Chapter Forty Randall
I ran five miles after Elise left. Needed to feel pain somewhere other than in my head. My pounding headache started the second she walked away.
Maybe she would have stayed if I begged her to, but what’s the point? Elise wants space and time. I can give her that.
Rather not, but I’ll manage.
Meanwhile, the townhouse is an empty cave without her, the colorful decorations making me miss her even more. Jesus, we’re still in the same city living in the same house, and already she’s slipping away.
The group text with my teammates—or I should say, my ex-teammates—has been blowing up my phone all afternoon. I’ve ignored the messages since the first three are pretty much like the next twenty.
That’s the biggest trade of the pre-season!
Congratulations on getting the number one spot on a top team.
When’s the farewell party?
Teammates come and go, but the Mavericks were special because they believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. I’ll respond to them when I don’t feel so goddamn gutted.
There’s only one person I want to talk to.
Until I figure things out with Elise, everything feels unsteady and fragile. Like I’m standing on thin ice, the wrong step cracking the surface till there’s nowhere to go but down.
Elise’s text makes me jump. Wanna meet at Jack & Jill’s for dinner?
That’s the greasy diner we hung out at ages ago, when Elise decided we would be “friends without benefits.” The memory of the conversation triggers something like irritation.
My fingers move before I properly consider what to say. I’m not having an important conversation in a restaurant, Elise. Come home please.
I’ve always considered myself easy going, never taking things too seriously: my studies as a kid, my training as an athlete, and my life choices in general. So, even though I was born to be a goaltender, I never worried about being number one.
Looking back at the last few months, it’s impossible to deny I’ve changed. My drive was always there, otherwise I wouldn’t have made it this far, but I’m more willing to direct my drive toward something out of reach.
It’s like I’m giving myself permission to go beyond what I can do, to a point where failure is possible.
That’s not me changing. I think that’s me being braver, better, more like the woman I love.
Wanting to be with Elise, needing to be someone she’d want to be with, pushed me in so many ways.
There’s nothing casual or half measured about my actions when I gave my all during those final playoff games. Losing those games motivated me to endure the toughest summer training I’ve ever put myself through.
Most of all, there’s nothing half-ass about what I want from Elise. Not when I went to Cleveland to stand by her side and not when we traveled to Vancouver. I shared all the good and all the bad when I spilled my guts about the strained relationship I have with my family. And when I asked her to move in, it wasn’t a residence I was offering, it was my life.
So, no, I don’t want to turn away from the circumstances of this trade. I want us to be brave, to give our all, to be together no matter what.
She’s had time and space. We should talk now.
Elise: We don’t have anything in the fridge. I’ll grab some take out. Any requests?
Come home.
She doesn’t respond. I wait.
Each minute cranks me up tighter. The only thing worse than my headache is this sharp pain in my chest. I run different scenarios in my brain, each imperfect, but there are options, dammit. She has to see that.
When the key turns an hour later, I defy physics and fly from the sofa to the front door. As soon as she enters, I pull her tight and bury my face in her neck. I’m making a fool of myself and I don’t care.
For the first time in hours, I inhale a full breath.
My home is with Elise. That’s clearer now more than ever.
Goaltending is just a job, no matter how much fame and money is involved. I don’t want to make the same mistake as my father, putting work in front of everything so he was a shell of a partner to my mother.
“I might be able to find a workaround,” I venture. “My agent can negotiate less pay or something. I don’t want to prioritize my career over the woman I love. That’s my dad’s mistake and I won’t make it.”
Whatever it takes, I don’t want to go back to my life without her. Determination makes my skin feel too small. I’m bursting with the need to hear her response. To know how we can move forward.
“You can’t do that,” she says in a voice squeakier than I’ve ever heard. “Randall, you can’t throw away the opportunity of a lifetime. That’s reckless.”
“Then come with me. There’s theater everywhere.”
“Yes, of course. I just—”
“What difference would it make where you wrote?” I interrupt.
“I’m sorry, what?” She takes a step back. “Did you just say it doesn’t matter where I am?”
“All I’m saying is, your work is portable and mine isn’t.”
Somehow my anxiety has turned into something heavier. Doubt. Panic. Why can’t she see that this is possible if she gave us a chance? No half measures. All in.
“I think what you’re saying is your work is more important.”
“Don’t twist my words, Elise. Please, be honest. You’ve moved out of town for work before, haven’t you? I thought you barely stayed in Columbus during the summer, traveling to join any theater organization that’ll have you.”
A sound between a gasp and a choke makes me aware of my wrong choice of words.
“I mean that’s lucky enough to have you. My point is, moving is part of being an artist, isn’t it?”
“Randall,” she mumbles, tight-lipped, “I don’t think we’re in the right head space to talk about this.”
“All I’m saying is,” I barrel forward, “how is moving to Vancouver different if you can continue with your plays? Maybe not as a director at the moment, but as a writer. You could do that while I support you.”
“And there it is,” she says with her arms up in frustration.
“What?”
“I’ve seen this before. Miles pulled exactly the same thing, asking me to move in with him and then throwing it in my face that he made more money than I did.”
“What the fuck, Elise, that’s bullshit! I’m nothing like that asshole. You think I’m even thinking about money right now when I can’t see past not living with you?!”
“This is starting to feel very much like emotional blackmail.”
“What the fuck!”
“Isn’t that what you’re saying? If you leave without me, hell will break lose.”
I shrug because that is exactly what I’m saying.
“And you don’t see what’s wrong with that? How it puts me in an impossible situation because that’s not what we agreed to. Moving in together is already a big step. Moving across the country is a leap. I’ll never live up to that level of expectation, Randall.”
“Let’s back up. My only expectation is that you be you. You’re everything to me exactly the way you are.”
She sighs and her eyes flutter closed.
“I need to think about what you’re asking me, OK?”
“Nothing is keeping you back here.”
“Except my family. And the English department course I’m creating.”
“I doubt Geraldine would appreciate being used as an excuse. And that course is a temporary teaching gig, Elise. You can get that anywhere.”
“How interesting. I didn’t realize you were an expert on my family life and career choices,” she drones sarcastically.
I’m fucking up, but I’m like an avalanche on an ever-steeper mountain, increasingly destructive on its way down, down, down.
“If I have to choose between my career and my life with you, fuck hockey.”
“Randall, I would never force you into such an impossible choice!” She reaches over to clutch my forearm. I’m about to pull her in, but a cloud of doubt darkens her expression.
“Although that’s exactly what you’re asking of me, isn’t it?” Her hand drops to her side and she takes another step back.
“No,” I answer stubbornly and then, with less conviction, “not exactly.”
“After all, if there’s a career worth moving for, it’s yours,” she huffs.
“Elise, for fuck’s sake, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“I thought we would be different. That finally I’m with someone who doesn’t resent me for the choices I’ve made with my life.”
“Resent you? I fucking love you.”
“You want me around. That’s not the same thing.”
“I want you in my life because I love you. But if you don’t think staying together is worth the effort, then…”
My mouth can’t say what flashed across my muddled brain.
How did we get here?
How did this conversation turn into an ugly clash of my demands and her insecurities, my desperation about the future dredging up Elise’s weariness about her past.
“Are you breaking up with me?” she asks quietly. Calmly.
“Don’t even fucking say those words, Elise,” I growl because fuck calm. She doesn’t get to be calm while this conversation tears into me.
I’m cracking from inside, turning into ugly shards.
I am one big, ugly, jagged edge.
“I don’t think we can solve anything tonight. Everything you say feels like an…an accusation.”
“Elise.”
“I know it isn’t. I know that objectively you’re giving me options and assessing my career and weighing our choices. But maybe you could have given me time to do that for myself.”
Tears escape the corner of her eyes. They might as well be bullets because each one hits me. I’ve pushed and pushed because I need an answer right fucking now. But in the process of going all in, I’ve hurt the woman I love.
“I’m sorry, Elise. Shit, please don’t cry. Goddamn, I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot, Randall,” she says softly.
“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I get it now. I get it. I…where are you going?”
“I’ll be back tomorrow. It’s possible we could do even more damage if I stay tonight.”
I stand in place for a long time after the door closes behind her, wondering how the hell I fucked up so bad.