4
SYLAS
“It’s about time you came out with us,” Matias Vargas, our center, loudly states over the boisterous music the DJ at Neptune is playing.
I give Joseph “Joey” Cho, our defense, a nod and he returns it, then drifts his attention to the red head on his lap.
“I’m here out of pity. Don’t get used to it.”
They choked and lost the final a few months ago, and I haven’t let them live it down.
Callan Soren, our other defense, scoffs, taking a drink of whatever’s in his cup. “We made it to the final; your old team didn’t even make the playoffs.”
Everyone is saying it’s my fault, along with many other things.
I don’t look at the news or social media.
I haven’t in years. I have someone running it for me because it became too much, and the temptation to look her up is always there.
Not that I’m able to find her; she blocked me a while ago.
But despite knowing that, sometimes my brain itches to scour every inch of the internet in hopes that I’ll come across one picture.
I break the spell before I get caught up in it.
“We’re not here to talk about teams, games, or any of that shit. We’re on break, so let’s fucking enjoy it.” Marc drapes an arm around my shoulder, handing me a cup filled with who knows what. “Drink up, Sy! And don’t worry about anything. You’re in great hands.”
“I’m not trying to get drunk. I’m trying to fix my image, you know that.” If I get drunk, I get easily annoyed and that leads to fights, which is the last thing I need. “I’m not trying to end up in the Daily Mail again.”
He laughs loudly over the music. “I’m not talking about getting drunk.” He tips his head, eyes landing on someone a few feet away from us. “I’m talking about her. She’ll be great company.”
“Marc,” I groan, but force a smile for the blonde. “Did you tell her—”
“You’re in a funk.” He drops his arm and picks up his cup from the table.
“You’ve been in one for a while. Too busy focusing on the negatives, you forgot there’re a lot of positives too.
” He smirks. “Like her. She’s hot, smart, and very much interested.
Just give her a chance. She’s cool and she’s not going to try to accidentally get pregnant or force herself on you.
” He leans in, whispering, “You’re Sylas fucking Lenoir. Start acting like it.”
“We’re not in college.” I grimace, remembering it’s something he’d say when we were.
“Exactly. Seems like someone needs the reminder.” He stares at me knowingly. “She’s the opposite of everything you don’t want in a girl.”
I hate it when he’s right. I debate whether this is something I want to go through with. I give the girl a once-over. She’s tall, and has tattoos covering her arms. “If she gets weird, I’m fucking you up.”
Marc laughs, waving the girl and her friends over. “Don’t worry, I promise she’s all right.”
“Wait, how do you—” My words are cut short when the girl stands in front of me, her friends dispersing to mingle with the guys. “Hey,” I greet her, making sure my smile stays intact. I don’t know how this will go, but usually it ends up with me having to find an excuse to leave. “Sylas.”
“Hi. Gianna.” Her voice is soft but enthusiastic and sultry like the grin on her face. “It’s about time you showed up.”
“About time?” I cock a brow.
“Wasn’t sure if you actually would, since they’ve been here for almost two hours now,” she says.
I admit I’m impressed by how forward she’s being. “Keeping tabs on me?”
Gianna eyes me patronizingly. “No, but Marc has been talking about you nonstop.” She takes a sip from her cup. “Sylas this…Sylas that…and Sylas blah blah blah. I think he’s more obsessed with you than all the girls in here.”
That draws a real chuckle out of me. “We’ve been best friends since—”
“You guys were babies, yeah. He told me your whole life story.” Her lips quirk.
“Jesus, Marc,” I mutter under my breath.
“I told you, obsessed. I was almost tempted to ask if he was interested in you. Give him a few pointers on how to make the first move.”
Now I burst out laughing. “No, he’s just affectionate and isn’t afraid to express his love.”
“I’m glad he’s not afraid to be loud about it. I hate when guys act like they’re too good, too embarrassed to show emotions.”
“Well, Marcello is loud and proud.” I take a drink, wetting my dry throat and feeling a little more at ease. Maybe this won’t be too bad. “So, how do you know him?”
“I cut his hair.”
“Oh right.” He’s talked about her before. She cuts other athletes’ hair. And does a damn good job. There isn’t a time Marc’s hair doesn’t look good. “Taking on any new clients?”
“My schedule is busy, but I guess I can make an exception…” She scoots in closer, grazing her nails along my arm.
I welcome the touch, briefly. I’m able to allow myself to like it until…
“You didn’t have to do that. I really need you to stop spending money on me.” Anna beams, staring at her newly manicured fingernails. She looks at them in every direction, lifting them up then down, then shifting angles.
“I wish you’d let me do what I’m supposed to do and stop feeling bad about it.” I fish my phone out and take a few pictures of her. She doesn’t seem to notice, caught up looking at her pretty nails. She’s so beautiful. I can’t believe she’s mine.
“I know, I-I’m still adjusting. Thanks.” She stops looking at them and wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly. “I can’t remember the last time I actually got them done by someone who wasn’t Jenny. And with cleaning and saving money, I—thanks.”
“Stop thanking me. I do these things because I love seeing you happy.” I kiss the crown of her head.
“You don’t need to spend money to make me happy. I’m happy without it. Being with you is enough.”
I know that, but she deserves everything. “I’ll spend my money however I want, and you’re who I want to spend it on.”
“Sorry.” I draw back. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll be back.”
I guzzle down the rest of the drink, set the empty cup on the table, and wade through the thick crowd. Once I’m away from the pulsing building, I pull my lighter and cigarettes out, stuffing one between my lips. Once the flame lights the tip, I inhale deeply then exhale the cloud of smoke.
Looking up at the starry sky, I slip the stick out of my mouth only to stuff it back. I take a deep drag, filling my lungs with the bitter tobacco, and then exhale another cloud of smoke.
I don’t know how many times I repeat the process, but I burn through the cigarette until my brain is foggy and the memories are gone.
“Sylas?” I hear a voice and turn, finding Gianna behind me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a sec.” I toss the butt on the ground, lifting my foot over it to put it out.
“Do you want to get out of here?” She stands in front of me, closer than she had been inside. “I don’t live too far. My apartment is spacious, lots of privacy.”
I know what she’s asking. She wants this and maybe I should too.
“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” I usher her to my car and head to her place.
“The place is…coming along,” Marc muses sardonically, examining my newly furnished condo. “It’s very…modern. Sleek. White. Sooooo…boring.”
I drop down on the oversized sectional, shrugging at the judgmental look on his face. “I just moved. I haven’t had the chance to hire an interior designer.”
His black brows furrow, his expression scrutinizing. “Just moved? Sy, that was almost five months ago. I mean, I’m happy you finally got something to sit on, but you could add a little more to liven up the place. I can hook you up with an artist.”
“Did you come to judge my home or to hang out?” I click my tongue. “I wasn’t aware there was a time frame I needed to have my home decorated by.”
He came over to hang out since we haven’t really done that just the two of us.
We’ve been busy; him with playoffs and me with the trade and moving to another state and dealing with my parents’ bullshit. Some things never change.
So what if I’ve lived in Boston for a few months now. I haven’t been able to bring myself to decorate or buy more than what’s necessary. Maybe I don’t care enough, but it’s also not a priority.
His lips quirk into a crooked grin. “Judge you, of course.” He ambles over to the sofa and flops down. “So, forget your boring home. How was your night? You left a little early, didn’t say bye or anything. Heard Gianna left early too. Know anything about that?”
“Nothing happened.” And I hate myself for it. I can’t believe I almost succumbed to sleeping with someone just to forget her. “Nothing happened. She cut my hair, and then I left.”
“That explains why you look better.” He hums, impressed. “Told you she was good. So what happened?”
“Who is she?” Gianna asks.
I glance her way as I park my car in the garage of her apartment complex. “What?”
“The girl who has occupied your attention.” She removes her belt and shifts in the passenger seat to look at me.
“What do you—”
“I’ve been flirting with you from the moment we got in the car.
Have not so subtly been throwing myself at you.
I’ve tossed about every sign out there. I touched your arm and you pulled back as if you had gotten burnt then apologized.
You don’t strike me as an oblivious person, and from what Marc has told me, you’re smart enough to read between the lines.
You don’t want me but you’re trying to trick yourself—or whatever it is you’re doing—into believing you do.
So who’s the girl or guy?” She doesn’t look offended or upset, rather curious and intrigued.
I drag my fingers through my hair. “There’s no girl.”
“But there was?” Gianna cocks a brow. “Wasn’t there?” She grins, all excited like. “Marc didn’t tell me anything about a girl.”
“Because there’s no girl.” I huff, feeling annoyed and in need of another cigarette.
I don’t bother waiting till I get home, instead climbing out and grabbing my lighter and pack. She also gets out, rounds the hood of my car, and asks for one. I light it up for her, and we both lean against the side of my car.
“I don’t want you to think I was using you.” I slip the cigarette between my lips, inhale deeply, and exhale the white plume of smoke into the air.
She blows her own cloud of smoke. “Didn’t say you were, but I was using you.”
I peer down at her. “What?”
She chuckles wryly, the cigarette remaining between her lips for a long moment before she plucks it out and exhales sharply. “Just got dumped. Thought what better way to get over my ex than rebounding, and with you of all people. He’s obsessed with you.”
“Shit.” I wince. “I’m sorry. Marc didn’t—”
She speaks over me, but the sadness is evident in her voice. “It’s fine. Some things aren’t meant to work out, and Marc didn’t tell you because he doesn’t know.” She takes another drag. “So who dumped you?”
“No one dumped me.” My throat knots and stomach sinks. The reminder of that night tastes bitterly acidic. I stare straight ahead. I’m not about to open up to a person I don’t know. Even if Marc has boasted about how good of a listener she is.
“Oh. You dumped her.” She clicks her tongue. “Damn…I assume she was toxic if you’re sad and still missing her.”
“She wasn’t—isn’t toxic,” I correct her, a little irked. “She was…” Everything. And I lost her.
“She’s the one that got away, huh?” she asks, unperturbed by the bite in my voice.
Even the cigarette isn’t enough to dull the ache in my chest, the memories, the regret. The air grows stale at the reminder of how it all ended, how I fucked it all up.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
She waves a hand, unfazed. “I cut men’s hair—professional athletes with egos as big as Jupiter. I’m fine. It’ll take more than you being a little sassy to hurt my feelings.”
“I’m not sassy.”
“And a little pathetic,” she counters. “I struck a nerve, obviously. But it’s okay. I’ll let it slide because you’re sad.”
“I’m not sad.” Now I sound defensive.
“Sassy, sad, pathetic…I can go on.” She chuckles lightheartedly. “No hard feelings. I get it. I wasn’t into this anyway. I guess I was trying to get over him, but it didn’t work.”
“What would’ve happened if I’d gone through with it?” I was never going to, so I don’t know why I bothered trying to force myself.
“I guess hate myself for it in the morning?” She shrugs. “Anyway, come on.”
“I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“Who said anything about that?” Her face scrunches. “I’m going to fix your hair. Your barber did a shitty job,” she states bluntly, dropping the butt on the ground and putting it out with her foot. “Your sideburns have been bothering me all night.”
“You have the supplies?” I touch my hair; no one has mentioned anything. Those fuckers.
“And a chair and sink. I used to do cuts in my apartment before I made enough to rent my own place,” she explains, and has me follow behind her.
“She’s got a good sense of humor,” Marc says after I finish telling him what happened.
I wouldn’t have gone upstairs with her, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my hair. When we were inside, she showed me and I couldn’t believe I’d been walking around like that.
“Why didn’t you tell me my hair looked like shit?” I glare at him.
“Because you’ve been so mopey and angry. I didn’t want to upset you. You’ve gone through a lot. The injury, the trade, moving, your parents, An—”
“I’m not upset or angry. I wish everyone would stop saying that.”
He gives me a pointed stare. “Sylas, it’s been…
” He pauses, gauging my expression. Which I’m sure he notices is not at all pleased.
“Look, it’s been years. I know you miss her.
I know you want her back, but she blocked you.
You have to stop doing this to yourself.
Moping isn’t going to bring her back. You need to move on. ”
The reminder feels like a boulder being dropped on top of my chest, making it difficult to breathe, to think.
“I’m trying,” I groan, wiping a palm over my face.
I stand and trudge over to the kitchen, grabbing what I need then heading out onto the terrace.
He trails behind and props himself next to me at the railing, looking out over Boston Seaport.
I stuff a cigarette in my mouth, light it up, and hand the lighter and box to Marc.
He lights his own and lets the silence between us stretch.
The sun is just barely starting to set, and the horizon is painted in soft shades of pink and orange. If she were here, she’d have her phone out, never one to waste an opportunity to capture the sky when it looks like this.
A few minutes later, Marc’s bulldozing his way through the momentary peace.
“You can’t change what happened. I know you would if you could, but it’s been years, and everything is still the same.
If the opportunity were to arise and you got a second chance, you know I’d support it, help you any way I can, but that’s not the case.
You can’t keep beating yourself up over the past.” His voice is a soft plea, careful but pressing. “Let her go.”