21. Goldie
TWENTY-ONE
GOLDIE
“Ugh.” I woke up and peeled the pages of a book from my face. Gray light pored in through my window. It wasn’t dark outside—had I slept in? I ran to the kitchen to check the clock. It read 8:00. Relaxing, I headed to the bathroom to see if the pages of the academic journal had transferred to my cheek.
My mouth was dry and felt disgusting. I had fallen asleep on the sofa reading studies and hadn’t brushed my teeth or washed my face, and I was still wearing the dress shirt and pants I’d worn to work the day before.
While the shower warmed up, I got out of my crinkled clothes and checked my phone. My screen was full of notifications. I’d missed calls from Ace, my dad, and my mom. There were text messages from Ace, Mel, and Dad.
A text from Dad told me they were truly on a streak, and he asked me to light a fire in the fireplace. I’d fallen asleep before the game. I couldn’t believe it. Ace’s text was a GIF of a puck going into a net. Mel’s message was classic Mel.
Your boyfriend is an all-star. He deserves a BJ for that goal.
Even Mel had seen the goal. What kind of hockey girlfriend falls asleep before a game?
After my shower, I turned on the sports channel to watch the replays. My eyes misted over as I watched Ethan and Ace’s perfect execution of the Michigan. It looked exactly the same way I’d envisioned when I wrote him the note. There were several angles of the shot. The tears didn’t fall until they zoomed in on Ace’s face. I could feel the joy in his eyes as his teammates surrounded him in celebration. I plucked a tissue from the box, dabbed at my eyes, and blew my nose. Part of me was so proud of him, while the other part was filled with admiration. It was a risky shot.
As much as the trick shot made me cry, I wasn’t prepared for the tidal wave of emotions that would take over when they played footage of all the Toronto Tigers lining up to kiss Robbie the goalie’s helmet. They’d never done that before, and Ace was first in line.
I listened to the voicemails. Ace had tried to call me after the game and I’d missed it. When he could have been out celebrating on the Miami strip, he’d gone back to the hotel room to call me. A sob escaped my lips. Ace Bailey was an incredible human being. And it wasn’t official, but I hoped I could soon call him my boyfriend.
Morton and I went for a walk on the beach. Dad was going to be home in the afternoon and in his voicemail, he asked me to leave Morty at home so he could take him for a walk. I had sessions with a few of the players in the afternoon, so it worked well for the shedding machine to stay at home. As we headed past the dog beach to the boardwalk, I listened to the last message, the one from my mom. She was in Michigan and would be crossing the border into Canada later that day, or maybe tomorrow, or maybe at the end of the week.
It wasn’t a surprise. I hadn’t expected a travel itinerary from my mom; she had a habit of just showing up. At least this time, I knew I could expect her anytime from tonight to… It was possible that she still might get distracted. I wouldn’t make up the couch until her crappy Toyota covered in alien and tree-of-life stickers was parked in the driveway. The only predictable thing about Fern Lauper was that she was wildly unpredictable.
I left Morton on his special blanket on Dad’s couch and made sure that the fire was crackling and tamped it down properly before I headed to work. My first session of the day was with the most reserved of my subjects: Gideon Bailey.
Gideon was waiting when I arrived at the training facility. My heart skipped a beat and I checked my watch. “Don’t worry, I’m early.” Gideon stood and opened the door for me. They may have been yin and yang, but one thing the brothers had in common: they were both gentlemen.
I took my seat and Gideon settled into the plastic chair across from me. Underneath him, the chair looked like it belonged in a kindergarten classroom.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bailey.” I shook his hand and the same electrical zap that had come with all of my other visions tingled my hand, but there wasn’t a visual. It was just darkness, and then bright fluorescent lights. Gideon released my hand and the vision fizzled before I could figure out what I was looking at. Maybe I was tired. I still wanted to find a scientific reason for what was happening to me. Maybe I needed to get a glucose monitor; maybe the sparkly vision was low blood sugar.
“Good afternoon, Professor Goldie.” He looked tired. “Don’t you have to be a PhD before you can call yourself professor ?” There was no emotion in his voice, and I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely curious, or if he was calling me out for the inappropriate use of Professor . Thanks, Dad.
“That’s correct.” I smiled. “This is my master’s thesis. A lot of my undergraduate students call me professor though.” It came off a bit more defensive that it needed to be. “Your coach threw it out there, and it looks like it stuck.”
Gideon held up his hands. “I was just curious. You don’t need to explain yourself.”
“It was a valid question. If you’re not comfortable with it, you can call me…” I hesitated. “Goldie.”
He smiled. “I like Professor Goldie. It suits you.” He laced his hands together on the table. “Those cat-eye glasses alone give you the right to use the professor moniker.”
Was Gideon Bailey flirting with me? Fuck, fuck, fuck. I needed to shut it down, for more than one reason. He was one of my most important subjects, and I was secretly falling in love with his brother.
I cleared my throat. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
“Of course.” He leaned back in his chair. “Right to business.”
My digital voice recorder sat on the table between us, but I didn’t press record. Gideon Bailey seemed on edge. A little small talk might settle him down. “Tell me about your game last night.”
There was a definite eye roll. “We won.”
“That’s fantastic. Congratulations. What was your favorite part of the game?” It was a great question to ask a hockey player, as it helped to identify their values. Gideon crossed his arms. “The end.”
He was a crusty bastard.
“All right.” I shuffled the papers with my list of questions.
Gideon sighed. “I’m sorry, Professor Goldie. I’m having a hard time here in Toronto.” His shoulders slumped. The powerful man looked defeated.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I fully expected him to say no.
“I don’t really want it on the record.” He pointed to the recorder.
It’s not on. I held it up to show him and handed it to him for good measure. He didn’t take it. “I trust you.”
Guilt gnawed at my gut. Was this unprofessional? I was sleeping with the man’s brother, and was the daughter of his boss.
“Gideon. Whatever you tell me here in this room, will stay in this room. I promise.” I meant it.
“What if I told you that I murdered someone?” His lips turned up into a smile.
What was it with everyone and murder lately?
“I’d get a shovel and tell you to pile the dirt high over the body.”
And that’s how I got Gideon to give me the first genuine smile I’d ever seen on his face. “But really, I’d probably have to report that to the police.”
“I know.” His face softened. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell you anything illegal.”
“Good.” I set down my pencil and rested my elbows on the table. “Why are you having a hard time here?”
Along with his body, his voice softened. “I’m having headaches.”
This was not what I expected. I thought he might discuss his struggles with his brother, or the fact he was a top player on a last-place team. “Have you spoken to the team doctor about this?”
“Not yet. I think it’s just stress.”
“Gideon.” I opened his folder. “You’ve had several concussions in your career, the most recent one within the last year. It might be stress, but it might be more.”
He inhaled deeply. “I’m afraid they’ll bench me.”
“They might,” I said. “For good reason. Do you think it’s impacting your game?” The only way to get through to a player like Gideon, and to get him to go seek medical help, was to convince him it would improve his game.
He nodded. “I mean, there’s other stuff too.”
“What kind of other stuff?”
Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms. He exhibited signs of protection and defensiveness. “My brother and I don’t get along, but that’s no secret. It’s been tough playing with him. It was also hard to come from the top team in the league, to this shithole.”
“I can understand how that would be frustrating, but the team looks like it’s improving.”
Gideon shrugged. “I just don’t feel like I love this game anymore.”
My heart broke. It was common for players with brain injuries to feel this way. “How much did you love it before?”
He tilted his head and the room was silent while he pondered my question. “I fucking loved it. It was my life. I hate the snow, I hate the cold, and I hate my brother.”
I bit the eraser end of my pencil and nodded. “What you’re feeling is pretty common, and it sounds a little bit like burnout. I really think you should go to the team doctor and discuss the headaches, but for the rest of the stuff, do you think a trade to a sunny team might help?”
Again, he tilted his head. The man listened and was pensive. “Yes. I want to love the game again. I don’t know if that’s possible here with this team.”
“Promise me you will talk to Dr. Forsyth. There’s so much that can be done, and if the headaches are stress related, maybe a trade can be orchestrated.”
He sighed. “I shouldn’t have told you all of this.” As quickly as he’d dropped his armor, he built it back up.
“I’m glad you did. Sometimes, you need an objective outsider to listen.” I held his gaze.
He smiled and reached across the table to hold my hands. “Thank you for listening. If it wouldn’t be wildly appropriate, I’d ask you out to dinner to thank you for listening.”
“It would—”
“I’m not asking,” he interrupted. “I just said that I would. You seem like one of the few genuine people I’ve met since I moved here.”
The irony of his comment stabbed into my chest. I wasn’t genuine, I was keeping secrets. “Thank you, Gideon. It’s been a pleasure working with you.” His hands were bigger than Ace’s and had completely engulfed mine. I was trying not to blink; I didn’t want to invade his privacy more than I already had. This time, I didn’t have to blink. The vision came to me with my eyes open.
I must have been seeing things from Gideon’s point of view. I was walking through a very masculine apartment, with jerseys on the walls, and a projection screen TV with hockey flickering in the dark. A hand, the same one that was holding on to mine, reached in front of me and opened a door. A pretty blonde woman was sitting in a bed, naked, next to a sleeping Ace Bailey.
Gasping, I ripped my hand from Gideon’s. My heart thumped against my rib cage. There were rumors that Ace had slept with Gideon’s girlfriend, and I chalked them up as just that, rumors. But what had I just seen? It couldn’t be a rumor if Gideon had walked in on it.
“I’m not feeling very well.” I stood. The room tilted around me and then went black.