CHAPTER 49 NICK IT’S GOOD FOR YOU
NICK
IT’S GOOD FOR YOU
A picture of Tallulah with a shy smile appeared on the screen. I knew that photo. It was her formal picture for the newspaper on campus. I’d had it bookmarked on my phone for a couple of months.
The newscaster continued. “This college student, Tallulah Walker, was part of the Weckhorst’s Legacy internship, Tomasini’s own internship.
She’s now credited with the interview that caused a catastrophic financial downturn for Tomasini’s private business empire.
In the last twenty-four hours, he’s lost millions of dollars on the stock market alone—”
The room burst into cheers, my teammates calling out “balls of steel!” and “fucking get ‘em, Tallulah!”
Tallulah shifted away from the screen, sitting sideways on my lap, burying her face in my neck. She could hide, but I refused to let her miss this, miss out on people talking about her work, and my teammates’ applause.
It was obvious they were overcompensating from not getting involved with the interview. I didn’t mind. These guys had wives and children and important things to think about. Some of them had been around Tomasini for a lot longer than I had.
I’d never say it, but I felt sorry for them. I wasn’t angry, and I didn’t have it in me to feel bad for their over enthusiastic clapping and hooting when Tallulah’s picture crossed the screen again. They were trying to support the only way they knew how.
“This is so embarrassing,” Tallulah whispered.
I stroked her back, running my fingers along her side to soothe her. “It’s good for you.”
The segment continued for another ten minutes, detailing more and more allegations of physical and psychological violence that Tomasini had inflicted.
The ones outside of hockey surprised me the most. Honestly, I never thought he did this kind of stuff to anyone except me.
I’d always figured if it happened to someone else to the degree it happened to me, he would’ve gotten in trouble already.
I was wrong.
Tallulah’s phone rang and she moved away from me to take the call.
“Um, hi, Mom,” Tallulah said awkwardly, her voice leading down the hall. “Um…yeah. That’s me. No, I actually interviewed—yes. That’s me, Mom. I did that.”
I probably had a million calls to make too. I checked the numbers on my phone, mostly ones I didn’t recognize, until my eyes fell on a familiar name, calling me.
Denali.
Shit. No doubt demanding to know if I’d gotten an answer from Tomasini. I gave a quick nod to my teammates, taking the call in the rec room.
Denali’s voice rocketed through the call. “Nick?”
“Hey, man.” I slid down on Gordo’s favorite leather chair. “Uh, about the USAC—”
“What happened with Tomasini?”
Oh. Shit. Right. Now that The Toronto Chronicle wasn’t the only one pushing the interview, it’d gone international. There were so many group chats with hockey players. No doubt the Tomasini news was spreading far and wide.
“Look, Tomasini wasn’t going to get us into the USAC—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he said incredulously.
Another voice interrupted, Elijah, grabbing the phone from Denali. “Dude. That’s you in the plank video.”
I straightened up, my neck hot from embarrassment. “Uh…”
“It’s your For the Arena sweatshirt! That’s you!”
Denali replaced Elijah, sounding stunned. “Why—why didn’t you tell me?”
“About Tomasini?” I blinked. “Why would I tell you about that?”
“Because we’re friends, Nick,” Denali said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Because we’re teammates. Because I would’ve gotten off your ass, because I could’ve told Sémajuste, our coach, to help.”
I leaned forward on my elbows. “You don’t know that—”
“Nick, Tomasini’s only really famous in Canada. Bear’s in Boston, they hate Toronto over there, I—I—” Denali fell silent and I could hear him thump down to a chair. “I don’t want to—I’m not trying to be a jackass, that’s not why I called—”
Elijah took the phone again. “We fucking care about you, asshole. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I…didn’t think you’d believe me.”
“Uh…fuck.” I could hear Elijah’s swallow over the phone. “I don’t know what to say.”
Denali’s voice again. “Nick, I’m…sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I managed.
“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve realized you were cagey about the USAC thing, and…I’m sorry, Nick. I really am.”
A pang of homesickness hit me again. I missed the Gladiators. I missed my friends. I missed home.
My phone buzzed again, more of my teammates messaging me.
They were messages of support. Some called me a fucking idiot for not telling them personally, but I knew it was the only way they knew how to express it, the shame that they didn’t know, that they couldn’t help.
They wanted me to know they were in my corner.
There was a soft knock at the doorframe, Tallulah hanging by it, Rat in her arms. She mouthed, “do you want me to go?”
I shook my head and held out my arm.
Tallulah slipped into my lap, her fingers stroking my hair. I leaned against her while Rat purred, rubbing her head against my stomach.
Another message appeared. I stared down at it.
montooooya
Fridge told me to tell you that he’s sorry you went through that
It stung a little that Fridge couldn’t message me himself, that I was still blocked. But how could I be upset about that? I sighed, nestling into Tallulah. It’d take time, I knew that. And I would apologize to Fridge for real. I’d make it right between us.
I said my goodbyes to Denali and Elijah. There were so many other calls coming through, way more than I wanted to answer. I almost powered down my phone when the next number came through.
The only one I’d answer right now.
I hesitated. “M?e?”
“Nick?” My mom was never quiet anymore. The silence was unsettling. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. “Nick, your coach is on the news. I don’t understand.”
“Uh…it’s a long story.”
I could hear her struggle to speak, bits of words said and held back, my mom trying to form words. “You’re my baby,” she finally said. “You can tell me all of your long stories.”
Tallulah held me closer, kissing my hair, hugging me tight. It was hard to speak, my throat hurt. “M?e, I’ve had kind of a shitty couple of days, can I talk to you tomorrow about it?”
“Are you safe?”
“I’m safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Oh, my baby.” My mom’s words wobbled, I couldn’t stand to hear it. I wasn’t the one who made my mom cry, I was the one who made things better. “My baby, my baby—”
“Tallulah’s really excited to meet you,” I blurted out.
It was the only thing I could think of to distract her. Tallulah froze in my lap.
“Tallulah?” my mom repeated, her words thick. “Oh. I’ll fly there. I’ll fly there now—”
“No, M?e, we’re about to leave Canada—”
“Then…I’ll come to Houston,” she said with new resolve. “I’ll come to Houston in September, and we’ll get lunch, and all three of us can get lunch, and—and—” She paused. “Is she there?”
Tallulah’s face darkened with the blush, staring at the phone, discomfort radiating off her.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “She’s here.”
“Can you put me on speaker?” my mom asked.
As soon as I did, apologies poured out of Tallulah. “I—I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to listen in, I’m not eavesdropping, I—I know it’s a private conversation, I—”
“Oh, no, no, no,” my mom interrupted. She had a pinched tone, her way of grabbing on to something to prevent from falling apart. “No, no, we’re not like that, Tallulah.” She sniffled, taking deep breaths to steady her voice. “I’m Letícia.”
Tallulah cast a terrified look my way. I nodded, urging her to say hello. My mom clung to conversations. After something as big as this, I knew her introduction with Tallulah would be the only thing to keep her upright.
“Hi, Letícia,” Tallulah whispered.
“It’s so lovely to talk to you at last.”
Tallulah bit her lip, watching me as I tried to convey how important this was to my mom. How much this conversation would mean to her, how meeting Tallulah would overshadow everything I had to tell her tomorrow. From every story I’d told my mom, she’d already fallen in love with her.
Recognition fluttered across Tallulah’s face. Slowly, she nodded, her voice softening. “It’s lovely to talk to you too.”
“You’re coming for Christmas, yes?”
“I—um—”
“We host in Newark, with Nick’s brother, and my grandbabies, you’re going to love them, everyone comes—”
“We—um—usually celebrate holidays on the rez,” Tallulah said apologetically, a regretful look my way.
“It’s okay,” I mouthed.
“We’ll split them now, won’t we?” my mom asked. She wasn’t pressing it, she said it like it was the only conclusion to make. “Nick and I will visit the reservation for a week. I’ve been so excited to meet your parents. Yes? Nick and I can fly there for Christmas?”
My mom was usually so bubbly and fun and friendly, and in a sharp contrast, so fragile. Her high energy hid everything else, I could hear the request wavering in my mom’s voice. I knew how much this meant to her, but I couldn’t guarantee anything with Tallulah’s parents. Neither could she.
“Uh…” I cleared my throat. “M?e—”
“We’d love to have you,” rushed out of Tallulah.
My eyes snapped to hers. There was no way that was true. I mouthed one word. “What?”
Tallulah ignored me. “Of course, we’d love to have you. My parents will be—um—thrilled. It’s so good to meet you, Letícia.”
My mom sniffled, her voice thick. “And it’s so good to meet the love of my son’s life.”