53. nick #2
We touched down in Houston and found Montoya standing on the curb, waiting for us. Damn, he’d gotten bulkier over the summer. His voice didn’t even crack that much anymore. “Nick! Tallulah!”
He swept us up in a big hug, crushing us to him.
“What the hell did they feed you?” I grumbled, ribs aching from the hug.
“We watched the whole interview with Tomasini,” Montoya said, finally releasing us to breathe. “A couple of times, we watched it a couple of times. Coach had us watch it before practice and we had to do an online training on abuse, the guys weren’t happy about it, and we—”
Tallulah blushed darker and darker. I grinned, changing topics for Tallulah’s sake. “How’s the figure skater?”
It was Montoya’s turn to blush. He opened the trunk for me to slide in the bags. “Uhhh…we’re grabbing dinner tonight.”
“Aw, Montoya.” Tallulah smiled and Montoya did that groan he did with his whole body, head swinging from embarrassment. He slipped out a sticky note from his pocket.
Him and the figure skater had been leaving notes in each other’s lockers for the last few weeks—on my recommendation. I knew it’d crack the ice with her. I took the sticky note from him while Montaya gushed about her to Tallulah.
The note was…weird. The handwriting was written with a thick marker and the letters were scrunched, like a dude’s handwriting. Kind of unusual for a figure skater. The weirdest part was, I could’ve sworn I recognized the handwriting.
Like I’d seen it before.
No…that couldn’t be right. I was jetlagged from the flight, my eyes were playing tricks on me. That had to have been it.
We drove to Marrs, me in the back seat, and Tallulah asking endless questions about the figure skater in the passenger seat. About ten minutes outside of Marrs, Tallulah pointed at the signs leading off the freeway. “Can we stop by my place first? I have to drop off Rat.”
“Uh…I only have enough gas for Marrs.” Montoya cleared his throat. “And then we—uh—need to grab gas.”
“But my apartment’s closer?”
“Uhhh…the way the roads curve…uhhh…”
I rested my arm over the back of Montoya’s seat, catching his attention in the rearview mirror. “What’s up?”
“What? Who? Huh?”
“Why do we have to go back to Marrs?”
His voice cracked. “Nothing’s going on!”
Tallulah’s eyebrows scrunched for an adorable frown. “Montoya, are you alright?”
“There’s a surprise party waiting for us,” I told her. “That’s got to be it.”
“What?” Tallulah blinked.
“Noooo.” Montoya flushed, using way more syllables than necessary. “Noooo.”
“You’re a shit liar,” I said joyfully. “Where’s it at? Denali’s dorm? The Colo? Roman Villa?”
Montoya lied some more, probably hoping he’d magically get better at lying, and that didn’t happen. The closer we drove to RV, the more I could see the huge windows of the lobby, and the colorful balloons inside.
We had to pretend to be surprised when my team and their girlfriends and our mutual friends welcomed us into our very own welcome-back party.
Tallulah shrank against me, blushing hard, and I nudged her forward, taking her inside with me.
Everybody wanted to meet Rat, and a lot of the guys pulled me aside to ask about Tomasini.
Homesick no more, it felt so fucking good to be home.
Even if a certain goalie’s presence was missed.
“Hold up, you need to see the best part,” Elijah assured me, bringing us to the corner. He grabbed hold of a rope, yanking on it, and an egg-shaped pinata flew to the air, hovering over everybody. It took a moment for it to rotate, and when it did, I stared.
“It’s fucking Tomasini, man!” He grinned, holding out a baseball bat. “You guys get the first crack!”
There was music playing, a table full of food, and everyone was genuinely happy to see us. It was good for Tallulah, to see how she had a place in all of this. I picked up Rat from eating a cupcake wrapper and dipped out of the party for a moment, heading upstairs.
There was something I needed to get.
Fridge’s side of the dorm was scrubbed clean. I paused for a moment, seeing all of the empty places that used to hold his things. It hurt to say goodbye without saying goodbye, but I pushed past it, heading into my room, to my nightstand.
The Gladiators have a tradition. We’re given woven bracelets, and the tradition goes that you give them to whoever you’re seeing. There were so many times when I imagined giving mine to Tallulah.
I didn’t have to imagine it anymore.
I made my way downstairs, returning to the party. It was time to give her the bracelet.
Where was she?
I scanned the faces, spotting her in the corner, sitting in one of the plush seats away from everyone else. Oh, shit. Was this party too much for her? I didn’t want to make her stay if she wasn’t okay with this.
I walked closer, and her face broke into relief when she saw me.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m getting an Oklahoma call,” she whispered. “People have been calling me nonstop, but I’m worried it’s my Grandma Wilma. She loses a phone once a month. What if this is her new number? What if she fell down the stairs? What if—?”
Tallulah wasn’t anxious about the party at all. It was pretty funny that she had to find something else to be anxious about. I chuckled. “You want me to take the call?”
“You’re the best,” she breathed out, passing it to me.
Tallulah took over my PR responses so I didn’t lose my hockey career, and I told important people to stop bothering her. Our system worked so well.
I took the chair next to her and answered the call, raising my eyebrows at Tallulah. “This is Tallulah Walker’s secretary, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Secretary?” a deep voice chuckled.
“Yep, incredibly—” I mouthed sexy at Tallulah and she snorted, “hard-working secretary. What do you want?”
“This is Clarence Barker,” he said, amused. “Editor for The Oklahoma Record.”
Wait, wait, wait—what? Holy fucking shit. The Oklahoma Record was Tallulah’s dream gig. She talked about it nonstop, how much she wanted to join their investigative branch.
I hunkered down with the call, more urgent now. “What about Tallulah?”
“We saw the interview she conducted with—uh—what’s his name? The Canadian hockey coach? We went through our files and discovered that we’d declined Tallulah’s internship application. We’re looking to rectify that. And to find what her plans are post-graduation.”
I put the phone on mute, staring hard at my girlfriend. “It’s The Oklahoma fucking Record—”
She quickly shook her head. “Nick, don’t joke about that—”
“I’m not joking.”
“What?” she squeaked.
“They want to throw themselves on your mercy for declining your application.”
Her mouth fell open.
“What do we do, boss?” I pressed. “What’s the plan? Do we tell them to fuck off because they rejected you, and now you get to say the sweet, sweet ‘I told you so?’”
“Fuck no!” Tallulah blurted out. “I’ve wanted to work in their newsroom since I was five years old—give me the phone!” With the phone now in hand, she seemed less sure than ever. She bit her lip, afraid. “Nick, what do I do? What do I say?”
“You’re going to hold my hand.” I wove my fingers through hers. “And you’re going to talk to them.”
“What if I say something wrong or—?”
“You won’t.”
She didn’t believe me. I could tell.
“You can do this,” I assured her.
“Can you stay for the call?” she whispered.
“Of course. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Slowly, she nodded and took the phone off mute. With deep breaths, she gave a brief introduction and talked about how long she’d wanted to work for The Oklahoma Record. While Clarence spoke, I took her other hand gently in mine, slipping the bracelet over her wrist.
Her eyes dropped to the bracelet and snapped to mine. The blush seared across her skin. She knew exactly what this was.
“You got this, sweetheart,” I murmured.
She squeezed my hand, mouthing, “thank you.”
Tallulah was so nervous, I could hear it in her voice, the anxiety layered underneath, the flutter of sharp breaths. I nodded along, never letting go of her hand. I knew the anxiety couldn’t ruin this. She wouldn’t let it stop her. Nothing would.