If it goes well, I’ll only be taking a class or two at Sutton next year. I’ll have to buy a car to commute. Unless my parents feel overly generous, I can’t afford one when I’m already paying rent.
The interview was a messy attempt at adulthood at best, and if I don’t get this, then my plan is shot and I have nothing. I’ve worked only for this, wanted only this. Because whether Mr. McKenna wants to admit it or not, I would be learning from him. I’d be introduced to incredible contacts, be exposed to more opportunities. It would give me a future in the art world out here on the West Coast.
I drive back to Portland in my suit, closer to things finally falling into place for me, but still feeling as though I’m fumbling around in the dark, lost in my own life.
***
Kids are gross. I mean, their cute moments certainly outweigh the bad. It’s just that as I’m trying to get these two out the door, it hits me how gross they are with their runny noses and chapped lips. They’re germ factories.
“Stop pushing,” Luca whines. I roll my eyes and grab my bag. “Stop!”
“Everyone stop,” I say, spinning around. “Grab your gear and let’s go. We’re going to be late for practice.”
Wednesdays aren’t my days to watch Archer and Luca, but I got a panicked call from Sarah this morning that the other sitter canceled and she had an important meeting blah, blah, blah. I need the extra money, so I won’t complain.
After I got back from break, my hours were reduced at the coffee shop. I’d be mad if it wasn’t for the fact I’m working at the fancy floral shop where Beau bought me those yellow roses now. I’m juggling three work schedules with a full load of classes this semester, and still, I’m not sure if I’ve ever been happier.
Archer waddles under the giant bag of hockey gear toward the door. It dwarfs his seven-year-old frame. I laugh and grab his bag, saddling it over my shoulder. It must be double his weight. “Hey, Luca, what happened to your mittens?”
“I don’t want to wear mittens. Those are for babies.”
“Put them on or we’re not going to practice.” All I need is for frostbite on my watch. “Okay, come on. Let’s move. We’re going to miss the bus.”
Twenty minutes and some more bickering over supervolcanoes and dinosaur extinction later, we arrive at the rink. Practice has already started, and the rest of the team are out on the ice or on the bench tying up skates.
One of the coaches yells at everyone to hurry as music drowns out his orders, a tinny Eddie Vedder blaring over the blown speakers of the rink. The coach’s voice sounds familiar, but I don’t see him in the shuffle.
I set Archer’s gear down, my attention shifting to the coach. It looks as though he was meant to live on ice by the way he glides over it, spins, and skates backward, egging on the team to skate faster. He races ahead of them, weaving in and out of the younger players running drills.
“Matisse, I need help,” Archer whines.
I keep stealing glances toward the ice, fixated on the guy. Then our gazes connect, and he drags his skate until he comes to an abrupt stop.
I duck down by the bench and help Archer stuff his foot into his skate. I’ve only laced up figure skates and it’s been a while. I haven’t skated in years. I have no clue what I’m doing. I yank at the laces while he wiggles around, impatient and testy.
“I’m going to do this skate and you can do the next, okay?” I could do both and it would get him on the ice faster, but I can tell he wants to learn for himself. I ignore the barking of the other coach, the older coach, and tie up Archer’s left skate. The skate guard digs into my jeans, my fingers chilled from the cool rink. “Okay, your turn. Take your time and do it right. The ice isn’t going to melt if you’re a few minutes late.”
He’s always the little guy left behind.
I sit back on my knees and watch, patiently holding my tongue when he skips over a few rows of laces. I don’t want him to sprain his ankle. I reach over and untie the laces, loosening them up again. “You almost had it. One more try.” I trace my fingers over each row. “Pull up on these so they’re tight-tight, okay?”
“Everyone else is on the ice. These skates are stupid.”
I sense a tantrum. Archer has had a terrible year of being the little brother. He wants to be better, faster, cooler—like Luca.
“They all had to learn, too. Remember to pull real tight like I showed you and we’ll get you on the ice soon. They won’t even know you were la—”
“What’s going on, Archer?” Familiar and warm, comforting like the bourbon on his lips, Beau’s that wild streak of color again, bleeding into my world and shaking up plans.
It takes a moment to gather myself.
With my new schedule, I haven’t seen much of him, although I could have sworn I saw him at the pool the other night while I was at my lifeguard class. He was with an older guy, someone who sounded a lot like the rough guy out on the ice, barking at the team.
Beau tucks his helmet under his hand, the scar from the stitches along his jar hidden under a few days’ worth of scruff. He smiles down at me while Archer rattles off his life’s problems.
When Archer tosses his hands up in the air in aggravation, Beau laughs. “Hey, Mati.”
I try to think of anything other than Beau, sweaty in his hockey gear. Why does he have to be so stupid-hot? Why does it hurt so much to have him stand here in front of me? It physically hurts to breathe through missing him, standing so close, but still so far away. What’s wrong with me?
“Archer wants to do the laces himself,” I say.
“She’s not Mati. Her name’s Matisse, Coach Grady.” He says it so matter-of-factly that I giggle. Sometimes I swear this kid is an old man trapped a seven-year-old’s body.
That dimple of Beau’s comes out when our eyes connect, and his mouth spreads into a gorgeous smile. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” Archer tilts his chin up in the air. “She watches me and Luca after school and she makes us do our homework, but we get to play games sometimes. She’s really good at playing football. I beat her at Monopoly last week. She’s cool for a girl, I guess.”
“I think so, too. She’s a special friend.” The spell breaks, for the moment at least. “C’mon, laces, Archer. We need to get you out on the ice so you can show the team the wicked slapshot you’ve been practicing.”
Archer doesn’t argue when Beau tightens his laces for him and finally gets him geared up for the ice.
My heart plummets to my stomach as Beau not-so-accidentally brushes up against me. He hauls Archer up by the back of his jersey and helps him onto the ice. “Go ahead. Catch up with the rest of the team.”
I can’t get a firm hold of the ground beneath my feet. This surprise, this new version of Beau, has me knocked down flat on my ass. I can’t wipe my stupid grin from my face.
“Now I understand the terrible babysitting stories. Those two are nightmares.” Beau leans back against the rink and takes off his gloves, flexing his hands.
“They have their moments.” I pull out my phone and scroll through my calendar, anything to distract me from falling deeper into trouble with him. “Don’t you have a team to coach?”
“You going to stick around?” He gently kicks the toe of his skate against my boot, pulling me away from the reminder that flashes across my phone to write my paper for my Victorian Gothic Literature class.
“When were you going to tell me about hockey?” I can’t fight the hurt in my voice. We weren’t exactly open books, but I share with him more than I do with Aubrey lately. She’s been diving headfirst into a bad relationship with a girl from Denver she met over winter break. When I tried to step in, she shut me out. “Have you coached the whole time you’ve been at the bungalow?”
He slips his gloves back on and squints, focusing on the bleachers behind me filled with bored parents. “No. This is new.”
“You learn fast,” I say with a teasing smile. It drops, though, when I see the sadness in his eyes. And now I want
to know that secret, too.
Beau clears his throat. “Stick around and we’ll grab some pizza after. If you want.”
“Will you tell me about when you played hockey?”
“Who said anything about me having played before?
I tilt my head and arch my brows. I’ve seen the pictures on Facebook. He can try that on anyone else, but it won’t work on me.
“Maybe,” Beau concedes. He skates away with a nod, then circles back as I’m about to join everyone else in the bleachers.
“Hey, Mati?”
I look up from pouting over my phone. “Yeah, Beau?”
“If you’re around next week, I have a surprise for you.”
“I’ve already seen you naked,” I shoot back, proud of myself for flirting.
He smiles, and it’s as though I’m on the ice, trying my best to stay right-side-up while the rest of the world wobbles below me. “Then this surprise might be a bit of a letdown.”
“Calm yourself, Grady.” I roll my eyes, trying to fight back a grin, but it escapes. “When is this surprise, you big dork?”
He moves his stick over the ice, twisting it in his hands like a drill. “Your birthday.”
I’m surprised then. Very. “Okay.” I nod, failing to keep calm, failing harder at not blushing. I think of us twisted up in bed sheets, of his lips over mine, of how I love his arms wrapped around me. “Surprise me then.”
He skates jumbled loops all over that rink for the rest of practice. It looks a lot like my heart feels.
Beau
Between hockey, work, and the classes I’m taking this semester, I feel like I’m back. I’m Beau Grady again. It’s incredible and yet…things are different too. While I’m trying to move forward and do my best to ignore the fact that I still have really shitty days, they’re the ones I remember when I’m in the middle of a good day. I’m exhausted and in pain, and it’s only a matter of time before I wake up one morning to discover that my legs won’t support me again. That’s my fear anyway.
I’m swimming with coach every day now. He’s training me because I’m going to do something I never thought I’d ever get to do again. In a few weeks, I’m going to play in a game. For all of the shit I threw his way, he’s been trying to find ways for me to adjust and do what I love. I can’t run or train like I used to, but I can swim like a champ. It feels fucking fantastic to get moving again.
The bastard isn’t half-bad.
My stomach somersaults when I hear Mati and Aubrey crash through the front door. It’s Mati’s birthday today. Her twenty-first birthday. I push to my feet and open my bedroom door. She twirls around in the living room, her turquoise skirt spiraling out around her.
I rest against the doorway, fixated, laughing a bit when she stumbles and collides into the coffee table. “Happy birthday,” I say.
“Oh, Beau!” Mati giggles, righting the crown of flowers on her head. “Beau, I’ve been very bad today. You can’t tell my parents.”
I cross my fingers over my heart. Aubrey scoffs, then pulls out her phone. I don’t like how she can’t meet me in the eye. She was in on this surprise, too, even though I’m slowly figuring out she isn’t a willing participant. She was supposed to bring Mati back an hour ago.
“Aubrey took me out day-drinking. People were very nice to me. They give you all kinds of drinks when you officially turn twenty-one. I didn’t go to class. I didn’t even go to work.” Mati crosses her arms looking smug. “See, I can be bad like you.”
That was never what kept me away from her. And lately, I’m forgetting the reasons why I ever did. My head was getting in the way, mostly, and my pride. But I’m working on that now. I’m determined to be better. I want Mati. I’m not ready to give up yet.
“Okay, birthday girl, hit the shower. You’ve got a date in an hour.” Aubrey glares at me while she says this, challenging me. “Cole isn’t going to like drunk Mati.”
“Cole can piss off,” I say without thinking. Mati bursts out laughing, clamping her hand over her mouth. “You have something you want to say, Aubrey?”
“Beau, dance with me,” Mati says, rushing up and grabbing my hands. When I don’t move, she throws her arms around me and nestles against my chest. “Fine, don’t dance with me. You suck, but I don’t care. I’ve missed you.”
And I’m missing something here. I think I’m in trouble but have no clue what I did this time.
“Why do I suck?” I say against her hair. I cradle her head in my hands. We haven’t been this close in weeks and it’s fucking killing me. “What’d I do now?”
“You forgot,” Aubrey says from the living room. “You got her hopes up, and you forgot.”
“No. Shhh.” Mati says, pulling away from me to yell at Aubrey. “I don’t care.”
“What did I forget?” I don’t give either them a chance to answer. “I didn’t forget shit. You were supposed to bring her back an hour ago.”
“What?” Mati clamps her hands in front of her and swings back and forth. “I haven’t seen you in a week. I thought you didn’t mean what you said at the rink.”
I’ll never get why Mati makes such huge assumptions, why things have to black or white, yes or no. There’s no in between with her. “I didn’t forget, Mati.”
“Fine, whatever.” Aubrey intercepts Mati and pulls her in for a hug. “Don’t forget your date.”
“If you like Cole so much, why don’t you go?” Mati snaps back.
I don’t hear Aubrey’s response, and really I don’t care. She leaves, and it’s me and Mati again. I might puke if she doesn’t like my surprise. The last time I was this nervous, it was a phone call with a pro hockey scout. That didn’t work out, but I sure as hell hopes this does.
I push the door open and step inside my room.
“My surprise involves you and your bedroom, hmm?” she teases. “Not too subtle, Beau.”
She steps in, her mouth wide open, her hands playing nervously with her skirt. “Oh God, I’m the asshole.” She spins to me and sways a bit.
I reach my hand for hers, and she hangs on. Hurricane Mati, pushing me around, changing up my world.
“You didn’t forget.”
I clear my throat, watching her take in the giant blanket fort I built in my room. I took apart my bed and used the mattress inside, moved the rest of the furniture out of the way. Christmas lights are strung inside the ceiling of blankets. I had to borrow Noah’s truck to buy all the pillows inside. They filled up the cab.
“I didn’t forget. I was busy this week with—”
“With school, I bet.” She gives me a wink, then dives inside the fort, crawling over the mattress. “I saw you on campus, you know. Saw you leave class, saw you at the pool with the coach. You have all the secrets.”
“I prefer mysterious and brooding.”
“Of course you do.” She sounds wistful as she looks up and gestures for me to crawl inside. I want to, but I sort of like watching her light up like she does now. It’s only a blanket fort, but you’d think I’d given her access to the Louvre’s basement. “But no more secrets, Beau. Okay?”
I nod and lick my lips.
“We could survive a zombie apocalypse in here. I’m impressed.”
I kneel down and crawl in beside her, crashing onto my back to stare up at the lights. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Possibly. Also I might be drunk.” She giggles and turns her head to meet my gaze. “But I don’t care because I think this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. I wish you’d been with me today,” she rushes out. “And you remembered snacks,” she adds before I can say what I’ve been rehearsing for a week. You’d think I was going to propose to the girl.
The lights above our heads become blinding. I don’t want to fuck things up between us again. I just have no idea what the right thing to say is to Mati.
“Shit, I really have to go.” She sits up on her knees. “And I’m such an asshole for leaving when you did… Damn it… Why did you have to do something
so nice, Beau?”
“It’s just a blanket fort.” I play it off as if her leaving isn’t a big deal. Roommates, right?
She glances over her shoulder at my laptop, which is set up on a table for movies. “No, it’s more than that.” When she turns back to me, her eyes spark from the lights—the brilliant blue and green center of a flame. “I don’t want to go.”
She singes me with her answer.
“Then don’t.” I congratulate myself on not begging. I want her to stay. I want to talk things over like I had planned back in January after winter break. I want to share everything. I want to kiss her and explore each other. I want a future with Mati, and that’s the biggest fucking confession I think I’ve ever made to myself since admitting I was really sick back in November.
“I wasn’t expecting this. None of this.” Mati brushes her hand over my short hair.
One touch and it’s as if these weeks apart meant nothing. If we could get out of our way, then maybe we’d stand a chance together.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be such a good guy.” She playfully punches my shoulder. “So I stand by my original statement earlier.”
“The one where you said you I’m the hottest guy you know?”
The funny scowl of hers crinkles her adorable nose. “No, you suck.” She collapses next to me on the mattress, cushioned with blankets, and laughs. “Fuck, I’m drunk.”
“Happy birthday, Mati.”
She grabs my hand and squeezes. “You’re the best, Beau.” She ducks her head against my shoulder, and we’re quiet for a few minutes. “And thank you for this.”
Matisse
I shift over the leather booth, trying not to make any awkward noises while I keep my focus pinned to my plate. My scallops are delicious, but I realize it’s polite to come up for air and add to this one-sided conversation at some point. I push the apple hash around with my fork, then peek up at Cole and smile.
Dinner at a fancy place isn’t exactly what my drunk stomach craves. I want grease and salt. I want something familiar. For the first time since I’ve known him, I feel so out of place sitting across from Cole.
Between Everything and Us Page 17