30. Othelia
Chapter thirty
Othelia
“I found someone!”
I look up from my bed where I’ve been sitting cross-legged for the last few hours attempting to write something, but once again coming up blank. Rian stands in the doorway, Layla bouncing on his hip, reaching up, trying her hardest to grab the stray ends of his wavy hair.
“I’m gonna need you to expand on that,” I mutter, leaning on my guitar.
“For Layla. I’ve found someone to look after her.”
Part of me deflates. I know this situation is temporary and I can’t live with them forever, but right now, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
“It will only be while I’m home at this stage,” he continues. “She can cover my day-to-day schedule for home games, freeing you up a bit. But if you’re still okay with it, I was hoping you could still do away games?” He winces as Layla succeeds in grabbing a strand and yanking it towards her mouth.
“Sure, I’m not having much luck with new material anyway.” I gesture to the scattered pieces of sheet music littering the bed and floor. “Where did you find her?”
“Marcus, actually. His eldest daughter, Eleanor, has just transferred to Northwestern, and she was looking for some work that she could do around her class schedule.”
“Oh wow, I didn’t realize Marcus had a daughter in college.”
“Yeah, she’s from his first marriage, but she said once I’m comfortable, she is more than happy to stay here with Layla while I’m away. I know it’s a lot to dump on a teenager but she seems really responsible.” His brow furrows as a thought comes to him. “She reminds me a bit of Sloane, actually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I don’t know.” He shrugs it off.
“She isn’t really a teenager, though. She’s in college.”
“When the second half of her age has the word ‘teen’ in it.” Rian deadpans, narrowly avoiding another swipe from Layla’s grabby hands. “So, what are your plans for next week on our trip to Seattle?”
“I have a meeting with Rick and the guys next Monday, so I’ll be flying to LA from Seattle on Sunday so I can still be there during the game on Saturday night. Then I’ve got a red eye booked Monday night to get back here early Tuesday, so I should be here in time for you to get to morning skate.”
He slowly nods as he absorbs the details of my plan, before crouching and picking up the closest balled up wad I had attempted to throw toward the bin. Unraveling it, he raises his eyebrows at the attempt of lyrics. They are all coming out flat and lacking my usual emotion. Funny, because right now, that’s all I’m feeling.
Although Rook lashing out last weekend has hurt me more than I care to admit. Over the last few weeks, he has made me feel more than Clay did in the three years we were together.
I’ve loved our banter, the texts back and forth, not to mention the night at the beach. He protected me, made me feel safe, safe enough to talk about Sloane. I haven’t even been able to bring myself to tell the band about how she died. They know her heart gave out, but not any specifics. One night with Rook and I didn’t want to hold anything back.
Of course, the attraction is off the charts. The hotel, then last weekend over the phone, I feel like I have emotional whiplash. I don’t understand how we went from lingering gazes and breathy moans to looking at me like I was a waste of his time. A distraction and a mistake, just like so many others have before him.
I saw the regret in his eyes when he brought up Sloane, but it was too late. He was right. I’ve been distracting myself with him, using him to get over Sloane and all the shit with Clay.
When we're together, though, I don't feel like I'm using him; it just feels like I've finally found someone I can truly be myself.
“The ballad of the asshole ice dragon?” he questions with a smirk. I watch as the penny drops. His face falling before he stiffens, the anger beginning to seep from him. “Do I have to kill him? He is a damn good defenseman, but I will end him if he’s hurt you.”
Before I can respond, he walks over, placing Layla in my arms, and rips his phone out of his pocket. “Fuck it, I’m calling coach and getting him traded. He can go work out his contract in fucking Alaska for all I care.” His fury is so clear I can practically see steam pouring from him.
It takes a second for his words to register. “Wait, what? No… Stop!” He pauses mid-dial, looking to me for an explanation. “I might’ve gotten too invested too quickly, I don’t know. I obviously misread the signals, reading into something that wasn’t there.” He sits on the chair across from my bed, leaning on his knees as he waits for me to continue. I sigh as I shuffle to lean back against the headboard, Layla now snuggling into my chest.
“After the game last weekend, I tried to ask if he was okay. He didn’t want to talk and he snapped at me, I guess, made it very clear that our relationship wasn’t what I thought it was.” I shrug like it’s nothing, even though it’s been eating me alive ever since.
We had one fucking bike ride and a few texts and now you think you know me? I’m not a replacement for your best friend.
I suck in the tears, wanting to fall as I remember his words, praying my face doesn’t give away the level of heartache I’m actually feeling. Rian will destroy him if he thinks he hurt me.
“It’s fine, Ri. I need to focus more on work, anyway. There has been too much happening over the last three months. I’ve got you and Layla and the guys, that’s all I need. I’m good, Rook is good. There’s no need for any killing or trading to occur. Got it?”
He seems unconvinced, but nods in agreement. He moves to sit next to Layla and me on the bed, kicking his feet up and leaning back against the headboard. He gently runs one finger along Layla’s hand, to which she opens her fingers and grasps onto his.
“You’ll tell me if you need help with anything, right? I know I’ve been busy. Probably throwing myself into work more than I should, but I am always here for you. Losing Sloane has gutted me, focusing on hockey is the only thing keeping me sane.”
His confession takes me by surprise and I try not to gape at him, letting him work through whatever he’s feeling. Sloane has been a heavily avoided topic over these months. Every time I attempted to mention her, the hurt that radiated off him in waves had me quickly changing the subject. Holding his breath, Rian’s cheeks swell before he lets it out in a slow, controlled exhale.
“Some days I struggle to look at Layla.” He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he focuses on Layla, who’s now squirming in my hold, trying to suck on his fingers. “She looks so much like her. The way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, or the dimple in her cheek; it's like looking at a miniature version of her and it makes my heart ache. Don’t get me wrong, I would do anything for that little girl and I can’t believe how much I love her, but the constant reminder that Sloane isn’t here to enjoy this while Layla looks up at me with those same eyes, is sometimes too much and I feel so fucking guilty.”
He continues, still unable to look at me. “Hockey has been my escape. When I hit the ice, for those few hours I don’t have to think about coming home to this house and her not being here. All of Layla’s milestones she’s missing, that one day Layla is gonna meet someone, and she won’t be here to tell me I’m being irrationally overprotective.” I lean my head onto his shoulder without saying a word, letting him talk.
“I miss coming home to the smell of her cooking, to the Post-It Notes she left all over the damn house. I want to call her and listen to her voice. Or send her a message and know I’m going to get a reply. I still pay for her phone plan so I can call and talk to her message bank. I’ve had to go in and empty her mailbox because I filled it with phone calls, desperately pleading for her to come back and do this with me.”
“Ri, I… I knew you were struggling but—”
“I spent too much of our life unknowingly taking her for granted,” he cuts me off, as if now he’s started, he can’t stop until it’s all out. “Expecting that she was always going to be there, ’cause that’s what we promised.”
Tears stream down my face as Layla clucks her tongue, squealing as shuffles from side to side between us.
“She promised me forever, Til. I didn’t know that forever would only last a decade. I didn’t know I should cherish and absorb all of her that I could because our time was nearly over. I want more life, more memories, more children, grandchildren, porch swings and retirement. I want my wife. ” His voice breaks on the word, his face crumpling a second before his hands cover his face and sobs wrack through his body. My arms wrap around him and I join him, crying my heart out for all we have lost. The wife, the mother, the best friend. All the best parts of Sloane that will never return.
I don’t know how long we sit here, but as our tears slow and we choke back the last few sobs, both of us just watch Layla. She sways, becoming more deliberate as she grasps onto Rian’s pant leg, using it to pull herself from her back to her belly. Rian and I stare in disbelief before he wipes away the wetness on his cheeks, his face brightening into the biggest smile before he jumps off the bed and falls to his knees to look at Layla.
“Did you just roll over, baby girl?” The elation in his voice makes it clear that even through his grief, he really is an amazing father.
“Does it count if she used you for leverage?” I question, laughing as I sit back against the headboard. Rian pauses his coos to glare at me.
“Of course it counts. I just gave her the assist.” He beams and for a few minutes, my heart feels full again. “You know… he hasn’t been at training all week.”
“What? Why would that have anything to do with me?”
He stands, leaning over to pick up Layla and making his way to my door. Turning back to me, he shrugs. “Maybe it’s not as one sided as you think.”
I cheer as the boys skate past me. I’m bouncing Layla in my arms, trying to point out her daddy was on the ice, even though all she cares about are the tassels on my jacket.
When the game began, I desperately tried to avoid watching a certain defenseman, but the second he steps on the ice, I can’t tear myself away, no matter how hard I try.
His intensity demands my attention and my body listens like it was his, just like over the phone. I’ve never had phone sex with anyone before. Clay made it seem like a stupid idea which, in hindsight, that should’ve been my first red flag.
Rook dominated my body and took control in a way I’ve never experienced. My mind was clear and focused on my hands, guided only by his voice, his need palpable, making me feel wanted, irresistible. The power I felt making him come apart calling my name in a bathroom stall at work was out of this world.
I try to ignore the fact it was the first time he called me Tilly ; not Othelia, not Rockstar. Tilly . I don’t understand how we went from that Friday morning to the shutout he gave me Friday night. He looked defeated on the ice and I was worried, wanting to make sure he was okay. Instead, I was side swiped out of nowhere and my heart has ached all week.
I just need to avoid him. He is Rian’s colleague and nothing more. The chance of that blew out the window when he threw Sloane in my face.
I continued to remind myself of that as I watched him glide up and down the ice, ignoring the intensity he gave the puck and that fact I could feel my panties dampen with every check, slam and slap shot.
The crowd erupts around me as he slams into a player, knocking them to the ground as Rian passes the puck straight to him and he took off at breakneck speed, gliding to the left and causing the goalie to move with him before executing a perfect fake to the right and shooting it in for a goal. Dropping to one knee as he continues to glide across the ice, punching the air in celebration. The team on the bench all jump, tapping their sticks on the boards.
Rian skates up to him and wraps him in a hug before putting one arm around his head and pulling him in to talk into his ear. To anyone in the stands, it would look like two teammates celebrating after a goal. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but by the way Rook’s eyes flick from the ice to me standing against the glass, his body stiffening, I can put two and two together.
Ri pushes away from him and skates backwards towards the bench as Rook’s eyes bore into me. That intensity from moments ago is nowhere to be seen, searching mine for something. A flash of hurt settles over his face before it all becomes too much and I look away.
When I look back, he’s back on the bench, leaning onto his stick, eyes focused back on the game. But even though I successfully avoid looking at him for the rest of the game, I can still feel him staring my way.
The boys cheer and chant as we enter the hotel after their win. Night one of a doubleheader with Seattle and Chicago slaughtered them.
Rook’s goal spurred a momentum that couldn’t be slowed. They scored four more times by the end of the second period to Seattle’s one and both goalies worked hard keeping everything out until the end of the third when Rian sneaked in one last goal thirty seconds before the buzzer sounded, finishing the game six to one.
Rian carries Layla in a sling, veering off to reception to organize some warm milk to be sent up to the room. His new post game tradition: Layla has bedtime milk and so does he. Since starting, the boys were on a winning streak, and you don’t mess with a successful tradition.
I shake my head, restraining a laugh as he glances back at me. I tilt my head toward the elevators, letting him know I’m heading up.
Someone yells my name, catching my attention, but I ignore it, thinking it’s one of the photographers wanting one more photo. After so long in the spotlight, you become used to the attention, the name calling, the random flashes. It’s something I’m conscious of happening, but don’t let it dictate my life anymore. Most of the time, I just try to ignore it. I know Dominic and his team have them handled.
The first year after the band took off, I tried to avoid them, even going as crazy to get body doubles to exit the show before me so I could sneak out a back entrance. Now I keep my head down and move on with my day. The harder I tried to hide, the more determined they were to get photos. You learn to live with them as part of your life.
Now we’ve become symbiotic, allowing us to exist in peace most of the time. Thankfully, there hasn’t been too much of a circus in front of our hotels. Numbers pick up at album releases and the beginning of the tour, but most of the time I can get by with only a few photos taken of me daily.
I hired a social media manager who handles day-to-day activity, providing her with content to share with fans, and disconnected myself from that negativity.
My name comes again, this time the voice centers my thoughts into the present, and my body turns inadvertently in response to it. Rook stands there with his bag on one shoulder, freshly showered, still damp hair tousled, looking like he just stepped off a runway.
He looks hot as fuck in tight black chinos, his long-sleeved navy Henley pulling tight across his chest and arms, sleeves pulled up exposing his forearms. I swallow at the sight, my thighs clenching and butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
It takes a minute for my short-circuiting brain to remember I’m supposed to be ignoring him. My eyebrows draw together, and I shake my head, turning and walking faster to the elevator.
The gods are on my side as the sliding doors open as soon as I press the up button. I slide in, pressing the close door button as he calls my name from across the foyer. I bounce on my feet, impatiently pressing on the button as he draws nearer, praying for it to close.
“Othelia, please, wait.” His blue eyes glisten as he pleads with me to hold the elevator.
I turn towards the buttons, ignoring him, but the masochist in me can’t resist one last glance at him as, for the second time, the elevator doors close on his beautiful face.