14. Shutterbug
14
SHUTTERBUG
Miles
I’m still reeling—in a good way—from the twin bombshells Coach just dropped here at Asher’s wedding celebration. First, he told me the Sea Dogs traded for my brother, Tyler, from the Los Angeles Supernovas. Then, he hinted I’d be playing alongside him as co-captain .
Usually hockey teams have only one captain and a handful of alternates. But Coach said last season that he’d like to do things differently here with the pecking order. Change it up and have a true co-captain to lead alongside our current captain. I scan the crowded coffee shop across from that guy—Christian Winters. Christian’s been a Sea Dog for years, and everyone on the team looks up to him. With two young kids at home, though, I know he’d be glad to share some of the responsibilities that come with wearing the “C.”
And I’d really like to be that guy he shares them with .
It feels surreal. A few years ago, I was in Vancouver, watching the game from my couch, my knee still screaming post-surgery, my mind dark. Joanne was pulling away from me, and I from her, and my whole body aching and broken. Back then, I would never have believed I’d hear words like these.
All I wanted was to play again—just one more time. But to squeeze out a whole career after an ACL tear? One that’s—knock on all the wood in the world—going pretty damn well? I’d never have let myself believe it. That felt like too much to hope for. Too good. And now? Damn.
Really, I should say something to the man standing in front of me.
“That’s…great,” is all I can manage, though, as I stand at the coffee counter with my closest teammates and good friends—Asher, Max, and Wesley.
Coach McBride gives a professional smile, then claps me on the shoulder. “We’ll talk more at training camp, Falcon,” he says, his shrewd eyes glancing around at the party, teammates and friends toasting Asher and Maeve’s happily ever after. Then he turns to Asher with a nod. “No one wants the boss around too long. Congratulations, Callahan.”
“Thanks for coming, Coach,” Asher adds, and the other guys say their goodbyes. With that, Coach McBride heads out into the night, leaving me to process his news. I need to call my brother soon, but selfishly I’m a little fixated on what Coach just said about me. Max and Wesley are too, since they give me their congrats before peeling away.
Asher turns to me, his eyebrows raised. “Dude.”
I manage to nod. “Yeah.” Like that means anything. Then I add, “I’ve got…nothing. ”
Asher laughs. “And they call you the articulate one.”
He’s not wrong. I’m the guy they come to for advice. The veteran. The player who’s supposedly seen it all. The game’s highs and lows, the different teams, the changing styles. And…the potential scandals. My gaze drifts to Leighton on the other side of the room. She’s snapping a pic of some of the guests, then she lowers her camera. My pulse surges with one look at her. Her chestnut hair spills down her back in waves. Her black top shows off her arms and creamy skin I want to kiss, touch, explore. Her eyes spark with mischief and intelligence, and this feeling tugs in my chest—a desire that won’t go away and hasn’t since I met her. A desire to get to know her better. It’s annoyingly insistent, more so when she turns my way briefly. Her lips are glossy pink and tipped up in the hint of a smile. A knowing one—and I wonder what’s behind it. But I shouldn’t. Really, I shouldn’t wonder. Not my place to think about her, especially with this potential captaincy on the line.
I tear my focus from her, squinting at Asher through my glasses, trying to get my bearings. “What did you say?”
Asher cracks up, shaking his head. “You are so screwed, man,” he says.
“No kidding.” I scrub a hand across my jaw, trying to play it cool. But clearly failing. Asher doesn’t know everything about what happened with Leighton. In fact, he hardly knows anything. But I did tell him one night that I had it bad for her. So he knows enough.
Asher leans in, lowering his voice. “Here’s a tip for you?—”
But Maeve shoots him a just-for-her-husband look that must be far more interesting than this conversation .
“Go see your wife,” I say, exonerating him from this convo.
“Catch you later,” Asher says, then joins Maeve, and follows her out onto the dance floor, leaving me to wonder what his tip about Leighton might be. And leaving me with my so-very-screwed feelings.
Watching Asher dance with Maeve, I grab another drink from the bartender, switching to water. I look back at the crowd, at my friends dancing or laughing with their partners, and I think about what it means to be captain, the work ahead, the season I want to have. And what it’ll be like to play with my brother. I tap out a text to him. Anything exciting going on?
He’ll appreciate the irony whenever he reads it, which might be tomorrow since he’s the world’s worst texter. But he might be busy with the kids, so I’ll wait to hear from him before I call.
As the night winds down, my friends start drifting away one by one, couples and groups slipping out. And still, I find myself…not leaving.
I stick around, offering to help with the favors, making sure guests have their chocolate boxes, as well as their bags and purses. I’m just doing it to help a friend. This is a big night for Asher. As I hand out boxes, Leighton snaps a few pics.
Soon, most of the guests are gone. When the happy couple takes off for the night, Leighton’s at the door, capturing the moment. Then, she waves goodbye and turns around.
Hardly anyone else is here—her, me, the catering staff, a few others.
She glances around at the mostly empty space, littered with champagne glasses, cake plates, and the remains of mini mango tacos. An Ella Fitzgerald tune plays softly overhead. I don’t know the song, but I recognize the vibe—it’s something about longing. Leighton lowers her camera, smiles, and gives a small wave.
Seems foolish not to talk to her. Tonight is proof I’ll see her around. Might as well get used to it. Really, it was one day we shared a year ago, so what’s the big deal? I shouldn’t carry it with me all the time. Resolved to put the past in the past and forge a new—friendship, perhaps—with the coach’s daughter, I head her way.
“Are you playing the role of shutterbug tonight?” I ask.
Her smile disappears. Her eyes glimmer with dirty memories. And, fuck, it’s like a jolt of electricity shooting down my spine as I remember calling her that when we were together. Shutterbug.
The shift in her expression tells me she remembers it too. How I said it. When I said it. Images of her threading her hands around my neck as she sank onto my dick have the audacity to flash in technicolor before my eyes. Heat charges through my body.
“Maeve didn’t ask me to, but I wanted to get some pics for her.” She brandishes her camera almost apologetically. “I also kind of can’t resist taking pictures. Actually, that’s not true. I’m downright addicted.”
She’s moved away from the implications of that nickname, so I do the same. “Sounds like you chose the right profession.”
“Definitely,” she says. “It’s a job and a hobby.”
“Are you always the one taking pictures of friends?”
“Always,” she says emphatically. “When we’re out and about. When we’re at home. When we’re anywhere. I do the same with my sister too. Making sure I have pictures of us doing even everyday things, whether thrifting, or wandering around Japantown eating crepes. Because crepes are really good and sometimes you just need to capture the good stuff.”
I laugh. “Two for one—pictures and crepes.”
“Exactly.”
“So photography is also a passion,” I add.
“It is. Sounds like your job too.” She shoots me a playful look. Or maybe it’s playfully chiding since she says, “Though who knows—you never really talked much about it.”
Her tone is teasing, letting me know she’s not annoyed I never mentioned it that day. I’m so damn glad I didn’t. In that case, ignorance was definitely bliss.
“Still don’t regret that. Also, it’s definitely a passion.”
She takes a beat, then tilts her head. “So, you might be captain?”
My brow knits. “How did you know?” The question bursts out, but then, of course, the answer arrives obviously. “Your dad told you?”
I hadn’t thought about that before—that she might know things about the team before others do. But it makes sense.
She laughs lightly, shaking her head. “No. He doesn’t really give me tips like that. Nor do I seek them out.”
It’s a little bit like a rebuke, but that’s fair, I suppose. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like…”
But I’m not sure what I didn’t mean to make it sound like—that she’s got the coach’s ear? Of course she’s got the coach’s ear. That’s different though than hunting for info, which still leaves me wondering. “How did you know then?”
She rocks back and forth on her black boots, a slight smile gracing those lush lips again. It’s that look I saw the day I met her—confidence. “Want me to let you in on a little secret?”
That word—secret—sounds too sexy on her lips, and I am helpless to resist it. Or, really, her. “Yeah, I do.”
She looks around, then says in a soft voice, “I read his lips when he was talking to you earlier tonight.”
My jaw drops. That is hot and impressive. “You did?”
But of course, she did. The look in her eyes is devilish pride, and deservedly so as she says, “Yes.”
“I am impressed.”
She gives a no-big-deal shrug of her shoulder. “Girl’s got skills.”
“You do,” I say. I knew generally speaking that she could read lips, but didn’t realize she was so damn good at it. As someone who loves learning, I’m fascinated with how people pick up different skills. “Did you set out to learn how or have you always been able to? I honestly don’t know how that works.”
“I don’t want to say it just happened. It was more like one day I realized that’s what I had been doing all along by watching people form words—you wind up learning the way lips move when they make certain sounds. It’s most helpful, though, to know the context of a conversation. But you’re not likely to pick up one hundred percent of a conversation just from lip reading—the movies kind of exaggerate that. When you read lips, you have to combine it with what you expect someone to say, their facial expressions, and so on. In the case of you and my dad, it was easy enough—putting two and two together for what he might be saying to you, and I could make an educated guess.”
I let out a low whistle. “You could be a secret weapon though. ”
“Accurate.”
“Like reading things other teams say, plays they call.”
“I’m pretty sure sports teams have tried that before, which is why other teams cover their mouths when they talk.”
“True, true,” I say, taking a beat to just…look at Leighton. Her blue eyes are something else—deep pools that have me transfixed. It’s hard to look away from them but I do, only so I can take the rest of her in. While her hair mostly falls over her ears, I do catch a hint of silver above her long earring. I’m tempted to point out that she’s wearing the flower ones I gave her. But that feels dangerously close to flirting. Everything with her does. Mostly because of how annoyingly fast my pulse surges when I’m near her. Funny, how you can be burned from a past romance, but then once you meet the right person you’re ready to charge headfirst into a new one. What’s not so funny is that I met the right person, but I can’t have her.
Best to focus on the present then, and this moment since that’s all I can have. “Anyway, we’ll see what comes of the whole co-captain thing.”
“I’m rooting for you,” she says.
“Thanks. Here’s hoping for a good training camp and a good year. It’s an honor that I’m being considered.”
“I’m not surprised you’re being considered,” she says, in a cheery tone, a supportive tone, and I wish I could read her more easily. I wish I could read her like I could the day I spent with her.
Since then, she’s gotten better at holding back. I try once again to focus on this whole friendship thing. “Turns out, my brother was traded here too. Haven’t played with him in a long time. Feels a little surreal. But it’ll be interesting. ”
“To play with him instead of against him?” she asks, getting it completely.
“Exactly. He’s been the enemy for ages.”
“You know what they say in hockey—keep your teammates close, and your family on the bench beside you where you can keep an eye on their every move.”
I laugh. “Exactly. Gives new meaning to my brother’s keeper.” I pause, scratch my jaw then add, “You think you got some good pictures tonight?” I just don’t want to stop talking to her. She’s not making a move toward the door, so I hope she’s feeling the same damn way.
“I do. I think I might make Asher and Maeve a surprise photo album or something. Or frame some of them.”
“Can I see them?”
She looks around at the servers cleaning up at the nearly empty coffee shop, sensing they probably do want to close this place down. “I can show you outside,” she offers.
I should probably keep my distance, but when the woman you can’t have—the woman who’s lodged front and center in your brain—offers to spend more time with you, you don’t say no.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“Let me grab my things.” She snags a box of chocolate from the counter, then a second box, dropping them into her bag, then we leave.
But it’s crowded outside in Hayes Valley, with people pushing past us along the sidewalk.
It’s a warm summer night, the kind that feels like it shouldn’t end too soon. I don’t feel like looking at her camera out on the street, so I nod to a bar at the corner. “You want to just duck in there? ”
I have no earthly reason to want to look at photos of Asher’s and Maeve’s wedding party. But when Leighton says yes, I feel like I’ve won a game I barely realized I was playing.
And I do like winning.
I walk, fast and determined, toward the bar with her.