9. Cale
9
CALE
T he security at this place is a fucking joke.
My arrival at the arena coincides with some of the players arriving to prep for tonight’s game. A few feet from the entrance there’s a disorganized press crew fretting over their camera equipment. Edging closer, I spot a media badge lying on top of a backpack. What luck. No one bats an eye when I stroll inside with the badge hanging from my neck.
It's not hard to bullshit my way upstairs into the warren of executive offices where I know I’ll find Baylor Wingate. According to my well paid source, he’ll be sticking around to attend the game later for some photo ops. Baylor always wanted to play hockey. All he lacked was athletic ability.
Sadie didn’t tell me much about her family’s reaction when she shared our big wedding announcement. Whenever we talk, the conversations are short and only include vital bullet points. She sends me lots of pictures. Pictures of the ranch, pictures of her animals, pictures of the architecture plans for what she intends to build. No matter what I say, she seems to think I want all the details on how she’s spending my money. I’ve stopped trying to explain that I don’t care but if it makes her happy, she can keep sending her pictures.
Two days after I arrived back in New York, Baylor left a profanity-laced tirade of a voicemail. I was mildly impressed that he somehow located the remnants of his balls. And then he ruined it by following up the next day with a meek texted apology.
I never answered. I figured it was best to give him some time to stew over the matter. I think he’s stewed for long enough.
“I’m here to see Baylor Wingate.” I wave my laminated media pass. “Drew Carson from the New York Daily. I’m hoping he has a few minutes for an interview.”
The woman seated behind the reception desk on the executive floor is young and pretty. She doesn’t look twice at my badge before pressing some buttons on her desk phone. “He’s not at his desk. You can have a seat in one of those chairs and I’ll try again in a minute.”
“No need.” I’m already on my way down the hall. “We go way back, me and him. I’ll just wait for him in his office.”
“Hold on a minute,” calls the girl.
I ignore her and keep walking until I reach a door featuring a gold-plated sign bearing the name of a likely future Congressman. The door is locked. I knock my knuckles on the wood to the tune of what Bay and I used to jokingly refer to as our ‘secret knock’, seen in an old black and white noir film.
Rustling sounds come from the other side. The murmur of a female voice. Then the door is opened a crack and Baylor’s flushed face gets inserted into the opening. He does a double take when he sees I’m the one standing on the other side.
“Hey, buddy.” I grin at him. “Or can I call you brother now?”
Baylor recovers from his shock and fury clouds his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Visiting my oldest friend.” I give the door a hard shove, which he isn’t expecting in his flustered state. He stumbles back a step.
It seems he’s not hanging out in his office alone. There’s a woman sitting on the leather sofa and she’s furiously buttoning her red silk blouse. Then she rises and smooths some stray hairs into place.
“We can finish running the numbers tomorrow,” she says to Baylor before she exits the room in a hurry with her head down. I sure hope some nice colleague informs her that her blouse is buttoned crookedly.
Meanwhile, Baylor is busy tucking his own shirt back into his pants. I take the liberty of inviting myself in and closing the door behind me.
“Could have sworn your wife was a brunette,” I say while helping myself to a seat on the sofa of sin. “That didn’t look like her.”
“Shut up.” Baylor drops into his cushy ergonomic office chair.
He shoots me a scowl that’s probably supposed to look threatening but only succeeds in being pouty. He’s thinking I have some kind of nerve calling him out for being a cheating scumbag. After all, I whisked his little sister off to Vegas and stuck a ring on her finger. I guess that could earn me a spot in the scumbag club too.
However, I would never cheat on my pretend wife so I do feel a little superior at the moment.
“Congrats on the team win last night,” I say. “Even if you were just watching in the box and had nothing to do with it. The Dukes are having a hell of a season.”
“Fuck you,” he says, still sulking behind his desk.
“Does this mean Sadie and I shouldn’t expect a wedding gift?”
“Fuck you,” he repeats. He never was a master of insults.
“No thanks. I’m still a little worn out from the honeymoon, if you get my meaning.”
Baylor takes a deep breath. In and out. In and out again. Like he’s following therapy instructions. Then he lifts his head. “You did this to screw with my life. Didn’t you, Cale?”
“Nah, that was just an added bonus.”
“Scraps is just a kid.”
“My wife prefers to be called Sadie. And she’s twenty four. Nowhere on the planet does that qualify as a kid.”
His scowl deepens. “You know damn well that my sister is innocent. She’s not your speed.”
“Funny, you weren’t so concerned with her innocence when you and your father schemed to sell her off to Grant the steakhouse prick. When she asked for your help you told her to get lost. You don’t get to act like you were ever there for her when she needed you.”
I’m not faking my anger right now. Sadie’s family used her as a pawn until she refused to bend to their wishes. Then they turned their backs on her. Baylor could have stepped in and helped his sister anytime he wanted. He chose his ambition instead.
And he knows it. His shoulders sag and he glances with unease at the closed door. “Keep your voice down.”
“I’m not yelling.” Not yet.
Baylor glares with new suspicion. “You hardly know her.”
I shrug. “I don’t like to procrastinate when I find what I want.”
“And what you want is my sister.”
“I think I made that clear when I married her.”
He studies me for a long moment. “Does she know what you are, Cale? What you really are?”
I hold his eye. “What am I, Baylor?”
“You’re…” he says but then loses his nerve and stares down at his hands. “You’re not a good guy.”
“Says the pathetic weakling who can’t bear to leave the warmth of Daddy’s pocket.”
His nostrils flare. Must’ve struck a nerve. Then his eyes narrow. “What’s your plan here, Connelly? Are you going to install my sister in one of your mafia castles?”
“What’s the mafia? Sounds pretty cool if they have castles.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Actually, I have no clue. That Ivy League education of yours didn’t teach you how to articulate very well.”
He shakes his head with disgust. “You want to hear the truth?”
“Probably not.”
“My father always saw right through you.”
“That’s too bad. I work so hard not to be transparent.”
“Eventually I realized that he was right. From the beginning you were so fucking jealous.”
“Of what? Your prematurely receding hairline or the fact that you run like a duck?”
His face grows redder by the second. “My family’s name means something! Our legacy matters. You’re used to spending all your time in the gutter and you don’t understand what honor means.”
This is just getting boring now. He’s on the verge of a complete meltdown. I wouldn’t be surprised if he threw his stapler across the room next. I might as well pierce him where it hurts and move on.
“Well, if honor means abandoning your marriage vows to get your dick sucked by your accountant then I’ll bow out.”
“SHE’S NOT MY ACCOUNTANT!” He smacks his hand on his desk. Then he winces at the pain.
“Now who’s shouting?” I stretch and rise to my feet. “This has been enlightening but I’ve got things to do. Castles to build and stuff.”
“Cale.” Baylor’s throat bobs as he struggles to put a cap on his temper. “Hold on, there’s no reason why things need to get out of hand. It’s in everyone’s best interests to remain civil.”
“You know what?” I open the door and face my former friend. “You’re a whole lot less pitiful when you’re dropping Fuck You’s everywhere and yelling into my voicemail that I’m a disgusting bastard. I’ll see you around, Bay. And I’ll let my wife know you said hello.”
If he replies then I don’t hear the words. I’m confident he won’t chase after me. There are people around. He’s too worried about his image to throw a public fit.
Out in the arena, the players are in the middle of practice. For a moment I pause and watch the action on the ice. A twinge of nostalgia strikes as I recall the feeling of gliding across the ice. It’s highly doubtful that I would have ever played pro. Only a select few ever make it that far.
But I miss the uncomplicated nature of playing a game with a clear set of rules. The team that wins is the one that gets the puck into the net the most. Simple. The games I play now aren’t nearly as straightforward. There are no rules. And maybe no winners.
With that uneasy thought, I turn away from the ice and back outside into the arctic city streets, immediately heading to the parking garage on the next block. I wait until I’m back in my car with the heat blasting before finally checking my phone in case I’ve missed any earthshattering news.
Yet the new messages get bypassed and I scroll through Sadie’s texts instead, which always include updates on the ranch. Her love for her work always shines through. I rarely respond at all and yet she keeps faithfully sending this information. Even when covered in winter frost and with the trees bare, the place looks like a postcard or the scene of a Christmas movie.
I stop scrolling when I find a short video of a bunch of dogs joyfully running around in the snow. It was sent last week but I never watched it.
In the video, Sadie is filming and narrating, pointing to a long building and describing the improvements she’s planning in order to house more rescued dogs. Her voice is full of breathless excitement. In the last few seconds she breaks into infectious laughter when a wild brown mutt gallops over and jumps on her with wet paws. She’s still laughing when the footage ends.
Weird, but I find myself wishing she’d kept filming for a lot longer.