Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
GRAMMERCY
Downtown New Orleans on a Saturday afternoon isn’t much different than downtown on a Friday night, aside from the fact that the tourists stumbling between the bars are slightly more sober.
But the buskers still battle for ears on every street corner, the smell of Cajun food and powdered sugar fills the air, and locals weave through the chaos on their way to work or lunch at a place, we do our best to keep a secret from the influencers.
I used to be one of those locals, just another guy checking his six before ducking down an alleyway to my favorite dive.
Now, I’m the guy who gets double-takes from dads pushing strollers, teens attached to their phones, and middle-aged women in yoga pants.
“Yeah, that’s him, I’m positive,” an ashy blonde assures her friend in a whisper I can’t help feeling was meant to carry. “My son has his rookie poster on his wall. ”
I pull my ball cap lower and pick up the pace toward Café Le Pain Invisible, where Parker’s probably already gorging on gluten-free donuts, but I haven’t gone a block before two guys in LSU jerseys stop arguing about football to gape at me as I pass.
One even pulls out his phone, and I hear him snap a picture as I walk away.
Jesus, is this what happens when you score twice in a hometown opener?
I had no idea the Voodoo would catch on this fast.
I’ve been recognized before—hockey fans in Portland were great, and always excited to get a selfie when my teammates and I were out at a bar after a game—but this feels different. More personal. Like, suddenly I’m not a niche pro-athlete, only the hardcore hockey fans are going to notice.
This feels like a quarterback with his face splashed all over a Super Bowl ad kind of attention, and it’s honestly…kind of strange.
I mean, I’m glad that my hometown seems to be falling hard for the new team, but I’ve never wanted to be famous. I just want to play the game I love, save enough money to support myself after my NHL career is over, and continue to live my life without a bunch of extra attention.
Thankfully, I’m soon off the main drag, hustling down an alley into a semi-private garden where tables from three different cafés vie for space between planters and weathered statues.
The tables are all full on this finally cool-ish fall day, and there’s no sign of Parker, so I head inside.
As the cowbell above the door clatters at my arrival, I spot him in the back by the wall of books, scrolling on his phone.
He’s dressed in designer jeans and a delicately-wrinkled linen shirt, looking way more like the type of guy who would get noticed on the street than I do in a T-shirt and battered Badgers ball cap.
“You’re late,” he says with a long-suffering sigh, not bothering to glance up from his phone. “And after you woke me up early on a Saturday morning, too.”
“Fifteen minutes late is on time in Cajun.” I drop into the chair across from him, grateful for the peace in the cozy café after the chaos on the street. “And parking was shit. I had to wait ten minutes for a bachelorette van full of penis balloons to pull out of the only spot left in the lot.”
Parker glances up, interest sparking in his eyes. “Penis balloons? I wonder where they got them?”
I arch a brow. “Didn’t know you were in the market.”
“A car full of penis balloons would be a great rookie prank,” he says, waving at the barista with the familiarity of a man with a gluten allergy who practically lives at Café Le Pain Invisible. “Share Bear, can I get another cortado, darlin’, and a…” He shoots me a pointed look.
“Just an espresso is good,” I say, smiling at the tiny, multi-pierced woman with spiked black hair manning the machine.
“And an espresso,” Parker adds, though she heard me. “Add ‘em both to my tab. And if you can snag me a fat slice of the gluten-free carrot cake when it’s ready, you’ll be my favorite.”
“I’m already your favorite,” she says with a laugh. “And the first slice is yours. It just needs to cool another ten or fifteen minutes, and Minnie’s going to ice it. ”
Parker beams. “Can’t wait.” Turning back to me, he adds in a softer voice, “I need sugar and caffeine to make my brain feel happy. Unlike you, who are clearly getting your dopamine hit from banging your brains out. Tell the truth, why were you late? Penis balloons or afternoon delight?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I plead the fifth.”
He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Gross, but good for you, man. Somebody on the team should be getting laid aside from Nix and his cougar harem. Saw him at the club last night with another one. Dude needs therapy. Oh, speaking of therapy…” He trails off, smiling up at the barista as our coffees are delivered.
“Thanks, Sherry. You’re an angel of caffeine. ”
“Damn straight,” she agrees, dropping some sugar packets beside our drinks before heading back to the counter.
Parker waits until she’s out of earshot to add, “So, yeah, speaking of therapists, I called Avery and asked if you were insane.”
My throat tightens, even though I know I’m not insane. I’m just…flying a little close to the “love at first sight” sun for a guy who used to be positive there was no such thing. “Yeah? And what did she have to say?”
“Well, first off, she made me promise to tell you that this isn’t therapy or professional advice, she’s not your provider, yada yada.
” He takes a sip of his drink as he pulls something up on his phone.
“But she did say… Hold on, I wrote it down. Okay, according to Avery, ‘Love at first sight is often a projection of one’s ideal partner onto a stranger, driven more by internal fantasies and unmet emotional needs than by knowledge of the other person. It feels intense and real, but is ty pically based on imagined compatibility rather than actual connection and can vanish as rapidly as it appeared.’ So…
” He looks up, his expression serious for once.
“Well, if that’s true, then you’re probably coo-coo nutso pants. ”
I add sugar to my espresso, letting that sink in for a moment.
But it doesn’t feel true, not even a little bit. Finally, I shrug. “I mean, that makes sense, but I don’t know… This doesn’t feel like fantasy. And before I met Elly, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. My emotional needs were being met just fine.”
Parker nods. “Yeah, that’s what I told Avery. I was like, this guy isn’t some lovesick poet looking for a muse. He’s a guy I’ve known for a long time. He’s steady, chill, and seems to manage fine without a special lady in his life.”
I smile. “Thanks, man. I appreciate that.”
“Anytime,” he says, before adding pointedly, “Except before ten a.m. on a Saturday morning.”
I laugh as I nod. “Got it. So, what did she say to that? Is there a chance I’m not imagining things?”
Parker shrugs. “I mean, honestly, she didn’t seem very optimistic.
But you have to remember where she’s coming from.
She’s a pricy shrink. She doesn’t encounter a lot of couples who are living happily ever after.
People who fall in love at first sight and make it work don’t need therapy that starts at three hundred an hour.
” He takes another sip of his cortado before tipping his head to one side.
“So maybe we take her opinion with a grain of salt, you two crazy kids keep falling in love, and we just…see what happens.”
I study him for a beat, surprised .
Catching my vibe, he rolls his eyes. “Okay, yeah, fine, I’m secretly a romantic son of a bitch.
Don’t we all dream about finding that one person who’s perfect for us?
And it’s just easy and right and good? And if you’ve found her, I mean…
” He shrugs again. “Even if it’s kind of strange, I’m happy for you. I want good things for you, Graves.”
I nod, sensing Parker and I are going to be closer from here on out. “Thanks, man. I appreciate that. I want the same?—”
“Okay, so you really are Grammercy Graves,” a voice blurts from behind me. “I heard him say your last name, so…”
We both turn to see a girl who can’t be older than nineteen rising from a table a few seats over, clutching her purple phone in one hand.
She’s peak alternative college kid, complete with oversized band tee from a group that broke up before any of us were born, frayed black shorts, and combat boots.
“Yeah, I am,” I confirm, glancing Parker’s way. “And this is Leo Parker. We both play for the Voodoo. So, if you want a selfie or an autograph, we?—”
“Oh, God, no. Gross,” she says with a laugh. Before I can regroup, she adds, “Sorry, but yeah, no, I don’t want an autograph. I just wanted to say that you were cool in that video. The way you handled that drunk fucker without going full toxic masculine was solid. Keep up the good work, man.”
Parker and I exchange glances. Video?
What the hell is she talking about?
Mistaking our confusion for annoyance, she adds, “Sorry to interrupt. I just think it’s important to point it out when men are not behaving badly, you know. Like, positive reinforcement, or whatever.”
I shake my head. “No, you didn’t, I just… What video? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes go anime-character wide. “Oh, shit, no way! You haven’t seen it?
That’s wild. It’s like…everywhere. Just a second.
Hold on.” She taps at her phone, grinning like she’s looking forward to being the one to clue me in.
“My women’s liberation teacher shared it with our class Slack channel this morning.
Like, as a way of keeping our spirits up after— Here it is! ”
She flips her phone around. I lean in, and there I am.
It’s from last night. The convent entrance.
On the tiny screen, I watch Brad sway way too close to Elly, babbling the abusive shit that made my head feel like it was about to explode.
And then, through the tinny phone speaker, I suddenly drawl in a sinister voice that isn’t like me, “Excuse me, friend, but you’re standing too close to my wife. ”