In between trick-or-treaters, Deanna lobs questions at me. The most recent being, “What’s something on your bucket list?” That’s something I have to think about because there are a few hockey-related things up there and I certainly can’t mention those.
“To buy my mom a brand-new Corvette,” I finally answer.
Deanna tilts her head at me. “I need more than that.”
I take off the head of my costume. “She was a fantastic single mom and she loves Corvettes. She’s always wanted one. I have the means to buy her those things, but the woman is stubborn and too independent. She doesn’t want me to do it. She’s insisting that she buy her own Corvette one day, so if I could convince her to let me do it, then it’d make my fucking year.”
“You are too sweet,” she whispers.
I grin. “Don’t tell anyone.” I settle the head of the snowman back into place just in time for another round of trick-or-treaters to come to the shop. I knew I needed something that would hide my identity. No way did I want to chance getting recognized. “What’s something on yours?” I ask when the little kids leave.
Her voice is far more serious than I’d expect it to be, but it matches what she says. “I want to make my family proud. I want to be something other than Difficult Deanna.”
“You can’t be that bad.”
She snorts. “You have no idea, Brayden.”
“Tell me.”
Her cheeks redden. “I’d rather not. It’s not pretty and it’s often embarrassing.” The bell over the door jingles as two kids and their parents walk in. She seems relieved, but she’s not getting off that easy. I’m curious now.
“Tell me,” I repeat when they leave.
“Where do you want me to start?” she snaps, annoyed that I’m pushing her. “I didn’t go to college, even though I’m doing exactly what my grandmother wanted me to do and that ended up being the best decision for me. I’ve gotten high from marijuana on multiple occasions. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t touched the stuff in years. I have a DWI on my record because I drove drunk once. There was a pregnancy scare in high school and Mom hasn’t let me forget that yet. Then, there’s the string of bad boyfriends, one of whom nearly cost me this business because he was stealing from me and I was too busy thinking I was in love to pay attention. A bad decision looks just like a good one to me, but I pick the bad ones way more than the good. I can’t do right.”
Damn. That’s a lot to absorb. Deanna reaches up to swipe a fallen tear away. I grab her wrist and pull her against me, though it’s a bit awkward with my costume.
“I think you’re doing pretty fucking awesome right now.”
“Thanks. I wish my grandma was here to see it. She was really worried about me and the path I was on.”
I bet she was. There is so much more to Deanna than I ever realized or thought to consider. I’ll be damned if she doesn’t intrigue me even more. She pulls away from me, glances at her phone for the first time, and a slightly fake smile slides onto her face.
“Trick-or-treat time is over. We can get you dropped off back home. Thanks for coming to hang with me.”
“You’re not staying with me tonight?” Shit, I was hoping she would. I probably won’t see her until next week because we have two away games this week and then a home game.
Deanna avoids looking at me as she puts away the candy and coupons she had for the parents. “I decided not to.”
Which means she was planning on it and changed her mind. “Why?”
She shrugs, but that’s unacceptable.
“Give me a fucking answer, Deanna,” I demand as I yank off the head of the snowman.
Her spine stiffens, but she faces me. “You know way more about me than any of my other fuck buddies past and present combined. I know more about you than any of them. That sounds like a string is attaching. Don’t you think we should take a little break?”
Now, I’m confused. “Deanna, you’re the one who fucking asks me the questions for me to answer, so you can know all that shit about me. If you don’t want to know, don’t ask. If you want no-strings-attached, then why the fuck am I here with you, handing out candy to kids? Why am I baking damn cookies with you? I’m not the one initiating that shit; you are and I’m following along because I don’t see a reason not to. If you want fucking only, I can do that, but make up your mind. I’ll find my own way home.”
I leave her behind, wishing I was wearing something other than this stupid fucking costume. I really wish it when it’s annoying getting into the taxi and the driver recognizes me and is snapping a selfie before I can stop him. I can’t wait for that to make its rounds on social media. I’m becoming more and more convinced that the Internet is the brainchild of the devil.
When I get home, I take off the costume and wonder about going to my own party, which is being held at a banquet hall. Any potential plans with Deanna for tonight are obviously not happening. But if I show up to the party now? And in this mood? I can only imagine the shit I’ll hear and the questions they’ll ask. No fucking way am I going.
Instead, I clean up the mess I made with the flour. That only makes me grouchier. Flour is a bitch to clean. It’s like I can’t get all of it up. What pisses me off about this entire thing is I didn’t even want to see Deanna right now and somehow, I still am. Somehow, I haven’t minded that things aren’t as strictly no-strings-attached as she wants them. Yet, she wants a break because of shit that’s her fucking fault?
This is why I don’t deal with women during the season! Who needs this stress and annoyance and drama when I have a job to do?
Fucking women.
No. One fucking woman is the problem.
Once the kitchen is clean, I plop down onto the couch and turn on the TV, not really caring what’s on. The peace and quiet relaxes me a little. Thank goodness I’ve been using a banquet hall for party. Otherwise, my house would be full of people right now.
It takes two hours before my door opens.
“Knock, knock,” Deanna says.
“In here.”
She’s changed her clothes, now wearing yoga pants and a tank top. She doesn’t hesitate at all as she rounds the couch and lies on top of me, her head over my sternum.
“You changed your mind?” If she’s here, then it seems she did. However, I can’t help but ask. The conversation from earlier cannot be swept under a rug.
“Not really. I only decided that I’d rather be here with you than at home without you.” As an afterthought, she adds, “I’m sorry.”
“I’d rather hear that you know what you want.”
She groans. “I don’t know.”
“What are you afraid of? A relationship? We aren’t going to have that.” At this, she sits up with surprise on her face. “For one, as long as you have your fuck buddy, there can be no relationship. At the most, we’re friends. What’s so bad about having a friend?”
Deanna’s entire body suddenly relaxes. “You’re right.”
“No shit.”
She grins. “So, problem solved.” All it takes for her to feel better is telling her to keep fucking her other buddy and whatever strings are formed won’t matter. Which is more fucked up? That it’s what makes her feel better or that I’m okay that it makes her feel better? As she relaxes over my body, I find I don’t care because I’m too relieved that she’s still here.
“You missed your own party to be a snowman?” The incredulous tone comes from Bruiser.
That fucking taxi driver.
A phone is shoved in my face for me to see the photo he took and I look as pissed as I feel. The driver is grinning like he just won the lottery, though. I shove the arm away.
“Why in the hell were you a snowman?” This time, it’s EJ.
“Can’t you guys leave me alone?”
“No,” Marco answers. “We’re officially worried about you.”
“Because I dressed up for Halloween?”
“Because you didn’t hang with us and you were a snowman!” Marco rests a hand on my shoulder like things are suddenly serious. “We want to meet her, son.”
I sigh and shove his hand away. “We have a game to focus on. Leave me alone.” I level a glare at all of them until they walk away. Everyone but EJ.
“Why are you being secretive?” he asks curiously.
“Because she’s not important.” His eyebrows jump up and the sentence sounds odd to me. “It’s not serious, I mean. Can I come over to see Bree when we get back?”
“Yeah, sure thing.” That’s all it takes for him to start talking about his daughter. “Hey, we have a family room near the locker room back at the arena. Why is it never used? The family always stays up in the box.”
“Ah.” I glance around to see if Liam Irving is anywhere around, but he’s playing soccer with the guys. Lowering my voice, I answer EJ. “One of the guys was married. All I’ll say is that he did something his wife was not happy about and she found out about it while she was in the family room. She blew up at him and reporters were nearby. The reporters didn’t keep the moment private. After that, they decided to basically sequester the family and let the players go meet them.”
EJ’s eyes widen. “Got it. I was just curious.”
It was years ago, but the organization hasn’t changed things since. The story about Liam was the headline of too many sites for months. His hockey has bounced back, but I’m not sure he has.
A few more smart-ass comments are made about how I spent Halloween, but I ignore them and focus on this game against the Nebraska Bucks. They slip a nasty one past Savage within the first minute. It energizes our team. The Kessy twins are on the ice, speeding like mad demons, zipping in and out of the traffic, and confusing the Bucks because they aren’t sure who they should cover.
Thing Two swings behind the net and passes it to Thing One. Collin quickly shoots the puck, sending it high over the goalie’s shoulder. There’s not too much room between his shoulder and the crossbar, but the puck finds its way into the back of the net.
Tie game.
Later, in the second period, I’m in the neutral zone, my eyes briefly on the goalie before seeing Donny on my right. There are two players surrounding me, but after I cross the blue line, Donny passes us with no one within two feet of him. I quickly pass the puck. He hesitates, holding onto it until he’s closer to the net. Their goalie blocks it and we converge to try to hit it past him while Buck players are trying to clear it away. The puck slides to the far left, away from the congestion of sticks and feet, and I reach over to tap it in just as everyone seems to follow to either help me or stop me.
All of that happens in about ten seconds, but we come away with a goal.
My teammates hug me with big smiles on their faces.
“Smile, Hayes!” Donny laughs as he pats my helmet. “You scored.”
If I had a penny for every time someone said something like that to me, I’d be richer than I already am. No one understands my lack of a celebration, not even me. I’m happy and I’ll hug the hell out of my teammates and fist bump those on the bench afterwards, but a smile is asking too much of me. My celebration is simply me nodding to myself and closing my hand into a fist. A lot of people seem to think it’s a show of arrogance, but it’s not. Shows like that are not my thing. I barely smile at my mom; I’m supposed to smile at thousands of people in the stands and however many are watching at home?
No, thanks.
Just the thought gives me the willies. I don’t want to attract any more attention to myself than scoring already does, I guess. For some reason, celebrating my goals has always been outside of my comfort zone. Rarely do I leave my comfort zone.
I left my zone when I pursued my career because I had no choice if I wanted to play professionally.
The only other time I leave my zone is occasionally with Deanna.
I’m in my hotel room after our four-three win when my phone plays one single and brief beep to notify me of a new text.
Deanna: Need company tonight?
Shit. I didn’t expect her to ask to see me. Do financial analysts travel for work? I picked that particular job as a cover because I have a cousin who is one and when he talks about it, he bores me. I figured no one would want to know details about my job. Deanna tuned out the moment I mentioned it, which proves my theory is right. It’s too late to text my mom to find out if he travels; I think he does occasionally. Besides, Deanna won’t know differently. I have to tell her I’m out of town because if I don’t, what if she wants to meet tomorrow?
Me: Out of town for work. Sorry. See me when I get back?
Deanna: Just say when.
That makes me grin.
Deanna: I’m totally bummed. I’m also embarrassed.
Me: Embarrassed, why?
Deanna: I figured you’d say yes, so...I was seconds away from pulling into your driveway.
Deanna: Did you get a dog?
At that, I call her.
“Why would you ask me that?”
Her voice is cutely embarrassed. “I’m still in your driveway since we were texting. There was a dog lying on your porch, and now he’s at my door. He’s so skinny. Poor guy.” I hear dinging in the background as if she opened her door to get out of the car. “Hey, big fella,” she coos at him. “He’s not wearing a collar,” she says to me. “I think he’s homeless.” She sounds so sad.
“He was just hanging on my porch?”
“Yeah. It’s been rainy today; maybe he wanted shelter. I think I’ll take him home. Someone should love him.”
I’m amazed and a little in love with her right now. She finds a stray dog and doesn’t even hesitate to take him in.
“Damn, he reeks and he’s wet.”
“There’s a spare key under the mat at the back door. Go inside to the hallway closet upstairs and there are some old towels. You can dry him off and put them in your car for him to sit on,” I suggest.
“Aw, thanks.”
By doing this, I also have to give her the code to my alarm system.
“Are you sure you trust me enough for this?” she jokes.
“If anyone ever steals my stuff without setting off the alarm, I know who to direct the police to,” is my reply and it cracks her up.
“Oh! No! Dog! Get out! Brayden’s going to kill me! Outside! Outside! Out!” she shouts. “Shit. Now, I feel bad because I scared him, but I’ll come back and clean your house. There’s muddy paw prints everywhere.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I know how you like your house clean,” she teases. Deanna continues to talk to me as she gets the dog into her car, stops to buy him food, toys, a bed, and other things he’ll need. She tests out various names to see what he’ll respond to, but gives up and decides to name him Otis. She thinks he’s a Rottweiler. Apparently, he knows a lot of commands already, so she thinks he was someone’s pet once, but based on how skinny he is that might have been a while ago.
Deanna sends me a few photos and he’s a handsome dog. He’s big, too. Once he eats steadily, he’ll be even bigger. Deanna will have her hands full. I’m a little jealous of her. Is it bad that I’m ready for this trip to be over with because the sooner it is I can see Deanna and her new dog?