Page 10

10

TAYLOR

Okay, maybe Anthony is a little pretentious. The restaurant menu was ridiculous, and I was inclined to snicker and make fun of it, but he was all into it.

He kissed me when he brought me home. It was okay. He’s probably going to want the sex stuff soon, if we keep seeing each other. I’ve been thinking about sex a lot lately, but dammit, it’s not Anthony in my fantasies.

It’s Sunday and I’m in our sunny kitchen, toasting a bagel and sipping coffee before I take Byron for a nice, long walk on the beach.

Mom walks into the kitchen and stands beside the island. “Morning, sweetie.”

“Morning, Mom.” I look up at her, and instantly read her face. “What’s wrong?”

Her lips are thin, her eyes strained. “Um, your father and I want to talk to you about something.”

“Okay. Let me put cream cheese on this first.” I smear the bagel and, carrying my plate and coffee, I follow Mom into the family room.

They’re probably going to kick me out.

I swallow a sigh. I know it has to happen sometime, and believe me, I want to live on my own and be independent. But I’ve looked at the kind of apartments I can afford and they’re crappy. Nowhere near the beach. Some of them are studio apartments that don’t even have a bedroom. Plus I’d have to leave Byron.

Well, hopefully they’ll give me some time. Maybe this is just a heads-up.

We all sit, and I glumly wait for the bad news.

“We need to talk to you,” Mom says again. “Because we have some . . . difficult news.”

I nod and take a bite of bagel and cream cheese.

“Your dad and I are separating.”

I choke. My eyes water. I cough. “What?”

Mom’s eyes flicker to Dad, then back to me. She twists her hands together on her lap. “We’ve decided to separate. It’s a mutual decision. We want you to know it has nothing to do with you.”

My mind is spinning. I can’t make sense of this. “You’ve been married for over thirty years!”

“I know. It hasn’t been easy coming to this decision. But it’s for the best.”

“But . . . why?” I stare at her, then Dad, who can’t even meet my eyes. He looks like he’s going to cry.

“We’ve agreed that we won’t discuss the details with you and Amy.”

“Amy! Does she know about this?”

“We’re going to Skype with her right away.”

“Oh my God.” Shaking my head, I set my plate down on the coffee table. I can’t eat it now. My throat is clogged up. This can’t be happening. This really can’t be happening.

I look back and forth between them, seeing the anguish on both their faces. “What about some counseling?”

“We’ve been for counseling,” Dad says in a choked voice.

“It did help us come to terms with things,” Mom adds, her voice also thick. “And to decide how and when to tell you and your sister.”

“You can’t do this.” I look between them again. “You can’t lose everything you’ve shared all these years.”

“We don’t lose that,” she says gently. “We’ll always have that. We’ll always have our two beautiful daughters and all the memories.”

“But . . .” I don’t even know what to say. It’s horrendous. Unspeakable. After thirty-two years of marriage, you’d think they’d made it through everything. I can’t comprehend this. At all. “It’s because of me. Isn’t it? If I move out, will that help? I mean, I can’t really afford it, but if it will save your marriage, I’ll do it.”

Mom’s eyes get wet. “No, sweetie. That’s not it. It’s not because of you.”

My heart throbs painfully, not entirely convinced. I don’t want this to happen. I’ll do anything to keep this from happening. “But your future . . . retirement . . . what are you going to do?”

“Well.” Mom bites her lip. “That’s another thing we need to talk about. I’m going to move out. We need to sell the house.”

“Sell the house?” My voice rises.

“Yes.” She shifts in her chair. “Neither of us can afford to buy the other out.”

“But . . . we love this house.”

“Yes,” she says sadly. “We do. That makes it even harder. But again . . . we’ll always have the memories of living here, of you two girls growing up here.”

My chest hurts so much I press a hand there. My eyes burn. “Where are you going?” I look at Mom.

“I’m going to stay with Shirley.”

I nod slowly. Her best friend. “Okay.” I suck on my bottom lip, then look at Dad. “I can stay here for a while?”

“Of course!” His eyes are red. “I’ve already found an apartment. The house is going on the market tomorrow and it should sell quickly. You can stay with me here or at my apartment if it takes you a while to find a place of your own.”

Tomorrow. Holy shit. I swallow. “O-okay.” I stand. “I need to leave.”

“Taylor . . .”

“I’m okay.” Almost blind with tears, I manage to find Byron’s leash. “Byron! C’mere, boy! Let’s go for our walk.”

Seeing his leash, he prances up to me all happy from where he was lying on the carpet.

“Good boy,” I choke out. “You’re a good boy.” Then I pause in clipping the leash to his collar. I straighten. “What about Byron?”

My parents give me pained looks and exchange a glance. “We’re not sure,” Mom finally says.

Now my heart cracks; it actually feels like it’s splitting into pieces with agonizing pain. I suck in a shaky breath. “We can’t . . . give him up.”

Mom sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “I know you love him. But I can’t take him to Shirley’s.”

“And the apartment I found doesn’t allow pets,” Dad adds. “But eventually I hope to buy a smaller house . . .”

That doesn’t help right now. My chest constricts. I won’t be able to afford the kind of place that allows pets. And the apartments I’ve looked at online are way too small for him. I nod and turn away, tears sliding down my cheeks as I head outside with Byron.

The breeze off the ocean cools the moisture on my hot cheeks and I turn my face into it, eyes closed. Then I let Byron pull me along briskly, my feet sinking into the soft sand.

I walk mindlessly, for how long I don’t even know, staring out at the ocean, trying to process what is happening and what is going to happen. Mom and Dad seem like the perfect, happily married couple. It makes no sense. They don’t have fights. I don’t think either of them has cheated on the other. Of course, nobody really knows what happens in a marriage except the two people involved. Maybe I’ve just been blind.

I was away at college for two years, but I’ve been back for a while now. Surely I would have seen the signs if things were wrong. Am I that self-absorbed that I missed it all?

We meet another dog that Byron stops to greet, which means sniffing each other’s butts. I force a smile for the woman with the other dog and we make small talk for a few minutes, then continue on.

How can I live without Byron? He’s my best buddy. We’ve had him for eight years, since I was sixteen. I was the one who trained him to do his tricks, took him for walks on the beach. He sleeps in my bedroom. I mean, Mom and Dad love him too, but Byron and I have a special bond.

I guess I’m going to have to figure it out.

When I’m near home, I turn and walk toward Lacey and Théo’s place. She’s my closest friend right now, literally in terms of physical proximity, but also we’ve gotten close in the months she’s lived here. I need someone to talk to.

Luckily, she’s home, although I feel bad because I think I interrupted her and Théo having some afternoon fun.

“No, no, we were just napping,” she says, ruffling her hair.

“Uh-huh. That’s what my parents used to say when they went into the bedroom on Sunday afternoons.” And I burst into tears.

Horrified, Lacey wraps her arms around me. “What the . . . what’s wrong, Tay?”

Sobbing, I managed to choke out the words about what just happened. She leads me into the living room and sits me down on the couch. Byron pads after us, does a quick sniff around the room, then lies down on the rug, panting a bit from our long walk.

I tell Lacey what I know, how I feel, the questions I have. She listens, rubbing my back, being the best friend you could ever have, sympathy pouring off her.

Théo wanders in, sees me crying, and quickly starts to leave, which is fine, because I’m an embarrassed disaster. A pile of used tissues sits on the table in front of us, some of them smudged with my black mascara. I can only imagine what a horror I look like.

“Théo!” Lacey calls. “Could you get Byron some water?”

“Thank you,” I mumble, ashamed of not realizing he was thirsty.

Of course that’s when JP has to show up.

Fuck my life.

I bend my head, letting my hair fall forward as he greets us, trying to hide my face.

“Uh . . . everything okay?” he asks. He absently reaches down to rub Byron’s head when my dog joyfully prances up to him.

“Taylor just got some bad news,” Lacey says.

“Oh.” I sense his hesitation. “You okay, Taylor?”

Like he cares. He was such a jerk yesterday when we were all having lunch after the yoga class, being snarky about Anthony. “Fine,” I snap. “I just need to use the bathroom.” I jump up and try to escape before he sees my face.

I splash cold water on my swollen eyes and red cheeks, then stare at myself in the mirror. Yep, I look dreadful. I close my eyes on a wave of self-pity.

But this isn’t about me. Mom and Dad are hurting too. And I’m sure Amy’s devastated. I’ll have to call her tonight. And Byron . . . poor Byron has no idea what’s going on. An ache pulses behind my breastbone and I press the heel of my palm there.

I blow out a breath and return to the living room.

“I told them what happened,” Lacey says. “I hope that’s okay.”

I nod. That’s actually way easier than telling them myself. “Thanks.”

“Sorry, Taylor,” Théo says.

I nod.

“It sucks,” JP adds gruffly. “Sorry you’re going through this.”

I meet his eyes, trying not to, but unable to resist. And I see warmth and compassion there, and that nearly undoes me all over again. Tears well up in my eyes and I have to fight them back, dashing at them with my knuckles. “Do you have any tequila?”

“You know we do.” Lacey jumps up and returns with the bottle and some small glasses. “And it’s not stupid to worry about Byron. You love him.”

“I do.” I pout a little, petting Byron’s silky back as I watch her pour the golden liquid. “So much.” I swipe at one more lone tear.

JP clears his throat, then picks up a glass of tequila and downs it.

I lift my own glass, stare glumly at it, then take a sip. “Thanks for this. And thanks for listening and letting me cry all over you.”

“Of course.” Lacey smiles. “You listened to me when I was crying over Théo.”

“You were crying over me?” Théo lifts an eyebrow.

“Of course I was.”

“He was crying over you too,” JP says to Lacey.

Théo flashes him a middle finger. “I was not.” He pauses. “Okay, I got a little choked up.”

I smile at this interplay. I love these people.

I mean, not JP. Not love love.

But they’re making me feel a bit better.

JP

This sucks camel dick.

I fucking hate seeing Taylor so upset. A lump of cold granite lodges in my gut and all I want to do is pull her into my arms and comfort her. Dry her tears and tell her it’s all going to be okay.

But I can’t do that.

Just when I discover she really wasn’t with Martinez and I’m free to . . . what? “Go after her” sounds kind of dickish. “Court her” sounds ridiculously old-fashioned. Whatever you call it, I’m attracted to her and I like her and I want to see more of her. But she’s seeing someone else, that fuckstick Anthony. I’ve already screwed up once by, uh, screwing her when another dude thought she was his. And I did that big time with my own brother. No way can I even think about going there again.

Fuck my life.

The hockey season hasn’t started yet; it’s almost two more weeks until the start of regular season. I haven’t even had a chance to show the team that I can stay out of trouble and be an asset, other than in a couple of preseason games. And damned if I’m going to give in to some kind of weird temptation when it comes to women and just prove I’m a total asshole. It’s too soon to fail. No . . . I’m not going to fail.

It’s killing me, though, seeing the droop of her lips, mascara smudges beneath her puffy eyes, her cheeks blotchy. She should look terrible, but she’s never been more appealing.

“You want to stay here for dinner?” Lacey invites Taylor. I’ve already been invited. “We’re going to make fajitas.”

“Sure.” She nods listlessly. “I don’t want to go home yet. God.” She closes her eyes and tips her head back. “This is going to be so awkward.”

“When is your mom moving out?”

“I don’t know.” She scrunches up her face. “I assume right away, since they told me and Amy today.”

“You’ll still see her.”

“I know.”

“You two are pretty close.”

Taylor nods. “I’ll have to start looking for a place too. The house is going on the market tomorrow.”

“We should buy it,” Lacey says to Théo.

“What?” His eyebrows fly up.

“You’re just renting this place. It would be nice to have our own place, and we love it here.”

“Uh . . . that’s a bit sudden,” Théo says, being his usual careful, controlled self. He would definitely not make an impulse buy of something like a house. He’d research the market, check out interest rates at different financial institutions, and make a list of everything they needed and wanted in a house before even looking. “I was planning to look at buying somewhere after my first year here, when we have a better idea if I’ll be staying.”

“Oh.” Lacey makes a face. “Okay.”

“I think I’ll look in Torrance,” I say. “Near work.”

Torrance isn’t far from where I live.

“That’s a good idea.” Lacey pushes out her bottom lip. “But I’ll miss having you so close.”

“Our friendship is probably over,” Taylor says sadly.

Lacey chokes and my eyes shoot open wide at this dramatic statement.

“I’m kidding,” Taylor adds. “Sort of.” She lifts unhappy eyes to look at Lacey. “But I did think of that. What if you don’t want to bother with me when I live farther away?”

“Don’t be silly.” Lacey laughs and hugs Taylor. “Of course we’ll see each other. And we’ll send Snaps all the time, just like we do now.”

“Okay.”

My heart aches a little at Taylor’s fears. She’ll be losing a lot—her home, her family, and she’s worried about losing her new friends.

We all help Lacey and Théo in the kitchen, making the marinade for chicken and beef, slicing up onions and peppers. It’s comfortable and yet it’s not, because just being near Taylor is a challenge to my resolve. My body vibrates and my mind hums with wanting her.

My mind twists and turns with the effort to resist. It’s killing me.

I have to fucking get over this.

“You know what’s stupid?” Taylor says. “I’m m-most broken-hearted about Byron.”

I frown. “What about Byron?”

“Neither of my parents can take him, and I’m sure any place I can find won’t allow p-pets.” Her voice catches and tears glint on her eyelashes. “My dad wants to buy another house eventually, but I don’t know what we’re going to do with him right now.”

My heart contracts and my gut tightens. Fuck. She loves that dog. She’s losing everything.

“I’ll take him.”

For a couple of seconds, I don’t know where the words came from. Oh . . . me. They came from me.

She gapes at me. “What?”

“I’ll take him. I love dogs. He likes me. I don’t live right on the beach, but close.”

“Can you . . . have dogs where you live?”

“Oh yeah. You can visit him. In fact, you’ll have to when I travel.”

She gives her head a shake. “That’s crazy. You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, the offer is there.”

“If you’re going to live in Torrance, that would be closer than us,” Lacey says. “We’d take him too, but JP’s place would be easier for you to get to.”

“You want to get your own dog,” Taylor says to her with a sad smile. “I know. But thank you.”

“Just let me know,” I say, not sure why I’m doing this except I can’t stand to see her so broken-hearted. And I really like Byron. “Seriously.”

She catches her lower lip between her teeth, looks up at me through wet eyelashes, and slowly nods.

Saturday is the Fan Fun Fest the Eagles hold every year during training camp. It’s held outside the ExCorp Center in Long Beach, where the Golden Eagles play. There are a bunch of stations where kids can do fun things like shoot pucks at targets, and we have places to sit and meet and greet the fans and sign autographs. We’re all expected to be there for a while.

It’s a kick meeting fans, especially the kids, who are all big-eyed with hero worship. Lots of parents are too. I find it funny, because it’s such a different atmosphere than what I grew up with. Yeah, Montréal fans are unique in the intensity of their relationship with their hockey team. Hockey is more than just a game. But they’re hard-core serious about it. Hockey players aren’t rock stars, like they are here in California; they’re gods. Or pariahs, depending on how they play. Or how they treat the fans. Ha.

Anyway, it’s a nice day, the sun is shining, people are smiling and happy, and I’m signing sticks and hats and jerseys and random stuff.

Even my dad and Uncle Mark are here, on the periphery, probably making brief appearances. I pause in chatting with fans to glance over at Uncle Mark, surrounded by a group of puck bunnies.

One corner of my mouth lifts and I shake my head. Jesus. He’s forty-five years old and there are twenty-year-old women fawning all over him.

He seems to be enjoying himself.

He’s been single for a long time, although I know he’s had relationships. I don’t even know if he’s seeing anyone right now; he kind of keeps his personal life . . . personal. Understandable. When he first came to California from Hershey, he went out with a pretty well-known TV actress and the media was all over that. He (and Dad) don’t like anything that takes away from the hockey, which we’ve all learned after a couple of stories hit the news about players and their, uh, social lives. Dad and Uncle Mark both have a way of looking at you that can make your nuts shrivel. You don’t want to go there.

The woman in front of me follows my gaze. “Your coach is hot.”

I don’t even know what to say to that. I force a smile. “If you say so.”

“It must run in the family,” she adds.

“Uh. Thanks.”

Normally, I’m all into girls flirting with me. But it’s hard to work up enthusiasm when I keep thinking about Taylor. Also, it’s creepy that this woman finds me and my uncle attractive. So instead of flirting back, I quickly sign her jersey and move on to whoever’s next in line.

Three women. All beautiful, with long, wavy hair, shiny lips, and big smiles. “Hi, JP,” one of them says.

“Hello, ladies.” I smile back at them.

Maybe they should rename this the Flirt Fest.

A few days later, I’m in Uncle Mark’s office at the ExCorp Center—or should I say the coach’s office—for a meeting that every player is having. They’ve got the roster down as of today, and I made the team. I wasn’t really doubting it. I know my hockey skills are good.

But I’m getting the expected lecture about my behavior.

“And don’t think that your last name is going to get you any preferential treatment,” Uncle Mark says.

I sit up straighter. “I’ve never thought that.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you sure?”

I frown. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“You don’t think you can get away with stupid shit because there won’t be any consequences because of your name?”

“No!” My jaw drops. “Hell, no. There are consequences. The Department of Player Safety doesn’t give a shit what my name is.”

I think. They wouldn’t go easy on me because of who my family is, would they?

I’ve never thought that. I’ve never wanted that. That Uncle Mark would think it about me burns.

“No,” he agrees. “Likely not. But that’s supplemental discipline. You also gotta face the consequences from the refs . . . the fans . . . your own teammates.”

“I know that.” I clench my teeth. “Believe me. I’m trying to do better this year. Control my emotions.”

“And not taking stupid penalties. You gotta keep your feet moving. Too many of those stick infractions were because you were behind the play.”

Ugh. He’s right. I know it. I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

“We’ll work on that.”

“You talk to everyone else like this?”

He grins. “Yeah. You think you’re special or something?”

One corner of my mouth lifts. “Nope.”

“Everyone has a part of their game they need to work on,” he says.

“Yeah. I want to work hard.”

“Good. I want everyone to be the best player they can be.”

“Yeah.”

“And I know you can be the best,” he adds. “Both as your uncle . . . and as your coach.”

My chest expands and I lift my chin. “Thanks, Uncle Mark. Er. Coach.”

His faith in me, despite his warning, means a lot. I’d be lying if I said making my dad and my uncle proud wasn’t important to me. It is. Also Grandpa Wynn. Even though I play for the “wrong” team, I want him to be proud of me too.

Most of all . . .? I want to be proud of myself.