10. Craig
CRAIG
The room is dark.
Bridget closed the curtains.
Put me in bed all nice and comfy with all the pillows, and then she left.
It’s quiet. But also loud? The air keeps blowing in from the vent like a motherfucking train.
Everything feels behind. Not keeping up.
My head hurts, but not like pain. Pressure. My brain is too big for my skull, I think? I don’t like having my eyes open, but I hate not seeing Bridget. My eyes need Bridget. My brain needs Bridget. Everything needs Bridget.
There’s a knock at the bedroom door, even though it’s open.
“Come.”
“I really think you should sleep. Penny said sleep will heal you more than anything.”
“Not more than anything. Sit… Please.”
I hear her exhale, and then I feel her sit at the edge of the bed. Too far away. “Okay. Sitting.”
“You’re here,” I say.
“Yes.”
“For me.”
“Yes.”
“Staying?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Why, Stitch?”
“Because my dad would murder me if he found out I didn’t… And because Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.” She says that. Her voice is sad. I know that line. Lilo & Stitch.
“Not gonna cry,” I mumble.
“Me neither.”
I reach for her. I think I want to reach for her, and then I reach for her. Things aren’t happening fast enough in my head and my body.
She takes my hand and squeezes it.
“Thank you.” It comes out like slow motion. It’s not big enough, those words.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. She’s touching my calluses. She knows them.
“No. I am.” I was going to let you in. I wasn’t supposed to let you get away. Even after what you said. It’s what I want to say, but it’s not coming out.
“I’m so sorry I ended things like that,” she says softly.
“Yeah.”
“I should have asked you about it.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s just that I heard… Never mind,” she says. “I should wait until tomorrow—this isn’t the right time to talk about it.”
“I’m fine. Look at me.” I’m lying here. Not moving. Being chill. “See how chill I am?”
“I just don’t want it to turn into an intense conversation.”
“I eat intense conversation for…for?”
“For breakfast?” I hear her blow out a little laugh. “Not with me, you don’t.”
“I can. I want to.”
“You sound so tired, Craig. You need to sleep.”
“Thread…”
“What thread?” she asks. “I’ll have my dad bring my tailoring equipment tomorrow.”
“No, the thread. I have the thought. Then I lose the thread. Then I find the thread. I lose the word.”
“I know, sweetie. It’s brain fog from the concussion. That’s why you aren’t supposed to have important conversations right now. Just trying to complete a sentence is taxing on your brain. Please go to sleep. I’ll be right down the hall.”
She called me sweetie.
I like that.
Tell her I like that.
“Stay.”
She sighs. “I’ll sit in that chair while you sleep.”
“No. Here.”
Sighs again. So much sighing. “If I lie in bed with you—over the covers—do you promise you’ll take a nap?
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Good.”
“Do you need anything before I lie down?” she asks. “More water?”
“Can you turn down the train?”
“Oh no. What do you mean?”
“Too loud.” I lift my hand to point at the vent. I think.
“Oh, the air-conditioning. Is it loud for you? I’ll turn up the thermostat.”
“Don’t go.”
“I have to get up to turn down the thermostat. I’ll be right here in the room.”
She’s gone. Off the bed. So many things to say. So many things I never said when I had the threads. Now I want to and I can’t find them. Fucking words. Can’t move either. Can’t make her understand. There’s not enough time.
Fuck.
“I’m back.”
She’s back. She’s on the bed. Yes.
Spoon.
I’m the big spoon.
Good.
“Remember the thing.” I say it to the dark, but I think it’s her hair. It smells like her. It’s the nice smell.
“What thing?” she asks.
“The thing to ask me. When I wake up.”
“Okay. Penny said to let you sleep for as long as possible, so just go to sleep. Okay?”
“Yep. Night-night, Stitch..”
“Nighty-night…Stitch.”
I’m awake.
I think?
It’s dark.
Am I here?
Wait.
Where’s here?
Where’s Bridget?
Not here.
“Hey.” Her voice. It’s her voice.
“Hey. Come here.”
I can feel her hand on my hand. “Do you know what day it is?”
“Are you measuring me?”
“What do you mean?” She sounds worried.
“Always measuring me. How long did I sleep?”
“Almost eight hours.”
“Then it’s the next day,” I say. “It’s tomorrow morning.”
She laughs. I love when she laughs at me. I’m not funny, but I can make her laugh. “Yeah. That’s right. Do you feel nauseated?”
“No?”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes. Very hungry. Take your clothes off. Lights on.”
“Lights stay off,” she insists. “I made you a big breakfast. I was texting with Penny, and she said you’ll probably be really hungry and to give you plain food. So it’s nothing fancy.”
“Naked breakfast.”
“Clothes-on breakfast.”
“Boooo.”
“I’ll be right back,” she says.
“Be fast,” I say.
“Don’t move, Craig Bowman. Stay where you are.”
“Okay.”
She’s gone again.
So much to say.
I don’t want to go.
I don’t want to go without her.
I’m not afraid to say it, but I don’t know how.
The goalposts know.
Bridget needs to know.
“I’m back. I’m just going to turn the lamp on, okay? I moved it to the corner of the room.”
I can hear her put a tray down. I don’t want to open my eyes yet, but I want to see her. Naked. Not naked, even. I just want to see her and say things and touch her.
“Okay, I made food that doesn’t have a strong smell,” she tells me. “Plain toast. Scrambled eggs. Plain oatmeal, but I brought brown sugar and cinnamon if you want it. Crackers and peanut butter.”
“Not enough protein.”
“Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to hit your protein goals for a couple of days—sorry. Can you sit up?”
I thought I was sitting up. “Yes.”
I move around, up I think. She moves pillows behind my head. It’s nice. She’s nice. She moves the blanket and puts the tray on my lap.
“Where’s the food from?” I ask.
“I had it delivered.”
“Did I pay?”
“I got it—it’s okay.”
“I pay. I take care of you,” I say.
“I’m taking care of you, buddy. You can pay me back later.”
The food is yelling at my eyes. I might throw up. Nope. Wait. Nope. I’m good.
“Do you want me to feed you?” she asks.
“Naked. Yes.”
“I can’t get you excited, Craig Bowman. Not yet.”
Not yet is good. Not yet means soon. I pick up the toast. It doesn’t go anywhere.
Fuck.
“I’ll feed you. No shame.”
Yes, shame.
But yes.
She feeds me.
Food and love.
It’s love.
It is.
I know it now.
I see it but not with my shitty eyes.
Toast.
Eggs.
Oatmeal.
Not crackers and peanut butter.
I want to feed her all my love.
“What’s the question?” I ask.
“About what?” Professional voice. She’s my tailor again.
“From before. That you should have asked.”
“Oh. It’s good that you remembered to bring that up.”
“Tell me.”
“Okay. Hang on.”
She wipes my mouth with a napkin. Moves the tray. Sits by my legs.
“So, I heard…through the grapevine…that the reason you kept seeing me was because you were on a winning streak and you thought I was your good luck charm.”
“What?”
“I’m not mad,” Bridget says. “I mean. I was hurt, I guess. If that’s the only reason…”
“It’s not the only reason. Fuck. You’re the only reason.”
“Okay, calm down. I’m not upset.”
“I am,” I say. “Fuck.”
“I told you we shouldn’t talk about this yet.”
“Bridget. You’re the reasons. All the reasons I kept seeing you and no one else.” Did I say that out loud? Those were the right words. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes. So, you didn’t think of me as your good luck charm.”
“You are my good luck charm. But not only that. Everything. All year.”
“Okay,” she says. “I misunderstood.”
“My goalposts knew.”
“Huh?”
“You know.”
“I don’t. I need you to explain so I know you’re not confused.”
“I’m not confused,” I say. “I’ve known. For months. I was confused after you said what you said. But I wasn’t until right before you said it. But now I’m not confused. I know everything.”
“Okay. You should get some more sleep. You probably need to use the restroom.”
“Yes.”
She takes the comforter and sheets off. “Get up slowly, okay?”
I get up. Slowly. She reaches for me, but I’m good. “I’m good.” Whoa. The floor moved. No? I’m good. Fuck this shit. I eat walking for breakfast. I’m good.
When I get back from the bathroom, the bed moves. But it doesn’t scare me. I’m in charge. Bed—mine. Pillows—mine. Sheet and comforter—mine.
Bridget—mine.
“You want me to adjust the pillows for you?” she asks.
Fucking pillows. “Yes, please.”
My hands move.
“Craig…”
They’re on her tits. Good hands. Mine.
She moves away.
Bad Bridget.
Bad.
“Take off your shirt.”
“Dude. Seriously. You can’t have sex yet. Doctor’s orders. You can’t even get aroused.”
“Tell that to my dick.”
“I mean, you shouldn’t get aroused,” she says.
“I asked Penny if it would be bad if the blood rushes from your head to your dick. She laughed at me and said that’s not really how it works, but the heart-rate and blood-pressure elevation that will happen if you get an erection—even if you don’t move—would be bad. ”
“Fuck that. She doesn’t know how tough I am. Take it off.”
“Craig. I think I should leave the room.”
“Bridget. Don’t make me say it.”
“What?”
I’m gonna say it. I’m gonna say it for the tits. “I was thinking about you when it happened.”
“Wow. You’re playing the guilt card. To get me to take my shirt off.”
“I said what I said.”
She shakes her head. She’s thinking about it. It’s coming off.
“Open the curtains.”
“No. Dim light for another twenty-four hours.”
“Shirt off. Now.” I slam my hand down. “Please. Baby, please. It hurts because I can’t have you. Please.”
Bridget sighs. So much sighing. “No touching.”
“Fine. Off. Please.”
She lifts her T-shirt. It’s coming off. There it is. The stomach. The tits. The shoulders. The arms covering the tits.
“Noooooo!”
“Calm down,” she says. “Take a slow, deep breath.”
I do that. I take a slow, deep breath. I am calm. I am calm now. “Tits. Now.”
“Don’t touch yourself.”
I move my hands to my sides. So fucking beautiful. “Show me.”
There isn’t a lot of light, but I can see. I don’t need light to know she’s smirking. One hand off. Then back on. Then the other hand off.
“Teasing hurts. Show me.”
She shows me. She holds her tits. Moves her hips. So hot.
“Fuuuuuuuck!”
She puts her shirt back on. “Sorry, sorry!”
“It doesn’t hurt!” I say.
“That’s not what it sounds like to me!”
“Just dull throbbing. Fuck. Uggghhh.”
“Do you want an aspirin?!”
“No. Fuck aspirin. I eat pain for…fuck!”
“Okay, I’m leaving the room so you can calm down,” she says. “Five minutes. I’ll be back in five minutes. Close your eyes and breathe.”
Easy for her to say.
Fuck.
I would risk more pain to touch her boobs.
I would risk everything to touch her boobs.
Fuck.
It’s still dark.
Fuck.
Did I fall asleep?
Where is she?
“I’m here.” Her hand’s on me.
“Hi.”
“Hi. You want some water?”
“I told the posts your name. Every game. I don’t know when it stopped being about hockey. Maybe year two.” Feels good to tell her.
She squeezes my hand. “Okay.”
“I’ll tell you everything.”
Fuck.
I fell asleep again.
“I’m here.”
She’s here.
In my bed.
In my arms.
Here.
“Do you know what day it is?” she asks.
She’s measuring me again. “No. Tell me.”
“Same day as the last time you woke up.”
“Still no sex, then?”
“Nope.”
“Fuck.”
“No fucking. Not yet.”
“Ohana.” I say it into her neck.
“Yes,” she says. “It means family.”
“I want you to be mine. Tommy and Indigo too.”
“We are.”
“Mine were never proud.”
“Of you?” Bridget asks.
“Not of hockey. Academics. All of them. Parents. Brothers. They don’t care. Never did.”
“I’m sorry. I always wondered, but you never wanted to talk about them. Are you in touch with them?”
“Sometimes. Not close. Not like with the Bradshaws. Not like my team. Not like I want with you.”
“We’ll stay in touch.” She sounds sad.
“Not what I mean. I want you with me.” I kiss her neck. She can tell me not to, but I’m doing it.
“That’s something we can talk about, but maybe tomorrow, okay? You should keep resting.”
“Every time I told my goalposts about you I did good. Not for luck. Because I liked talking about you. I loved it.”
I feel her moving. Turning to face me. I get a kiss on the forehead. “I love talking about you too.”
I have so much to say. Fuck. The throbbing. Not again. Fuck.