Aspen only drank half due to being full from the coffee. Then we’re off to find the sorting hat, and the both of us end up in Slytherin.
“You know, I’m Gryffindor all the way, but I’m sidled up next to your rotten ass, and you know the saying . . . ‘You’re the company you keep.’” She giggles. I pinch her side.
She picks out wands for Tuck and Elija, and then we browse through other interactive experiences. I’m stopped several times to sign autographs while Aspen watches patiently with a sweet smile. She gladly takes the picture when my fans ask and hand over their phones. Several bags in hand, and three hours later, we stroll out of the store.
“Thank you,” she breathes and surprises me with a hug. I hesitate for a second but wrap my arms tight around her and breathe in the intoxicating floral scent of her perfume. Her body feels so right next to mine.
“This day has been incredible. Nobody has ever done anything this nice for me,” she adds, looking up into my eyes with a bright smile. I want to bend down and place my lips on hers, only to see if they are as soft as they look.
When we’re seated in the SUV, she turns her body towards mine and pulls a box of jellybeans out of the bag.
Shaking the box, she asks, “Want to try one?”
“I haven’t had a jellybean in forever. Hit me.” I hold out my hand.
“Greedy girl. You’re only giving me one?” I shake my head and pop the jellybean into my mouth. The minute I bite down, I damn near throw up. Fumbling with the door handle, I fling the door open, jump out, and spit out the jellybean.
“Good God, Aspen. What the fuck was that?” It’s taking all I have not to hurl. I reach into her glovebox and pull out a napkin, trying to wipe the taste off my tongue.
Aspen laughs; it’s a full-on, uncontrollable, body-shaking, tears-rolling-down-your-cheek kind of laugh.
“Oh! I have an idea!” She wipes her eyes. “Let’s pop them one at a time into our mouths and see who makes a face first.”
“You and your ideas, let me see that.” I snatch the box out of her hand and look over the flavors: earwax, rotten egg, vomit. I shake my head vigorously. “Nope! No way.” I pass the box of jellybeans back to her.
“Oh, come on, Callan Miles, live a little. Don’t be such a wuss.” She giggles as she dumps the jellybeans into her hand. She holds out a fistful of them and bats her gorgeous green eyes. Fuck! For some reason I can’t say no to her.
I relent and hold out my hand. “Fine! Ugh . . . you are the worst; you know that, woman?”
“On the count of three . . . One. Two. Three,” she says and pops a jellybean into her mouth, and I do the same. Mine tastes like black pepper. The flavor isn’t terrible, though a little strong. I can see her eyes watering, but she is trying like hell to keep a straight face.
“Wait!” I hold up a hand after the first one. “What do we get if we win?”
“Winner’s choice. But just so you know, if I win, you have to come over and do my laundry . . . for a whole week,” she says, coaxing a chuckle out of me.
We repeat the process on the count of three, two more times, before she jumps out of the car and heaves. I feel kind of bad, but karma is a . . . well, you know, and she did trick me with the first jellybean and she also made me wear that ridiculous outfit today.
Aspen slides back into the car and reaches into her purse before popping a stick of gum in her mouth.
“Do I even want to know what flavor that was?” I ask curiously.
She laughs at her expense and runs her hand through her hair. “Probably not.”
The way her face lights up causes my heart rate to spike, and for the second time today, I feel a little more alive. She’s brought out a playful side of me that I never knew I had.
Once we’ve completed our shopping at the hockey store, I drive us to pick up Tuck. I pull up behind the long line of cars parked in front of the school, and we wait for classes to be released. Kids begin to filter outside of the building, then Tuck bursts out the glass doors with a group of boys. Finding Aspen’s SUV, he says goodbye to his friends and makes his way across the crosswalk to the passenger door. As he sees me in the driver’s seat, he becomes visibly excited and moves to the rear door of the SUV.
I push the button to unlock the doors, and he hops into the back seat. While putting on his seatbelt, he begins to chatter about his day. Leaning forward, with both hands on each of our seats, he asks, “Cal, are you coming to watch me practice?”
I look at him through the rearview mirror. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Tuck turns his head towards Aspen. “Mom, did you get my gear?”
“Sure did, Bud. Everything is in the trunk.”
The relief that takes over his expressions sends a pang to my heart. It takes me back to my childhood when I didn’t know if or when I would be able to get the things I needed. I know he will never have to worry about anything, but I still understand his concern. With the schedule we’ve been dealing with, finding time has made shopping for him difficult, and we were down to the wire.
We opt to stop by their house first so we can make dinner and then head over to the practice facility. When we walk down to the ice and the kids see us, their chatter immediately stops.
“Wow. That’s Callan Miles!” A kid with blonde hair states. Elija runs over and gives Tuck a fist bump before they take off to the locker room to change. Aspen and I sit with Ivan and Evie, and I can’t help but notice the side glances Ivan is throwing my way.
“What?” I shrug.
“Nothing.” He smirks.
The boys filter onto the ice, and the coach rounds them up, and begins practice. He asks them questions, then begins breakout drills. Tuck is a natural. Spending this past summer training him and then watching him implement what he’s learned on the ice fills me with pride. He dekes on several of the boys once they’ve moved into the team scrimmage. The puck is passed back and forth between other players before coming back to Tuck, where he drives it down the ice and makes a wrist shot into the goal. The scrimmage continues with Tuck gaining most of the possessions and sending the puck into the goal. The coach makes notes on his clipboard, then blows a few puffs on his whistle to stop practice.
The kids gather in a circle around the coach as he reads from his clipboard to call out names and the positions they will play. When he says, “Tucker Taylor, you’ll be our center.” I nearly come out of my seat. I want to jump in the air and fist pump. Fuck yes! An overwhelming sense of pride consumes me, and I can’t fight the smile beaming on my face. Aspen looks at me and gives a knowing wink, and damn, every time I look at her, my heart begins racing at an unbelievable speed.
Once practice is over and I’ve taken Aspen and Tuck back home, I head across the street. It’s dark, and the streetlights illuminate the road. Aspen stops me halfway to my house.
“Hey, Cal?” She calls out, and I turn around in the middle of the road. Fuck, with the way the moon is beaming down on her, she’s breath taking.
“Thank you for today. It was one of the best days I’ve had in a really long time.”
I want to trot back over there and wrap her in my arms like I did earlier today, but I stop myself and shake my head. “I should be thanking you. Goodnight, Firecracker.”
After finally making it inside my house, I lean my back against the front door. My eyes close as an ache builds inside my chest. I press my fist to it, trying to alleviate the pain, but it’s no use. No matter what I do, there will always be a dull ache there. My thoughts begin to circle around my day with Aspen. She brings so much light into the darkness that has become my life. Every day, I live just a little bit more, but with that also comes guilt. Even as the guilt eats at me, when my head hits the pillow, it’s Aspen’s face I fall asleep to.