by Zahra Girard
I sit back, rest my head on Ozzy’s shoulder, and just listen to him ramble on and on. Apparently, one of the former team captains went on to become some helicopter pilot and he’s even a knight, now.
“Do you have a crush on this man?” I say, after he’s gone on about this rugby player for the last ten minutes.
“A bit, yeah,” Ozzy says. “Richie McCaw is a legend. I reckon most every man in New Zealand has a crush on him. And has for probably the least eight or ten years.”
“Hell, I just learned about him now, but I gotta admit, I’ve got a little man-crush on him, too” Bear chimes in.
“Fucking seriously?” Roxanna says.
“Fuck yeah. The man’s a knight, a pilot, a fantastic athlete, and an honorary Wing Commander in the New Zealand Air Force. That’s legit man-crush material,” he says. “It’s a good thing for you I’m already married.
“Ok, let’s talk about that Wing Commander thing. Ozzy, how big is the New Zealand Air Force?” I say.
Ozzy shrugs, carefully so as not to disrupt my head resting comfortably on his shoulder. “I don’t know. They’ve got a few planes, I reckon, but not they’re not that big.”
“Oh, so he’s a Wing Commander for an air force that has a few planes? How impressive,” Roxy says.
“I’ve never seen you this jealous,” Bear says, grinning.
“I’m not jealous,” she insists. “I just don’t want to lose my husband to some rugby player from down under.”
“It’s not just some rugby player, Roxy. It’s Richie fucking McCaw.”
Roxy frowns. “How’s his butt?”
“Finally someone asks the important question,” I say.
“The man runs a lot and has a lot of power in his legs from pushing guys around. How do you think it is?” Ozzy says.
Before anyone can answer, Bear pulls out his phone and finds a picture.
“Holy shit, that’s flawless,” Roxy blurts out. “Ok, your crush is justified. Richie McCaw is your hall pass.”
Ozzy pulls his phone out his own phone to check the time. “It’s nearly time to go. They’ll be starting soon enough, and we don’t want to miss any of the action.”
“Will Richie be there?” Bear says.
Roxy elbows him. Hard. “You shut up about him.”
“Ozzy, will Richie be there?” Bear says again.
Ozzy nods. “Why do you think I want us to get there on time? I picked our seats out so we should be close enough to the All Blacks bench that we might be able to get an autograph.”
Bear, grinning, stands up so fast his chair nearly falls over and he reaches out, dragging Roxy with him. “You heard the man — we’ve got to move.”
I look at my friends, feeling at ease and happy for the first time in far too long. And also slightly confused because, when Ozzy and Bear talk about this Richie guy, it sounds like their man-crush might actually be more than a joke.
Still, there isn’t anything I’d change about this moment or the people around me. It’s perfect and everything I need to feel like I might, somehow, put the pieces of my life back together.
Anything’s possible with family.
I stand up, take Ozzy by the hand, and kiss him on the cheek.
“Let’s go watch some fucking rugby.”
* * * * *
Buzzed, happy, drunk on overpriced stadium beers and having a fantastic fucking day with friends and the man I love, I stumble out of the taxi in front of my apartment building. It’s raining biblically, a torrent spilling from the sky to hammer us.
“Hold still,” Ozzy tells me, whipping off his cut and holding it over my head like an umbrella.
I pause just long enough to kiss him, before sprinting for home. We race through the halls of my building and I drunkenly burst through the door of my apartment, Ozzy right on my heels.
I’m still soaked and the freezing Chicago rain makes he shiver. Ozzy takes his cut and wraps it around my shoulders.
I raise an eyebrow and he winks at me.
“It looks good on you,” he says.
I look down at myself. Not too bad.
“Thank you,” I say.
He smiles. “So what’d you think of the game?”
“That wasn’t too bad,” I say, sitting down on my couch and grinning up at him.
“48-0 win for the All Blacks and you call it ‘not too bad’? It was fucking brilliant.”
“They made for good eye candy, at least. Those shorts don’t leave much to the imagination. Whoever designed them is a genius,” I say. “Thank you for today.”
“No need to thank me. It’s the least I can do. It’s the least you deserve, too. You’re more than just a fling to me, Maria. When things settle down, it’d make me proud to call you my old lady.”
“Get the fuck over here so I can kiss you,” I tell him.
He does. And I do. Until heat builds in my body, until my heart feels full to bursting just by having this man’s lips to mine. Until every part of me feels so ineffably good for having this man in my life.
Though it hurts, I break the kiss.
An idea’s taken hold of me.
It’s impulsive, but it’s something I need to do.
Something I have to do to break ties with all of the shit dragging me down. Something to show this man where my heart really lies. With him.
I stand up from the couch and head to my bedroom. I only takes a second of rifling through my bag to find what I’m looking for: the last statement of David Ardoin. The only evidence implicating the Wayward Kings in some of their weapons deals.
I take those papers and I carry them into the kitchen. Standing next to the sink, I beckon for Ozzy to come over.
“Do you have a lighter?”
“Are you sure about this?” he says, fishing around in the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a lighter.
“I’m sick of having this hang over me. I don’t want anything to do with Missoula, that job, that creep David Ardoin. I don’t want any of it on my conscience. I know what’s really important to me.”
He hands over the lighter.
No hesitation. No second-thoughts.
I spark a flame on the thing and I set those papers on fire.
I watch them burn; I watch the last doubts about what’s important to me — about who I care for — turn into embers and ashes. I watch the embers settle into the stainless steel of my kitchen sink.
And then I turn on the spigot and the garbage disposal and wash away all traces.
I’m free.
Untethered by doubts. I know what’s most important to me.
“I’m proud of you,” Ozzy says. “I know that was hard.”
I cock my head to the side, considering. “You know, after everything… It wasn’t. There’s not a single fucking shred of doubt in my mind that I made the right choice. And there’s not a doubt in my mind about whether I want to be your old lady. I want it. I want to figure things out together. It’s going to take a lot of fucking time, and I’ll have to figure stuff out about my job, and where I go from here, but, whatever it takes, I want to make this work.”
“Whatever you need, love,” he says, kissing me.
“All I need is you. The rest is just details.”
“You’ll always have me.”
He pulls me into an embrace. Tight, firm, warm.
I might’ve suffered some setbacks, but I’ve gained something far greater.
In his arms, I feel hope for the first time in far too long.
In his arms, I feel loved.
*****The End*****
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