Chapter Fifteen
SIDNEY
Being on the road used to make me restless.
Different hotel pillows, different restaurant menus, different fans waiting outside team buses for autographs.
A blur of sameness disguised as variety.
I used to spend these stretches pacing mentally, sometimes literally, hanging out with the rookies until late into the night to stay distracted or hooking up with the first woman who flashed an interested smile my way.
All in the hopes that I could make time go quicker until the next game or the next arena. The days on the ice had felt short and the nights like an eternity. I didn’t want to sit in my room and dwell, so I found other, sometimes reckless, ways to stay mentally and physically busy.
Now?
I need the nights to crawl. To last an eternity. Because it’s only after the games or practices when I’m back in my room, winding down, that Eddie texts me. Or, amazingly, calls me.
I keep checking my phone. Not obsessively. Just…periodically. Enough that Max eventually thwacks me with his hat during breakfast and groans, Crane, put the damn phone down before it fuses to your hand. I’m trying to have a conversation with you, and all I’m getting are grunts.
Yeah, in a second, I tell him, smiling down at my cell as I type a message to Eddie.
SIDNEY: Morning, beautiful. Hope your shift isn’t too chaotic. Please remember to drink water and take your puffer.
She doesn’t answer right away like I was hoping.
Old me would’ve spiralled and thought the worst. Like that she didn’t like me or didn’t want to lead me on. Old me would have made it all about him.
I know better now. Eddie is interested, but she’s got other responsibilities and commitments besides texting me back. She may not have said it out loud the other night, but she’s open to seeing where this thing between us goes.
She just has past demons and past letdowns to battle in her own time. I just have to move at her steady pace and not my now-now preference. So her not texting me back right away doesn’t alarm me.
There are a dozen different reasons that she might not have her phone on her or saw the message but couldn’t reply back yet. I’m not worried about it.
It helps that she had been answering since we last saw each other in person. Maybe not instantly, but steadily. Opening herself in careful increments and letting me in.
The first time she called me, I had stubbed my toe so hard that the next day, I had to see the team doctor to make sure it wasn’t broken.
I’d been coming out of the shower and saw her name flashing on the screen.
Not wanting to miss the call, I dashed to the bed and hit the wooden legs of a small table.
I’d answered the phone in time, but in the highest-pitched voice that has ever come out of me. I had to ask her for a moment to compose myself. She’d laughed for minutes.
I may have been in incredible pain, but I love the sound of her laugh, so it was kind of worth it.
The calls are never long. Not late-night intimate conversations that turn into us both falling asleep on the line, but small, real ones.
We have conversations that matter. Her voice on the line for five minutes during her break.
Seven minutes while she waited in the school pickup line.
Ten minutes on her day off just to say she’d survived the grocery store.
Every time the phone lights up with her name, something warm and stupid flickers under my ribs. Once my morning text is sent to her, I place my cell face down on the table and look up at Max.
What were you saying, you whiny bastard? I honestly don’t know how Sabrina puts up with your ass.
A slice of toast hits me in the face.
***
We have a morning skate in Winnipeg before the afternoon plane to Calgary. Lots of energy, lots of chirping. And apparently, lots of teammates sensing something is up.
Halfway through practice, as I’m stretching out my hip flexors and legs again, Mason skates by and stops at my shoulder.
What’s up with you? You’re weird lately, he says.
I blink up at him, not stopping what I’m doing. This non-compliment has me smile-frowning. Thanks?
I mean it in a supportive way. Not that anything is wrong. You’ve just looked…peaceful lately. Not letting any of the losses get to you.
Peaceful, I repeat, liking that I’m giving off that energy.
He frowns. It’s unsettling.
A laugh bursts out of me, and I get up on my skates. I’m literally practicing. Staying in my lane.
Exactly. And you’re not overthinking your angles. Or muttering to yourself. It’s freakin’ strange, dude. Is this new Zen because of that woman we met in the tunnel? Eddie?
I try to block my flinch, but Mason sees it instantly.
Oh my God, he breathes, slowing to a glide. It is! I was just spouting shit. But seriously?
I keep my eyes on the puck. Focus on your shift, Mason.
Come on, man, he whines. You have to share details. I told you about Victoria as soon as we became a thing.
You asshole, you left out the very big detail that you two were faking dating before shit got real. Now, get out of my crease, I mutter.
Minor detail before major love. He skates off, cackling.
Two minutes later, Max drifts behind the net.
Crane. Word?
No. I have an inkling about what he wants to talk about, and I am done hearing about it. I am the same old me. Yes, maybe more focused. And sure, a tiny bit more chill. But this shouldn’t be groundbreaking conversation.
Too bad. He leans on his stick. You’re doing the thing.
What thing?
The soft-focus stare. The I-might-smile-for-no-reason thing.
The hell is he talking about? I wasn’t—
Also, he continues, loving the sound of his own voice, the ‘I’m pretending I don’t care about my phone, but I haven’t put it down for longer than a game’ thing.
I shut my eyes. Do both of you have radars for this?
I’m a forward. Max shrugs. I see openings.
You’re infuriating.
Uh-huh. Tell me anyway.
I sigh. Taking a deep breath, I decide telling Max more about Eddie isn’t such a big deal. He’s one of my closest friends. And if I can’t tell him, who could I tell? It’s because of Eddie.
He freezes, surprised that I’m actually opening up. Yes, I am aware of her name. It’s been mentioned before. Tell me more.
She’s an X-ray technician, I go on like instructed. I met her at the hospital the day I took Harper.
Max’s eyebrows shoot up like they’re trying to leave his face.
Dude, that’s a really sweet meet-cute.
A what? I ask him with a laugh.
A meet-cute. A cute way of meeting your partner. When I still give him a blank look of confusion, he shakes his head. Open a damn romance book every once in a while, you heathen. But anyways, I’m happy for you, man. Are you two serious?
We’re on our way…hopefully. She’s been hurt in the past. We haven’t talked about it in depth, but she’s mentioned that’s why she’s a bit cautious. She has a son to think of.
Max looks off into the distance, his face stone-cold serious.
I get that. It’s smart that she’s also thinking about her son and taking it slow with you. I can hear a but coming.
When he continues to watch our guys on the other end of the rink, I probe him. But?
But. He skates to one side of my net, then the other, before stopping again. Okay, I’m only saying this once.
I brace myself. This can’t be good. Max is an easygoing guy. For him to be giving serious advice must mean it’s life or death.
It’s great that you’re respecting her wishes, going slow and giving her space. But don’t give her too much space. Don’t let her disappear into her fears and worries. If she means something to you, you’ll work through them together.
Give her space, but don’t give her distance, I say back, needing the words to stick in my brain.
Exactly.
My jaw tenses. I wasn’t planning on it.
Good. He shoves a puck toward me, and I stop it easily. Also, ask her out already and make it official soon. Sabrina has been throwing around the idea of setting you up with her sister, and that’s…terrifying.
I’m waiting until I get home to ask her to dinner.
Why?
Because I want to do it in person. I feel that in person, if Eddie had any doubts, we could address them then and there. Over text, she may overthink.
Max blinks slowly, like he’s trying to calculate if I’ve been replaced by a pod person.
If it were me, I wouldn’t wait, he advises. Look at you with emotional maturity and shit.
Shut up.
***
After practice, on the bus to the airport, my phone buzzes.
EDDIE: Chaos. There was apparently a dance competition at a local seniors home and I had seven of them come in with fractures or brakes.
Then two sprains, a guy who thought he broke his toe but actually stubbed it on a Roomba, and a karate kid with a broken ankle.
Water consumed: approx. three sips per patient. Yes, I’m ashamed. Don’t lecture me.
I smile down at the screen.
SIDNEY: Drink. Your. Water.
EDDIE: Bossy.
SIDNEY: You know you like it.
A pause. Then the dots begin to dance.
EDDIE: I do.
EDDIE: Fine. I’m drinking. Are you happy?
SIDNEY: I’m talking to you, so yes.
An announcement comes through the cabin, notifying passengers of takeoff.
Cursing under my breath, I flick my eyes up from my phone and see Coach Taylor staring my way.
I had promised him I would go over game footage during this flight.
The Calgary forward had some fancy footwork that had tripped me up last year, and I need to acquaint myself with his style before we land.
Giving Coach a nod, I wrap up my conversation with Eddie. I let her know what’s happening.
SIDNEY: Hey, so the plane’s about to take off and I need to put my phone away and focus on game footage. Coach's orders. I’ll call you tonight.
Max’s words come back to me about asking her out. Sealing the deal and making this us a reality.
SIDNEY: When I’m back in Toronto at the end of the week would you like to go out to dinner with me? A real date. Just us.
Three dots appear. Stop.
Appear again. Stop again.
My pulse thuds like I’m in overtime and waiting for the slapshot.
Finally…
EDDIE: Yes.
My whole chest unfurls, warm and wide and dangerous. I don’t grin. I beam.