30. “Linger”
Chapter 30
“Linger”
Taz - Age 24, 1994
T he guys were eager to head out and continue the celebrations after our win. Normally, I would have been right there with them, but I just couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm for some reason.
As I rushed out of the locker room after the game, I was disappointed when I realized Sascha had already left. I had hoped she would not only stay to watch me play but also want to spend time together afterward. Her sudden absence left me unsure of what to do next, so I went home, paced for about thirty minutes, and then found myself in the car driving aimlessly.
The weather is just getting cold, and we’ve had some snow dusting the top of the mountains, but the roads are clear now. With no direction in mind, I speed faster than I should until I find myself handing my keys to the valet at Sascha’s hotel.
It’s after midnight, and I have no business being here, but my body confidently carries me through the lobby anyway. The young woman at the front desk looks disinterested until her gaze turns up and meets my own. Suddenly, her eyes widen with something: recognition or attraction.
“Can I help you?” she asks with a flirty smile and a little flip of her hair.
I can use this situation to my advantage. “Yes, I’m here to see a friend. Can you please direct me to Sascha Bell’s room?”
She looks momentarily disappointed but then recovers. “I’m sorry. I can’t give out that information.”
Guess it’s time to lay it on. I lean on the desk and drop my voice an octave. “I understand it’s policy. But do you think you could do me a favor? Just this once?” I punctuate my request with a wink.
Judging by the smile that plays on her lips and the blush that creeps up her neck, my flirtation hits the intended target. She bites her lip and looks around, ensuring no one is watching. After a few taps on her computer screen, she leans over and whispers, “Room 813.”
“My gratitude knows no bounds,” I exclaim with a wide, toothy smile as I stride confidently across the lobby toward the shiny elevator doors. My stiff, uncomfortable suit has been discarded in favor of a cozy pair of worn jeans, a soft sweatshirt, and my trusty Nikes. With a sense of anticipation, I press the button that will whisk me up to the eighth floor. As I wait, I tuck my hands into the front pockets of my jeans and contemplate whether she will allow me into her room.
The elevator reaches its destination, and I step out. The hallway stretches before me, endless rows of identical doors lining the walls. My feet carry me closer and closer to room 813, my heart racing with every step. I pause and gaze at the number on the door, my mind swirling with doubts and second thoughts. This was a reckless move. I know it deep down. It’s late, and Sascha has to work in the morning. But my gut tells me she isn’t sleeping right now. She never could when something was weighing on her mind.
My fist collides with the door three times, the wood reverberating against my knuckles. I strain to hear any sign of life from within, but all is silent. With growing impatience, I knock again in a familiar pattern she will recognize.
A muffled curse reaches my ears from behind the door, and I can’t help but grin. I know she’s on her way to answer my persistent summons.
As the door creaks open, I am met with a blazing pair of green eyes. They are filled with anger and determination, leaving no doubt that she is wide awake.
“You remembered,” I say with a teasing smirk.
“Remembered what, you lunatic?”
“Our secret knock,” I reply.
“What do you want?” she demands, her arms tightly crossed over the soft fabric of her worn Soundgarden t-shirt.
“Well, hello to you as well, Princess,” I reply with a wry smile. The fiery glint in her eyes only intensifies at my teasing remark.
“Taz, it’s late. I’m here at your request, and it feels like I’ve been running for hours. The least you can do is let me get some rest,” she says, her voice slightly strained from exhaustion.
“Were you sleeping or lying in bed, mind buzzing with thoughts and plans?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Pfft. Whatever,” she replies, confirming my suspicions.
“Can I come in?” I ask, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
Her eyes narrow skeptically. “Why?” she challenges.
“Not for that,” I quickly clarify, not wanting her to misinterpret my intentions. Although the idea of spending the night inside her is tempting, I just want to see her and talk a bit. I can control myself. Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not an animal. But it is true that being near her always ignites a fire within me that’s hard to ignore.
She glances at the watch on her right hand. “You have five minutes,” she says, stepping to the side and gesturing for me to enter.
The room is spacious and tastefully decorated, with a large window overlooking the city. The faint glow of a full moon seeping through the curtains, casting a soft light on the furnishings. As I step into the room, my nose is greeted by a subtle combination of strawberries and vanilla. My mind flashes to Sascha, imagining her showering with that intoxicating body wash. I quickly push the thought away and sink into one of the plush gray chairs by the desk.
I shift, crossing my ankle over my leg as I look at her. “So, what did you think of the game?” I ask.
She takes a sip of water before answering, making me wait. “It was... interesting,” she says, her tone familiarly evasive.
I lean toward her with a smile. “ Interesting ? That’s an interesting choice of words. Very non-committal. Very ‘Sascha.’”
Her lips quirk into a grin. “I enjoyed it, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Exactly,” I reply. “Anything about the game that you found particularly titillating?”
She nods, taking another sip before responding. “Actually, yes. Number thirteen was impressive on the ice, and he has some great stick skills.”
“Number thirteen beats up children and clubs baby seals for fun,” I reply wryly.
“The man can play hockey, child endangerment, and animal cruelty aside.”
I chuckle and shake my head. Leave it to her to compliment my teammate and not mention me. “Well, I’ll let you get your beauty sleep,” I say, pushing off my feet and standing up from my chair.
“Wait,” she says, motioning toward the chair. “I want to hear about your grandma.”
I oblige, sinking into the plush cushions as I share stories of recent visits with Gram.
Sascha listens intently, her warm gaze never leaving my face.
“She’s doing well,” I say hesitantly.
Sascha sees through me. “But?” she infers, her voice filled with understanding and empathy.
I pause momentarily before reluctantly admitting, “Well...there are some challenges.”
Sascha nods knowingly, her eyes reflecting the deep bond we share. “I know you,” she says softly. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“She used to have the sharpest memory, but now she asks me the same question five times in a row,” I confide in Sascha.
She nods sympathetically. “She’s super old, Michael. It’s natural for memory to fade with age. Give Ida a break,” she says with a hint of sarcasm. I can’t help but smile at her ever-present dry humor.
“The doctors diagnosed her with Alzheimer’s dementia,” I explain, my voice heavy with emotion.
Sascha places a comforting hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, Michael,” she says sincerely. “But she’s lived such a long life with such a sharp mind.”
I let out a sigh. “I know,” I say sadly. “It’s just hard to see her forgetting about me after all the effort I put into bringing her to live with me.”
Sasha’s eyes well up as she speaks. “She will never forget you,” she says, her voice full of emotion. “You are her world.”
I smile and thank her, touched by her words. Changing the subject, I ask about her parents.
She chuckles and replies, “Fran and Don are driving me crazy as usual.” We both laugh at the comedic chaos of having elderly loved ones who refuse to slow down.
“I called the other day and found my dad on the roof,” she continues, shaking her head in disbelief. “The man has lost his mind.”
“They are such great people,” I say, my voice filled with wonder.
“They truly are,” she agrees, her tone mirroring my own. She turns to me, curiosity dancing in her eyes. “Do you like it here?” she asks, shifting the topic.
I nod enthusiastically. “I do. The winters aren’t as harsh as back home, and something exciting always happens in the summer. The art and music scene here is unparalleled. You’d love it.”
A smile graces her lips. “I’m sure I would,” she replies wistfully.
My mood fades as she redirects the conversation again.
“So, will you finally tell me why you brought me here?” she asks, her face serious and expectant.
“I told you the truth. Yes, I miss you, and you have consumed my thoughts since the wedding,” I admit, “but I would never deceive you just to have you here with me. I truly believe you are perfect for this campaign.”
Her lips part in a soft smile as she nods, her eyes sparkling with appreciation. “Thank you,” she says sincerely.
Glancing at my watch, I realize it’s way past late. “Well, I should get going.” As I open the door and step into the hallway, I turn back to see her leaning against the door frame, her hair messy and a sleepy smile on her face. “Good luck tomorrow. You’re going to do great.”
Sascha nods but remains quiet.
I make my way down the hallway, my footsteps echoing softly against the walls as I head toward the elevator. But before I can reach it, I hear her voice behind me.
“You played awesome tonight, Michael.” Her words send a swell of pride through my chest before her door clicks shut.
I drive back to my apartment, feeling exhaustion settle heavily into my muscles. When I climb into bed fifteen minutes later, I anticipate falling asleep immediately. However, despite my body desperately craving rest, my mind is stuck in a loop of nostalgia about Sascha.