15. Salem
SALEM
I click on the link in Cillian’s text.
A highlight reel from the Royals’ social media account of Blue arriving at the locker room to find gift baskets starts playing. His reaction is the same every time—tense eyes, hunched shoulders, flared nostrils.
The montage ends with a hook for viewers to tune in to the latest episode of the Royals All-Access.
Was his reaction the same with my cake?
I click on his profile, though I doubt there’s anything new. Eleven posts in total, and only two of him.
One is of him and his teammate Ussef, who’s donning a cape, shirtless.
The caption reads: Happy Birthday, my G.
I slide to the next photo. He’s sitting next to Sid in a navy three-piece suit. I zoom in and peep a rose pinned to his blazer’s lapel. Damn, the camera loves him.
I scan the thirsty comments, then trade my phone for the remote and pull up the latest episode of the Royals All-Access and hit play.
“Johan, get in here, man,” Sid says as Johan enters the locker room, already suited up for the game. Grabbing his chair, he joins the guys forming a circle.
The scene cuts away to a solo feed of Johan talking to the camera. “Sid leads us through a couple rounds of breath work before every game. I wasn’t into it at first, but I can’t deny that it locks us in.”
The screen switches back to the guys huddled in a circle. Blue’s knee bounces up and down, and tense lines edge his closed eyes.
The next scene follows him dapping a security guard.
“C’mon, man.” He glares at the camera, dipping his chin, continuing down the corridor into their locker room. Cutting to a large gift basket waiting at what looks like his station, the camera pings back to Blue, zooming in on his flared nostrils and clenched jaw.
“What do I think of the gift baskets?” Nick snickers.
“I mean, we love ’em. Yo.” He looks off camera.
“How many have there been?” His eyes widen.
“You heard that?” He shakes his head as “At least fifty” appears in the caption.
“We fight over them.” He leans in as a muffled voice sounds in the background. “Say it again?”
“How does Arnaz react to the gift baskets?” is captioned across the screen.
Nick grimaces. “I meeeean…” He rubs his neck. “Don’t y’all got footage?”
Blue approaches the locker room in a dark denim button-down, jeans, shades, and a beanie.
The same beanie sitting upstairs in my closet.
I couldn’t bring myself to leave it out in the open.
Every time I look at it, a dull ache steals my breath, and I feel his thick curls between my fingers and see his dark eyes, far gone, as he kneels between my legs.
Why’d he run? Because I touched the rubbery patch of skin shaped like the jagged edge of a key? I’m not afraid of scars. He should see my brother’s.
His steps come to a stop as he zeros in on the gift basket, and his lips flatten in a tight line. He approaches, reaches around the basket like it’ll detonate if he makes contact, hangs his jacket, and walks away.
In the next scene, he’s sweaty, like he’s returning from a workout. He scowls at the gift basket, this one bigger than the last, tosses his weight gloves into his locker, and walks away.
His eyes roll as he enters the locker room with Sid, who bursts out laughing and shakes his head.
Different gift baskets, same scene of disdain, for what feels like three minutes.
I sit up straight as I brace for his reaction to my cake.
He said the team liked it, and Sid confirmed as much, so I’m guessing his reaction can’t be so bad.
I pick up my glass of water and down it.
Nick appears again. I reach for the remote and fast forward past their team practice, an interview with their coach, and keep going until I reach the credits.
Wait.
I rewind back and then fast forward again until I reach the credits.
Huh.
They didn’t film it.
Why?