17. Othelia
Chapter seventeen
Othelia
I wake to the sounds of crashing coming from downstairs. Sitting up and rubbing at my eyes, I throw my legs out of bed and slip my feet into my ratty old Hello Kitty slippers. Even though they’re falling apart and Hello Kitty’s head is not so intact anymore, I can’t bring myself to replace them. Rian and Sloane got them for me during their honeymoon trip back to Japan to visit Sloane’s family.
I re-tie my sleep shorts which have come undone during the nightly thrashing session I like to call sleep. That was one thing Clay could never handle: no matter how hard I try, once I hit REM sleep, it’s like I enter a boxing match and anyone near me is a willing contender. You’d think after years of sleeping on bunks in a tour bus that I’d be more tame, but nothing short of restraints can hold this girl down.
Stretching as I descend the stairs, I half expect to see a gang of intruders to match the amount of noise coming out of the downstairs closet. Instead, I come to a stop on the last step in front of a mountain of stuff taking up the entire entryway.
Protective gear, jackets, skates, umbrellas, cardboard boxes overflowing with magazines, brand new shoes. You name it and I could pick it out of the pile that lay at my feet.
Standing on my toes, I can just make out the outline of what I think is my brother’s ass sticking out of the closet door.
“Uh… Ri?”
He stumbles as he attempts to maneuver around the pile without creating an avalanche of belongings, gripping onto the wall for support.
“Have you seen my gloves?” he huffs, sounding breathless and agitated.
“Aren’t they in your bag with all of your gear?”
Head back in the closet, he continues to rummage through vast amounts of useless crap, jerseys from his college team, high school yearbooks, all flying out to add to the ever-growing pile.
“No, those are my training gloves, not my game gloves. I need my game gloves. I can’t play without them.”
“Can you not just take those and find the others when you aren’t expected to leave the house in the next… I don’t know…” I glance at the clock in the foyer “… ten minutes.”
He straightens, all 6’2 of him suddenly seeming to take over the entire hallway. Eyes narrowing, hands clenching. “Are you telling me to use my training gloves in my first away game back with the team?”
This feels like a trap, but apparently today I have woken up with a death wish. “Yeah… What's the difference? They’re just gloves, all designed to hold your stick.” I shrug, struggling to hold back a yawn.
That’s it. I can see the minute his resolve snaps.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, OTHELIA?”
Well shit, my full name. He must be serious. Putting my hands up in the air, I attempt to backpedal my reaction.
“OK, OK… Where was the last time you saw them?”
He runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t know, after the last game Sloane had aired them outside, because I can’t wash them, didn’t want to fuck with the luck they give me. Then… I don’t know.” His body collapses in on itself. “I’m so fucking useless without her. She helped me keep track of everything.”
“OK, here is what we’re gonna do. You go upstairs and get dressed. I will have a look around down here for your gloves. Do you have everything else ready to go?”
“Yeah, I just need to get Layla her morning bottle and organize whatever you might need while I’m gone this weekend.”
“Ri, I’ve been living here for five weeks now. You don’t need to organize anything. I already know where it all is. We’ll be fine.” Well, that was the mantra I’ve kept repeating to myself over the last few days to prepare for Rian’s departure.
We will be fine.
How bad can it be? I’m a grown ass adult and have been with Layla so much over the last five weeks that it’s now becoming second nature. Well, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Rian looks at me like he really wants to believe me but is still unconvinced I can handle twenty-four hours a day of nonstop baby time.
I try to make my expression seem as positive as I can, plastering on a grin so big it hurts my face.
“Go!” I yell, pushing him towards the stairs.
“Layla is asleep in her port-a-crib in the lounge.” He points to the lounge.
“OK, yes I’ve got her. Now go!” I push on his back to get him to take the first step. He relents and takes off two at a time, disappearing through the double doors of the master suite.
I stick my head around the corner of the lounge, peaking at the sleeping baby before making a beeline for the laundry at the back of the house. Checking through all the cupboards lining the walls and even walking around in circles on the back patio in case they got left outside in the madness of the last few months.
Nothing.
Feeling defeated and preparing for the shit storm that’s about to land when Rian realizes he’ll have to travel without his lucky gloves, I lock the glass door, turning to walk out, freezing when I see a pair of gloves dangling off the back of the laundry door.
Smiling, I reach up and unhook them from the door. I don’t understand the love of a hockey player and his equipment; they look exactly like his training pair, but I guess it’s similar to musicians and their favorite instruments.
Walking back towards the front of the house, my mouth pauses mid yell for Rian when a flash of red fabric on the inside of the gloves catches my eye. I turn out the cuff of the gloves so the red becomes more visible. Not just red fabric, but an inscription embroidered into the inner cuff.
Bringing the gloves close enough to read but not close enough to be knocked out from the overwhelming dude stench, more than ∞ + 1 is beautifully sewn into the right glove. Turning over the other, I find similar red stitching but a more curious inscription, potatoes . My forehead creases. Potatoes?
Sloane… of course. Now understanding his need to have this pair over the other, I still stand completely bewildered by her message, but feeling like the message couldn’t feel more like Sloane.
I make my way back through the kitchen and upstairs and turned right towards the master suite, knocking. I wait for his reply before entering. When I receive a muffled grunt in response, I pause my hand on the door handle, taking a breath before entering.
The room is just as I remember it, I swallow, forcing down my emotions not wanting Rian to see it and give him any other reason to think leaving is a bad idea. I know he has already been warring with himself and the guilt of leaving Layla behind.
I avoid looking at her side of the untouched bed, the place she died, turning my attention to Rian as he stands in front of the full-length mirror, doing up his cuffs. Holding the gloves out in front of me, I wave them like a white flag. He visibly relaxes at the sight of them before rushing forward to take them out of my hands, cradling them to his body.
“Where did you find them?”
“They were hanging on the back of the laundry door. She must’ve brought them inside after trying to get rid of your post-game stink. Trying being the word of the day.” I mime gagging.
“Thanks, Til.” His eyes crinkle as he gives me a soft smile.
“OK, if you’re good, I’m going to pick up the mess the size of Mt. Everest that you’ve left in the hall.”
I leave the room, turning back towards the door to close it gently, catching the briefest glimpse of Rian running his thumb over the inscription and the shattered expression on his face.
Music plays through the built-in speakers, Layla jams in her swing, kicking her feet along to the beat. It feels strange having your own music on repeat, but at this point, anything that keeps her happy is a win in my books.
I sit at the island, legs crossed, still in my pajamas sifting through the exorbitant amount of emails that have sat ignored in my inbox since moving in with Rian and Layla. Urgent emails from my record company wanting to know when I will be returning to LA to reschedule tour dates.
Recording of our next album is due to start after the holiday break, but I don’t know how I’m going to plan a tour, record an album and also be here for my brother and niece over the next few months.
Thank God the guys understand I need to be here. At least for now. In a few weeks’ time, I can reassess how everything is holding up and if Rian can find someone he trusts to stay with Layla while he’s away.
Rian flies into the kitchen, his shaggy hair wild and his tie undone around his neck. “Have you seen my keys?”
I use his entrance as an excuse to ignore them a little longer, shutting the screen and reaching over to pick up his keys from the counter in front of me and dangle them in the air.
“Ugh, you’re the best” He jogs up to me and grabs them before heading over to Layla and picking her up.
“Hey, my sweet girl. Daddy needs to go to work for the weekend, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you so much. Your Aunt Tilly will look after you while I’m away, and I’ll call you every night.” He snuggles her into his chest. Little cooing sounds from Layla make my heart melt.
He is such a good dad, and it kills me watching him struggle. It also breaks my heart that Sloane is missing out on seeing him with Layla. She would be swooning at the sight of my hulk of a brother snuggling and blowing raspberries on his daughter’s belly. I’m sure she would’ve made plenty of jokes about him knocking her up again in the near future.
Future .
The word makes my heart stop.
Sloane has no future, only the past. Only memories to share.
Tears prickle in the corner of my eye and I wipe them away on the sleeve of my robe before Rian can see. This is hard enough for him without adding my bullshit feelings to the mix too. God, I miss my best friend, but our family is more important than my hollowness. I can swallow in my self-pity later when no one’s around to see me break.
Plastering on a smile, even though I know it won’t reach my eyes, I jump off the stool and make my way over to the two of them.
“Ok, mister big shot. Time to go do what you do best.” I take Layla out of his arms and snuggle her into my chest. “I’ve got her, I promise.”
Layla, of course, chooses that moment to shriek like a banshee. Waving Rian towards the door, I begin shushing her while moving towards the kitchen to prepare a bottle. “I swear, Ri, we will be fine. She’s hungry, that’s all. I’ll have this sorted in no time.”
“Okay, okay.” He backs towards the hall, picking up his bags and slinging his suit jacket over his. “Remember, you can call Mom if you have any emergencies, and I’ll keep my phone on me as much as I can. Also, make sure the breathing tracker is plugged in when she goes to bed. I’ll be able to see it on my phone. At least I won’t have to bug you to check that she’s okay.”
After losing Sloane so suddenly, Rian had breathing monitors installed in her crib, the port-a-cot and her bassinet. Pretty much anywhere she might fall asleep. There’s some sort of monitor to alert us if for any reason she stops breathing. Most people would find it over the top, but those people haven’t woken to their wife not breathing in the middle of the night.
“Yeah, I think it would have to be a pretty big fucking emergency for me to require the services of the Wicked Witch of the West. Plus, she’s probably off terrorizing the citizens of Munchkin Land with her flying monkeys, and I would hate to disturb her.”
That earns me a chuckle, and I turn, waving him out one more time.
“Just fucking go, Rian! We will be fine. We love you. Now, for the love of God, will you fucking leave already.”
“Love you too, sis.” And then he’s gone, disappearing with the click of the front door.
Blowing out a deep breath, I continue bouncing around the kitchen to the music, attempting to calm the banshee child while her milk warms.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of pacing, dancing and swaying, the bottle is finally ready and Layla and I settle onto the couch for our routine movie binge session. Tonight is Lord of the Rings . With no Rian around to pay me out for my nerdiness, we relax into the cushions for what I hope will be the start of a chill weekend together.
Layla settles, gripping at the bottle with one of her tiny hands, the other wrapping around my index finger.
I smile down at her. “Yep, I've definitely got this.”
I definitely do not have this.
Layla had clearly lulled me into a false sense of security with our earlier milk and movie session. Banshee baby is out in full force and nothing I do is working. Changing, feeding, burping, walking, bouncing, swinging. I even tried some weird sideways football hold that YouTube guaranteed would help calm her.
Nope. Nothing.
I have a feeling she’s exhausted. Lord knows I am, but she’ll only close her eyes to help add to the force of her screaming.
“Far out, baby girl. What can I do?” Glancing at the infant car seat sitting on the dining room table, I weigh my options. Cooking was out of the question: no way I can leave her long enough to cook.
I bring her over to the table, buckling her into the capsule car seat, meticulously adjusting all the straps just like Rian taught me. His explanation was so detailed, I half expect to find a color-coded chart.
“Let's hit the road, Layla. Aunt Tilly has a craving for some fries.”
Grabbing some keys, my bag and phone, I leave through the side door with my banshee into the massive garage. I clip her into the base Rian installed in my rented SUV, and the garage remote, tapping on the steering wheel and shushing Layla as we wait for the door to lift.
I shuffle through songs on my playlist and settle on mellow rock music, playing it softly throughout the car. As I reverse, the crunch of gravel under my tires echoes down the long driveway that leads away from Rian’s house.
“OK, sweet thing. First stop, McDonald’s, then it’s your choice.” As Layla grows quiet in the back, a sense of relief washes over me.
We continue our journey, taking the longest route I can think of as Layla drifts off to sleep.
I pull into the drive-through and place my order. A shake and some fries are just what I need. As I pull up to the window, the teenage girl server’s eyes go wide with recognition as I lower my window.
“Oh, my God!” she squeals and begins jumping on the spot and shaking her hands. Her red and black hair is tied into pigtails, matching the black and red fishnet fingerless gloves she’s wearing under her uniform, which is customized with band pins. “Oh, my God, are you Othelia James?”
I give her a soft smile. “Last time I checked. I take it you like Hopeless Mercy?”
“Like them? Seriously, you’re my entire world!” Tears, literal tears, fall down her face. Please no, I don’t think I can deal with any more crying girls tonight.
“I’m so glad to meet you.” Reaching out, I take her hand, shaking it. I am a far cry from the Othelia James that graced the stage as the lead singer of Hopeless Mercy. The Othelia James people expect to meet. My long, pin straight silver hair tied in a messy bun on top of my head. Zero makeup on and I’m pretty sure my oversized hoodie has some remnants of not only my lunch but also Layla’s.
“I would come inside and say hi but I have my baby niece asleep in the car. Have you got anything you would like me to sign?”
“Oh, my God.” She takes off sprinting into the kitchen and comes back carrying her headphones and a sharpie, followed by a bunch of other employees.
“Hey guys, nice to meet you all.”
The first girl turns back to her colleagues looking pretty smug. “See, I told you it was her!” She darts back over to the window. “Can you sign these?” She hands over her headphones and a Sharpie through the window.
“Sure.” The drive through line continues to grow behind me, drivers impatiently looking out of windows at the holdup.
A flurry of napkins come my way, and I sign as many as I can before a horn blares behind me and a man yells out the window for me to hurry the fuck up.
“It was so nice meeting you—” I pause, realizing I haven’t even asked her name. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask your name!”
“Natalie.” I have to hold back the cringe at the reminder of Clay’s personal assistant, making sure my smile remains in place.
“Well, Natalie, it was lovely to meet you.”
“You too,” she tells me while beginning to slide the window shut.
“Uh Nat?”
The window flings open with a flourish. “Yes?”
“My order?”
She palms her face, cheeks red as she runs off to grab a fresh container of fries and remake my shake. “Here you go. I’m so sorry,”
“It’s fine. Thanks again.”
She gives me a small wave, shutting the window. The sound of squealing reaches me through the glass as I drive out. I make the slow drive home, circling my way around the city with my comatose passenger.
After almost forty-five minutes of navigating through unfamiliar streets, Layla’s still fast asleep, and I’m exhausted.
Parking the car, I press the remote to shut the roller door. Leaning my head back against the headrest, I close my eyes.
I lose track of time until the piercing sound of “Milkshakes” shatters the silence in the car, making me throw the car keys and my phone in surprise.
Heart pounding in my chest, panic filling my lungs, I struggle to breathe. The air feels thick and as hard as I try, I can’t seem to get enough oxygen. I shut my eyes, counting my breaths and practicing the tapping Sloane showed me, my body trembling.
It takes me several minutes to realize the noise is an incoming video call from Rian. I am safe. Layla is safe. Rian is just calling to check in, like he promised.
But what if something’s wrong?
Maybe Rian’s dead and someone’s calling from his phone to tell you?
I squeeze my eyes shut at the intrusive thoughts. One life altering phone call and something as simple as the phone ringing sends me into a tailspin. Fuck, I need to change that ringtone.
I breathe in, gripping the steering wheel for something to ground me.
“You’re being ridiculous.” I shake my head and blow out a breath, attempting to clear the fear from my voice before calling Rian back.
“Hey, is everything okay? You didn’t answer.” Panic fills his voice, but he’s okay. Rian is fine.
I let out another breath. “Yeah, hey, everything’s fine. I took Layla for a drive to get some fries. For her, definitely not for me. Then we cruised around the city for a while until she crashed out. She’s snoozing happily in the car seat as we speak. We’ve just gotten back.”
“Can I see her? I was hoping she’d be awake when I rang, but she’s so unpredictable with her sleep.”
Another breath. Using the sleeve of my hoodie, I wipe my face free of the tears that had formed. “Ahh yeah, of course. Let me get you on video.” I tap on my phone to send a video request and within seconds, Rian’s smiling face is looking at me. I climb over the center console and silently drop on the seat next to Layla’s car seat and rotate the phone to show a sleeping Layla, cuddled up with a small, pink, terry towel bunny clutched in one hand.
Rian lets out a slow breath. I’m guessing the distance is doing a number on him too.
“Til, I don’t know if I can do this. How can I leave her every week? It’s too much. She’s too far away. What if something happens? Right now, I’m a five-hour plane flight away. How the fuck would I even get back to her? It’s not that I don’t trust you, but she is all I have left. She is all I have left of her.” His sobs fill the car.
His phone is propped up on some sort of coffee table. I can see him sitting on the edge of the bed, his body bent over and shaking with the force of his tears.
“Ri, I know you don’t want to be away, but you have to. It’s literally a vital part of your job. What else are you supposed to do? There is no way the NHL will up and change their policies for away games because you have a baby you don’t want to leave.”
“What if you came with me?” He looks up at the phone with so much hope filling his eyes.
“What are you talking about? Come with you… to every away game?”
“Only for now, just while she is so little. We can talk about it more when I get back, but I’ll cover everything. You come and have your own room. Hang with Layla while I’m at games and training, then you can do what you want when I get back. It’s pretty much what you’re doing now except you’ll just be in different cities and you wouldn’t be alone. I’d be an Uber away instead of a plane. It’s not like you haven’t spent the better part of the last decade living out of hotels.”
Well, he has a point. I chew on my lip, contemplating. Do I want to spend the next few months jumping between cities?
Maybe it’ll make things easier for the both of us, and it might give me some alone time to work on some new songs, with different cities for inspiration.
“OK, let’s try it for the next away game. If it goes horrible or you feel like Layla and I are in the way, I will jump back on a plane and bring us both home. I guess it can’t hurt to try.”
“You are the best fucking sister. You don’t know how lost I’ve been without her here.” His face brightens as he releases a relieved breath. Running his hands through his hair before slapping them down onto his knees, rubbing them back and forward. “Thanks, sis. We will talk more when I get home. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I press the end call button and look over at Layla. “What have I got us signed up for, baby girl?”