Marilyn Grey - [Unspoken 06]

by When the City Sleeps (epub)

  "Does that mean you don't love him?" Dan said, still cradling my face.

  "I don't know. I thought I did. I thought he did." I looked down again.

  He pulled my chin up. "Maybe you did, but maybe now you need someone to help you look up again."

  I nodded and he kissed me again. I knew Sawyer and I were on a break. I knew I wasn't cheating, but I felt like I needed to call him immediately and confess what happened.

  Dan walked me back to my trailer and kissed my hand as I stood on the step. "I respect you," he said. "If you need to think about what just happened, I understand. Just know that I may never find that little girl from Orlando, but with you I feel like I don't need to."

  I squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Dan. I'll see you on set in a little bit."

  After a few easy nighttime scenes of little dialogue, I said goodnight to Dan and walked back to my trailer. It was a little after midnight. I stared at my phone, then brought up Sweet Boy’s number on the screen. Call, don't call, call, don't call. After a few draining minutes I finally called. He picked up after one ring, but didn't say a word.

  "Sawyer?" I whispered.

  "Beautiful," he whispered back.

  "Did I wake you?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I'm not."

  "I know I said Christmas but something happened to me today." My voice shook. "I need to talk to you."

  "I'm here, girl."

  A tear fell to my hand. I stared at it as a other one ran down my face. "Sawyer."

  "What happened? Are you okay?"

  "I'm sorry," I cried. "I'm so sorry."

  "What's wrong?"

  "I kissed another man." Silence responded. Only the subtle sound of rustling made its way through the phone. I didn't expect him to respond, so I explained myself, "He works with me. Today he tried to kiss me, but I couldn't do it. Then something came over me. I've been frustrated with the situation between us and he understands my desire to be an actress. I thought if I kissed him maybe I'd realize I'm not in love with you."

  More silence. I couldn't even hear him breathe.

  I waited, anticipating closure. A final curtain call to the romance we shared.

  He cleared his throat, then said, “You did what?”

  "I miss you."

  "Stop."

  "No, I do."

  "Stop playing around with me, okay?" he said. "If you want that life and that guy then stop calling me and telling me you miss me."

  "I thought you said we were best friends. I want to talk to you."

  "Fine, but then don't whisper that you miss me. Don't say my name like it's not just another dude's name. It kills me." Something slammed and rattled. He brought his voice back to a whisper, "It's killing me."

  "I'm sorry." I wanted to hug him. "It's killing me too."

  “You kissed him.” Something banged against something. Sounded like the phone dropped and he picked it back up. I waited with no words left to say. “You freaking kissed that guy?” he said again.

  “Sawyer.”

  “Stop saying my name like that. This is exactly the kind of bullshit I don't want to deal with for the rest of my life."

  "I'm hanging up now."

  "Yeah, you would."

  "Oh, grow up, would you? I'm not the one making this so difficult. You know what Dan said after we kissed? He told me that maybe I needed someone to help me look up again. This thing we have has gotten depressing, Sawyer. You're the one who—” "I hope you're happy with your decision."

  "This is your decision."

  "Goodnight, Nora. For the last time."

  He hung up. I shook my head at the phone. Not exactly the response I hoped for. Why didn’t he fight for me? Why didn’t he tell me he loved me and that I didn’t need to kiss another guy to realize what we had? But maybe I did need to let go. Maybe Dan was put into my life to help me do just that.

  I stared at the sky outside the trailer window. My body shook inside, but when I held out my hands they were still. I wanted to be happy, like Dan said. I wanted to look up again.

  Still ... whether Sawyer was the one for me or not, I did love him and it was real and falling out of love is the worst feeling in the world. Painful and messy.

  I lost him, I thought. The curtain closed. "It's over," I whispered.

  But it would never really be over. Not with the Grand Canyon of a hole in my heart. I'd always love him. In some way.

  I sunk into my bed and pulled the covers over my eyes, then pulled them back down and looked over to the pillow at my right. I imagined his face there, all scruffy and unshaven. His hoodie tucked around his neck as he stared at me like he'd done it a million times before. That half smile and slight squint to his eyes.

  Ugh.

  What happened to me?

  I woke up to a tap at my door, expecting it to be makeup and hair time, but no one said anything. "Hello?" I said, but still no answer. I rolled out of bed and opened the door. There on the step sat a vase filled with pink and white roses. I picked them up and inhaled their sugary scent, then set them on a table in my trailer and found the card. It read:

  Look up. Smile. -Dan

  I tried to smile, remembering a few years ago when I broke up with my first love, Greyson who cheated on me. Wondering if I was over him or not, I kissed Pat and although I had no feelings for him, I realized that I also didn't have romantic feelings for Greyson anymore. Not one part of me felt bad kissing another man, but with Dan it wasn't like that. I felt bad and couldn't get over it.

  I thought about everything while I had my hair and makeup done for the last scene, and once I finished I arrived on set early to talk to Dan. He got there before too many people showed up, so I pulled him aside to talk in private.

  "Thank you for the flowers," I said. "I've thought about everything and I want you to know that I still miss Sawyer. We talked last night and I don't think it's going to work out with him. I really do want to be happy and look up again and I think we could have fun together, but for now I need a friend. If it ever turns into more I figure it will happen naturally, but I really need a friend more than another relationship."

  He hugged me as London would. "I can respect that," he said. "Were you and Sawyer actually in a relationship?"

  "I don't know. We never said so, but whatever we had almost felt deeper than a relationship."

  "Not sure I know what you mean."

  "I'm not either." I looked behind me. "We should probably head back."

  He started walking back to the set. I waited a few seconds, then followed. Look up, I thought. It's time to look up again.

  CH. 17 - Sawyer

  My brother's car wasn't in front of his house, so I walked around Manhattan a little, got some lunch at a hot dog stand, and dropped that same lunch all over a beautiful woman's white dress. Ketchup, mustard, and relish. Everywhere.

  “Gross.” She gasped while staring at her newly dyed dress. "I just bought this yesterday." Her eyes shot up toward me, but not at me. "And it wasn't cheap."

  "I am so sorry," I said. "Here." I reached into my pocket and handed her a few hundreds. "Go get yourself a new one."

  She looked at the money, then finally made eye contact with me. "It didn't cost that much."

  I handed her the cash. "Keep the change. Really, I'm sorry about this."

  She shook her head, trying to speak.

  "It's fine. I'm serious."

  She smiled. "I ... um ... thank you. Can I at least buy you another hot dog?"

  I saw a hint of flirtation in her eyes and although somewhat tempting, I declined. She didn't seem to get turned down much, so I tossed a compliment her way to make her feel better, then started back toward Quin's house. As I got closer I saw him going up the ramp to his door and I ran to catch up. "Quin," I yelled. "Hey." Out of breath, I made it to him before he could unlock the door. He tried to ignore me and go inside, but I grabbed his arm. "Quin. You're my brother, not my enemy. We need to talk about this."

&nb
sp; He looked around, then motioned for me to come inside. I noticed a wedding ring on his left hand and wondered if he remarried. He wheeled into the living room where tons of photographs of Tiffany still remained. I pretended not to notice them.

  "Go ahead and look at her," Quin said. "You didn't seem to mind before."

  I sat down on the couch. "It was one night. I was drunk, Quin. I don't remember anything, but she slept around constantly. I tried to tell you before you married her, but you refused to believe me."

  "You were jealous." He moved his wheel chair back a few feet and looked at me. "You were always jealous of me."

  "You're my big brother and I admired you, but I was never jealous."

  He raised his eyebrows.

  "Look, man, if you want to believe some smutty woman over your own flesh and blood that's your problem. I can't convince you, but can we at least be brothers again?"

  He squeezed the handles of his chair and I watched as his face flushed with blood in slow motion. I inhaled and shook my head, worried that he'd hold his grudge until his dying breath. His face reddened more and finally he erupted. "You ruined my life," he screamed. "You slept with my wife and now look at me. I can't walk. When you lace up those skates, do remember me? Your brother who can't feel his own feet because you shoved him into that wall."

  "You swung at me with your stick. What the hell was I supposed to do? I just reacted to your anger."

  "My anger?" He shook his head violently. "My anger, he says." He wheeled into the dining room. "Leave now. You've done nothing to fix what you ruined."

  I followed him. "You want me to lie, man. To publicly lie for you and damage my own reputation even more. For what? What good would that do any of us? I'm not freaking lying and apologizing for something I didn't do just because you can't deal with life now."

  He turned sharply. "Get out of my house."

  "I'm not leaving until this is fixed."

  "It will never be fixed, Sawyer. You can't make me walk again. You can't bring her back to life."

  "I'm sorry, okay?" I got on my knees in front of him. "You're my brother. Forgive me. Please."

  He wheeled away again and disappeared into the kitchen. "I said get out of my house."

  I stayed there on the floor, wishing I hadn't gotten drunk that night. The only thing I remember is Tiffany hanging on my neck, licking my ear as I shoved her away. Quin had passed out on the couch and after a few more drinks everyone else had left. The next thing I remember is waking up in the middle of the night in my brother's bed to her naked body draped over mine and Quin's fist rocketing toward my face. One stupid mistake and one scandalous woman is all it took to screw up our lives. The media caught ahold of it somehow, spun it around, and asked me in an interview to explain what really happened between Quin and me. I said, "His wife is a slut and came on to me when I was drunk." That's all I said and the tabloids went nuts. Within weeks of being called the "Slutzky of NHL" Tiffany bought white sheets and blankets for their bedroom, white curtains too, then dressed in her wedding gown and shot herself in the head. Quin discovered her body in the red-speckled white room and still managed to win the NHL championship and Stanley Cup, but he wasn't awake to know it. After his winning goal he turned to me with his stick raised and swung. We were going fast when I shoved back and tripped him with my skate. He flung head first into the wall. For the next hour I thought I lost my brother for good, and although he did wake up I never did get him back.

  I stood up in his dining room and found him out on his deck. He didn't turn around when I came out.

  "She wasn't worth any of this," I said. "And for the record, I wish I had let you knock the life out of me that day so you could've kept yours." He said nothing. Made no movement. I stared at the wheels of his chair, wondering how many Stanley's he would've won. Everyone thought he was going to end up a Hall of Famer. "I'll leave now," I said. "Thanks for letting me in." I walked back inside, down the lonely hall lined with pictures of the woman who started it all, and out the front door.

  Everything I touched, I damaged and lost. Nora's sweet smile shot through my mind. I should've never touched her, I thought. She deserved better.

  Coach pulled me aside before practice. I told him what happened and he pat my back and said, "You've done what you can."

  "When I signed up for this season I wanted to win it for my brother," I said. "But I don't think that's the case anymore."

  "You want to win it for yourself now?"

  "No." Her smile lit up my mind. "For the best friend I've ever had. The one who knows what a sorry excuse of a man I am, but loves me anyway."

  "Aw, shucks," he teased. "Thanks, Reed."

  I laughed. "Thanks for everything, Coach."

  He slapped my arm. "'You're a good player, Reed. Not the best to ever exist, but you're up there with the greats because you play for love and not goals. You've got heart. That's why I wanted you here."

  "I love the game a lot. Always have."

  "That's not exactly what I'm talking about."

  "What then?"

  "I know you're not a basketball fan, but do me a favor and look up Michael Jordan's first MVP acceptance and locker room celebration and you'll know what I'm talking about. Talent can be acquired and surpassed, but that kind of heart is rare and in my mind can turn even an average player into one of the greats. As long as you don't lose it when you become great." He pushed me toward the door. "Check it out sometime. Oh, and you're welcome to come to my house for Thanksgiving this week."

  "Eh, I don't celebrate Thanksgiving."

  "Oh, come on. You're kidding."

  "No. I'm serious. I'm thankful for what I have, but why should we celebrate a bunch of Indians losing their lives? I don't celebrate genocide, slavery, or capitalism."

  "Wow, Reed. Weird kid you are."

  "You do me a favor and think of their skin burning to ashes as your turkey roasts."

  "Okay, okay. Get out there and get ready now."

  Most people don't know hockey players. Even when we're famous we're normally not as recognizable on the street as an actor or musician. So I never felt the need to wear a disguise, even when my pictures were all over the papers, but since the pictures with Nora came out I had to start hiding a little.

  As I walked down the streets of Boston with two other players, Jones and Kenny, I developed a strategy. I realized that people notice you more when you are trying not to be noticed, so I would do something simple like wear a hat or put my hood over my head, then walk like every other person. Surprisingly, it worked most of the time, but not this time.

  Two women walked by, hardly dressed for winter weather, and I immediately heard gasps and whispers. Jones nudged me and Kenny, assuming the women were following all of us, but I could tell by the excited banter behind us that they felt like they spotted a celebrity. After my day with Quin earlier that week, I wanted nothing to do with it, but Jones insisted like a kid in toy store, so I turned around and said, "Hey, girls."

  They giggled like first graders.

  "I'm gay," I said. "But my friends here would love to spend some time with you."

  I shoved Jones and Kenny toward them and laughed inside, imagining the rumors that would be all over the Internet by morning. I smiled and kept walking, alone, like I preferred. After losing my parents, my high school sweetheart, and my brother, I can say this ... being alone came natural to me. It's not that I really liked it, but it came natural. Almost as though it became me.

  I knew the different rhythms to my own feet depending on my mood. Tonight I kept my face in Nora's red scarf as I walked to the slow tap of my shoes. I wondered if Quin would ever find joy again, regardless of whether he spoke to me or not. I wanted him to find something, some purpose or dream to run after again.

  The air felt more like a snowy December day, but November was still hanging on. I missed my house and the pond. Even Gretzky. Yeah, I loved playing with a team again. With a team, a good one, there's a magic that doesn't exist when playing
alone on your pond. But I missed the quiet.

  So I decided to walk a little further to Boston Common, where an outdoor skating rink called Frog Pond welcomed me. I didn't have my skates on me, so I rented a pair—always felt like betrayal to do that—and skated slowly, letting people pass me. I remembered when Quin and I used to skate together as kids. The first time I ever put on a pair of skates, Quin showed me how to lace them for optimal comfort and speed. He was always faster and stronger than me. Definitely more talented, but over time he lost the love for it, the pure joy of the game and the ice. It started with Tiffany. She was all about money and status and men. I could never understand why he loved her, but he did, and slowly it ruined him. He got a Stanley Cup, but he didn't even care. It meant nothing to him. The money meant more.

  I didn't win any awards and I played against my brother when he won. The press loved it, but I hated it. That game was so hyped up. All about which brother would outshine the other. So anyway, I didn't know how I'd feel winning a Stanley with the Bruins, but I was hoping to find out. I wanted to dedicate it to Nora.

  My chin was still covered by her scarf. I'd worn it every day since that night and during games I wrapped it around my torso. Something about it kept me grounded.

  A couple skated by, releasing their hands to go around me, then clasping them again a few feet in front of me. My phone beeped. I pulled it out of my pocket.

  New text from an unknown number. Is this Sawyer Reed?

  Who's this? I replied.

  It's a friend of Nora's. She's in the hospital and I thought you'd want to know. Mt. Sinai in NY.

  I raced off the ice, unlaced my skates, and ran off looking for a taxi. Boston is a nice sized city, but it's not New York. I called a taxi from my cell and kept looking as I ran full speed back to my car, but I ended up climbing into my car before any taxi's came to my rescue. When I pressed the gas pedal I realized my shoes were missing. Lucky for me, I had an old spare in my trunk. Actually a few I had been planning to drop off at Salvation Army for months. My heart refused to stop beating out of my chest even when I arrived at the hospital and parked. What happened to her? Was she in pain? Was it my fault? Did someone hurt her? Why wasn't I there to protect her?