Chapter Ten Randall
If you told me weeks ago that I’d be waiting around for a girl to fit me into her plans, I’d say you were a delusional idiot.
If you said it today, I’d still call you an idiot because Randall Haughland does not wait for girls to call.
But Elise isn’t some girl. She’s a friend. A great friend.
At some point, texting her became something I looked forward to. If I saw something funny or ridiculous, I’d send her a picture. When an event was worth remembering, it seemed natural to share it with Elise. When I gave up my phone, I didn’t miss social media, I missed her texting about the show. She sent me a few messages while I was offline, but I wish there were more.
I’m fucking invested in this play she’s putting together. Blood Will Have Blood is such a badass title, who wouldn’t want to see it? When she sends me rehearsal updates or pictures of the set, it’s like revealing the seams of what will later be a glamorous outfit.
And knowing that she reveals her nervousness to me because she can’t tell her cast and crew? That’s a prize all its own. She trusts me with her insecurities, which only makes her more awesome in my eyes. Elise is smart and classy and interesting.
Never thought an average jock like me would be friends with a theater director who, by the way, is also a talented author working her ass off. Watching Elise dedicate her time and energy in a context outside my profession has been enlightening. It’s like she enjoys putting herself through the ringer. As if working hard makes her happy.
I’ve spent most of my life around hockey. I’m used to seeing people work their asses off. Dedication to excellence is expected.
But that’s never been me. I’m not like my teammates who sacrifice body and mind for the sport. I’m a twenty-six-year-old dude with the rest of my life to be serious. Working to the bone is not something I aspire to do unless absolutely necessary.
Not saying I’m a complete slacker. I do what I gotta do to keep this job that I happen to be naturally good at. After all, my dad always said it was mostly luck that the puck slows down for me. I figured I’d ride my luck for as long as I can.
So why the fuck am I doing an extra sprint on the bike right now, when my thighs are already on fire? Not because I have to distract myself while waiting around for a girl to tell me her plans this weekend. That would be idiotic.
“I’ve been meaning to have a word with you,” Dexter Whitby, the Mavericks captain, says while taking the bike beside me. “Didn’t think it would be in the gym. This is the first time I’ve seen you stay longer than the other guys.”
“Where the fuck else did you think I’d be?” I bark grumpily.
We all have to put in gym time since there’s no game today. After sweeping Pittsburg, we’re now waiting for the other teams to wrap up their seven-game series.
“A party. A bar. Under a puck bunny—”
“I get it. What do you want, Dex?”
“Jeremy’s injury changed a lot for the team, but the biggest change is how you’ve stepped up. The third-game shutout carried the momentum for us to finish the series.”
He pats me on the back and then winces when his palm touches my swamp of sweat.
“Pittsburg had their own injuries coming into the playoffs.” I shrug. “We weren’t going against their best players.”
“Jesus, Randi. How did I know you were going to say some bullshit like that?”
“Like what?”
“Every time someone talks about how great you are, you brush it off or ignore it or say it isn’t a big deal. I’ve even seen you roll your eyes when Coach Zach gives you props in front of the team.”
“I do not.”
“You’re doing it now.”
I stop biking and jump off. Praises about my performance on the ice, especially from people who are goddamn superstars on the ice, make me uncomfortable.
Dexter is a great captain and sure to be in the Hockey Hall of Fame one day. When he singles me out like this, I feel as if I’m the butt of a joke, but I don’t understand the punchline.
“Thanks for the chat, Dex.”
“Hey, what’s got you pissed? I’m just taking a minute to say you’re coming through like we all knew you would.”
Jesus, could it get hotter in here? “Yeah, great. Thanks.”
“Hey, Randi! Are we waiting for you?” Sean asks from the hallway that connects the gym to the showers. I didn’t commit to going out with them after our workout. We can get dinner together anytime, but Elise doesn’t come home from Cleveland every day.
I look at my phone and bite the bullet. Of course I want to see her, but if she’s too busy I don’t want to mope around at home alone, either.
Me: Hey Elise, you wanna hang with me and the guys tonight? Like after dinner or something. If you aren’t tired or busy or whatever.
My phone rings.
“I was about to call you,” Elise says, and something like relief crashes into my consciousness. “You can say no, alright? So don’t feel any pressure.”
Something about her hesitation intrigues me. “Need me to rob a bank for you?”
Her laugh tinkles. “No. But I like this game. Guess again.”
“Hmm, do your taxes?”
“Haven’t done it in years.”
“That better be a joke.” I’m Canadian; we don’t fool around with our taxes.
“Wouldn’t you want to know,” she says with a chortle. “I’m kidding!” Elise adds to appease me.
“Let me think…” I ham it up with a pause. “Help bury the body of your boss with the shitty resting face?”
“You’d really help me bury a body, wouldn’t you, Randall?” she asks, and I can hear the smile.
“You know it.”
“OK, so maybe what I’m offering isn’t so bad.”
I get stuck on the phrase what I’m offering.
“Just say it,” I grumble because I’m pissed at the way my body reacts to her. My hardening cock needs to calm the fuck down.
“I’m busy tomorrow night. My mom refuses to find a proper date to her charity event, so I’ll be her plus-one. But…”
“But?”
“She’s making a huge homecoming dinner tonight and I thought, since I won’t have another chance to see you, maybe you’d like to join us.”
Dinner with her mother. I had offered to help out, if needed, but crashing her private family time makes me a jackass.
“Hey, I said no pressure,” Elise interrupts my thoughts. She took my hesitation the wrong way.
“You don’t have to invite me because I’m nagging you to hang out,” I say.
“Did it sound like a pity invitation? Because that’s not how my other friends took it.”
Friends. Plural. “It isn’t only me butting into mother-and-daughter time?”
“No! She loves cooking for my friends. That’s why I have so many, remember?”
I’m one of many friends. Of course I am. I should be relieved. Instead, something in my chest deflates. As does my cock. At least that’s no longer a problem.
“Yeah, count me in. What should I bring?”
“Not food, though we don’t say no to wine around here. Come by around six, six thirty?”
When I show up at six fifteen, the driveway is already full. Apparently the homecoming dinner for Elise constitutes a party. This doesn’t surprise me.
I’m cradling two bottles of wine and gripping a six pack. I take stock of my surroundings before staring at the wooden front door. I don’t think I’ve knocked on the door of a stranger’s house since maybe high school.
In a bar with the buzz of alcohol and the boost of my team, it’s easy to cruise. When we go to parties, doors are opened for us. Apart from the rare dinner in my father’s condo, most sit-down meals I’ve had in the last few years have been in restaurants. The idea of a genuine dinner party in someone’s home is so alien to my lifestyle, my comfort zone is in another county. Add conversations with people who know each other but not me, and it becomes painfully obvious that I made a mistake in agreeing to come.
It isn’t too late to get in my car and drive away. Easy enough to text Elise and say I couldn’t make it. Not like she’ll miss one extra person.
Unfortunately, her door opens before I can escape. Elise’s wide grin and glistening eyes and flowery aroma hit so hard, I almost drop the booze.
Christ, I forgot how gorgeous she is.
“What are you standing out there for? Come in!”
My body follows even as my brain flashes a mental picture of me shaking my head, mouth shaped in a silent nooooo.
“Good to see you, Randall,” Lily calls from her perch on the arm of a sofa.
“Hey, Lily,” I greet back.
“Guys, this is Randall. He’s a superstar goalie and wine bearer,” Elise says while freeing me of the wine and giving me a wink.
“Randall, that’s Woody, the most sought-after lighting designer in the city. He would not have turned my stage into a vampire set.”
“Damn right,” Woody says.
I recognize him from the bar that first night. He looked like a snob then, too. Walking over, I shake everyone’s hand and try to keep up with Elise’s introductions.
“Hailee is our historian. She works on transgender identities in medieval and early modern England.”
“Cool,” I say, pretending to know what that means.
An old feeling from my childhood—when I would realize I had not only forgotten my homework, but I had no idea there was any at all—is a familiar embarrassment I don’t wish to relive in the middle of my friend’s living room.
“Amber is my colleague who stepped up and took over my classes when I had to leave,” Elise says of a tall Black woman with the kind of cool eyeglasses only super-smart yet hip people can pull off. “She’ll be the assistant stage manager in Cleveland when the semester ends.”
The college teacher shakes my hand and smiles at me, the wine-toting jock who skipped college and went straight to the junior major league before getting drafted by the NHL.
“Good to meet you all,” I say to the room, surprised that my voice sounds remotely normal. I should drop off the booze and make an excuse to leave. I’ve got nothing in common with these people.
Elise tugs my wrist so I turn to face two women, one with silvery blonde hair and another whose face is so smooth and flawless, it could be airbrushed.
“This is Geraldine, my mother, and Sienna, her best friend.”
They’re smiling at me, but I don’t miss the side-eye they give each other. Sienna is tall and lanky; Geraldine is about Elise’s height although a little plumper. It appears that Elise gets a lot of her poise from her mother. With a classic bob and a lifted chin, the woman comes across as sophisticated and classy. Her smile is warm, though, taking the intimidation factor down a notch.
Sienna shakes my hand but Geraldine steps forward with her arms out. I lean down to accept her quick hug.
“Thank you for having me,” I say and realize the only thing I can offer is a six pack. So much for classy.
“You didn’t have to bring anything!” she gushes. “But thank you. Come to the kitchen to grab your drink.”
“I’m alright for now,” I say past a dry throat.
Elise nudges me with her elbow. “C’mon, let me show you what we’re having for dinner.”
“Sure, yeah.” I follow like a lost puppy.
And then, out of nowhere, the ear-splitting scream of a baby fills the air.