This Is Crazy

by Natasha Madison

  “Um,” I say, and my father continues.

  “There are certain men out there …” he starts.

  “Like your father,” my mother says, “and your brother and Max and Zack.”

  “Parker, this is not funny,” he says, and I can see them. “These men. Once they say you’re theirs, you’re theirs.”

  “Dad,” I say. “I love you, I really do, but it was a joke.”

  “You don’t joke about things like this,” he says.

  “Dad, I have to go. We are landing right now,” I tell him. “Mom, can you calm him and the others please?”

  “Will do, honey. Call me later,” she says, and I disconnect the call the minute the wheels touch down.

  I put my jacket on and grab my purse, walking down the steps and seeing that a car waits for me. The driver puts my luggage in the trunk. “Welcome to Chicago,” he says, walking to the back door and opening it.

  I get in and see a huge bouquet of red roses. “Those were delivered five minutes ago,” he says. I look at them and grab the white card.

  To MY sweet Zara

  E.

  I smile a smile I don’t think I’ve ever worn. It’s a smile that can’t be erased. It’s a smile that even if you want to erase it, you can’t. It’s a smile that fills your heart, it fills you with warmth and makes your stomach do that little flip.

  “Dad was right,” I say to myself as soon as the driver gets into the car.

  Chapter Twelve

  Evan

  “Come on, you two, let’s get you outside.” I roll out of bed, grabbing a pair of shorts and rubbing my face. I walk out of my bedroom and open the back door, letting the dogs free.

  Turning, I go back and start my coffee and turn on the television when the front door opens, and I hear heels clicking on the floor. I walk to the fridge and grab the orange juice, shaking it. I see that there is just a bit left, so I bring it to my mouth and swallow the rest of it.

  “That’s so gross,” Candace says, and I turn to watch her put her bag down and shrug off her jacket. She looks at me. “You don’t remember?” I look at her confused. “We are going to go over your schedule for the next couple of months,” she says. Going to the coffee machine, she takes my cup out, placing her own cup there, and makes her coffee. “I literally texted you last night.”

  I finish off the juice and recycle the container. I open the fridge, taking out the milk and dumping some in mine, then hold it out to Candace in question, and she nods. I place it on the counter and walk over to the door, opening it for the dogs to come in, and they both run to my sister. “Hello, little ones.” Her voice changes to a baby voice. They sit in front of her, their tails wagging while they wait for their turn. I hear my name from the television and look up to see the replays from last night.

  The first one is the tripping call, and I laugh, looking at how I tried not to fall on my ass but failed miserably. Then the camera cuts to me skating and replays my penalty shot. I’m watching the screen, and it cuts to Zara when I was celebrating.

  “That was a shitshow,” Candace says next to me, and I wait to hear what the commentary says.

  “So what do you think, Jim?” one of the reporters says. “You think this is the start of a love story?”

  Jim laughs. “I have no idea, but I’m sure everyone will be watching the meetup between Richards and her family.”

  “No doubt,” the other reporter says, and I turn the television off.

  “It’s ridiculous that your love life is even a topic on SportsCenter,” she says, going to the table and pulling out a chair. Grabbing her purse, she starts taking her stuff out. “I must have seen that replay fifty times since last night, and they always switch from you to that girl.” I keep my anger at bay with that comment.

  “That girl,” I say, going to the table, “has a name.” I look at her. “It’s Zara.”

  “Yeah, I know. I keep having to fucking tag her in my posts,” she says, and I wait for her to settle all her things. Once she has the laptop opened and is writing on the yellow legal pad in front of her, she looks up at me. “What?”

  “How about I help you with that?” I tell her. “If it has to do with Zara and me, let me answer it.”

  “You haven’t answered your Twitter since you opened it.” She sits back, folding her arms over her chest.

  “Yeah except when she asked me out, and I commented,” I tell her, taking a sip of my coffee. “That reply was low and rude.”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “How was I supposed to know you met her?”

  “I did meet her. I was the one who gave her the tickets,” I tell her, and the doorbell rings. “This isn’t over,” I say. Getting up and going to the door, I see that it’s the suits I bought in New York.

  I walk back into the house, going to get a knife to open the boxes. “What did you buy?” she asks me, looking over at me

  “I bought a couple of suits,” I say to her. I get the suits out and see a whole bag of stuff under it. I take the bag out and find five pairs of jeans, really nice jeans, two sweaters, and a couple of shirts. There is a white envelope with my name on it.

  Evan

  It was great working with you. I saw these and knew you would look good in them.

  Zara.

  I smile, knowing she was thinking about me.

  “You have these same suit hanging in your closet,” Candace says, “and this sweater.” She laughs. “I also bought you these jeans at Christmas.”

  I grab the stuff and take it to my room. Grabbing my phone, I send her a text.

  Evan: Sweet Zara, nothing better than getting a note that you’re thinking of me.

  I press send and bring my phone with me to the kitchen. “She’s shopping for you now?”

  “What’s the problem exactly?” I finally ask her. “Like what has she ever done to you?”

  “What has she done to me? That fucking tweet flooded my phone. I’ve heard she’s immature and fake.”

  “By who?” I ask her

  “A couple of the wives who have met her.” She mentions the wives of the players. They all get together to go over fundraising ideas, and Candace has always been in the clique.

  “Well, I’ve met her, and she isn’t immature, and she is nothing but real,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes.

  “I am not going to fight with you about a woman who is going to be a distant memory in four months,” she says and sits down. “Now let’s get to work. I have a meeting in two hours.”

  I let it slide for now, but I know we will have this conversation again in the near future. For the next two hours, we go over all the things she wants me to do. I make a list of things I will do and things I won’t do.

  “The NHL awards are in late June,” she starts saying. “I’m going to book the rooms this week. Mom and Dad said they are flying in and so is Chloe.”

  “Cool,” I tell her, and she starts packing up her things.

  “Don’t forget I leave on Thursday, and I’m back the week after,” she says. “I will check your account in the morning and at night. Can you lay off the girl shit, please?”

  “I invited her to casino night,” I tell her, and she stops packing her stuff.

  “You did not,” she hisses. “Are you crazy?”

  “Why?” I ask her. “It’s a fundraiser. Besides, she didn’t say she would.”

  “Well, here’s hoping that she doesn’t.” She fake smiles. “If you want to have sex, call Tina or even Karina. She’s in town and would love to have dinner with you.”

  I push my chair away from the table, and it scratches the floor. “Enough, Cand.”

  She shakes her head. “Use your brain, Evan,” she says and storms out of the house. I look up and close my eyes, counting to ten, but it doesn’t seem to help. I’m pissed that she is being like this, and I have no idea what to do about it. When the phone rings, I don’t even look to see who it is.

  “What?” I snap.

  “Okay.” I hear her voice, and I�
��m suddenly calm. “How about you call me back after …” she says. “Or not. That is good also,” she mumbles and then hangs up.

  I call her right back, and she answers. “Yes,” she says, and I have to laugh.

  “I’m sorry. I was just …” I take a deep breath. “I didn’t look to see who was calling me.”

  “Do you not have caller ID?” she asks me, and I hear a car door slamming.

  “Where are you?” I ask her, and then I hear cars honking in the distance.

  “I just got to my hotel,” she tells me. “I was calling to one, thank you for the flowers again. And two, to tell you that if you want to return any of the items, you can do so just using my name. It’s in the system.”

  “You didn’t have to send me all that stuff,” I tell her and go to sit on the couch. “But …”

  “But?” she says. “I may lose you. I’m stepping into the elevator,” she says. I hear a ding, and sure enough, the call drops.

  I wait by the phone for her to call me back, and she does. “Sorry,” she says, out of breath, and I press the FaceTime button and hear the phone ring. “Are you trying to FaceTime me?”

  “Yeah,” I say, and then I look at my phone and see the little circle go around, and then I finally see her. She’s looking down at the phone with one side of her hair tucked behind her ear. She isn’t wearing any makeup, or if she is, I can’t even tell. Her smile fills the screen. “Hi,” she says softly.

  “Hi,” I say back, and I want to see her. “How far is Chicago to Dallas?” I ask her, and she laughs.

  “I have no idea,” she says, and I see that she is sitting on the bed now. “Why?”

  “I wonder if there is a flight out,” I tell her the truth.

  “Are you crazy?” she says, laughing. “You can’t just come here.”

  “Why not?” I ask her. “Don’t you want to see me?” I joke with her.

  “What were you saying about the clothes?” she asks me.

  “Oh that,” I tell her. “I really liked the fact that I was on your mind so much you got me clothes.”

  She rolls her eyes. “How bad was your Twitter account?” she asks me, and I shrug.

  “Did you know I was on SportsCenter five times last night,” she tells me and now lies down on her side while looking at me. She is so beautiful, she takes my breath away. “My sister texted me each time she saw it.”

  “Yeah, I saw it too,” I tell her. “Now the question is whose jersey are you going to wear when I come to town?”

  She giggles. “I don’t usually wear jerseys,” she says, and I frown at her.

  “Did you think about the casino night?” I ask her.

  “I did” she says softly. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

  “Yes.” I don’t even think about it. “I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Okay,” she finally agrees. “I’ll book myself a hotel.”

  “No,” I tell her. “I have three bedrooms.”

  “Um,” she says. “I’m not really …”

  “Okay, book a hotel,” I say. If this is the only way she will come, then she can have her hotel room.

  “I have a call coming in from a client. Let me call you back,” she says. I nod at her, and the phone disconnects.

  I get off the couch in search of some food when my phone rings again, and I think it’s her, but see it’s my mother.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say, picking up the phone and putting one of my prepared meal in the microwave.

  “Evan,” she says. “I was thinking about you.” Her voice getting tight.

  “You saw the news?” I ask her with a laugh, knowing she saw the news.

  “If you’re asking me if I saw your penalty shot from last night, I did,” she says. “It was a great shot.” She pauses. “She’s very pretty.”

  I laugh now. “Have you spoken to Candace?”

  “I have,” she says. “She isn’t happy about this.”

  “Yeah well, she needs to get used to it,” I tell her.

  “It’s just that …” she says and trails off.

  “Yeah, I get it, Mom. I date a lot,” I tell her. “I get that I’ve had lots of woman. But,” I say, trailing off, “I like her.”

  “Okay,” she says quietly and waits for me to continue.

  “I really like her,” I tell her. “It just feels different.”

  “Your sister doesn’t want you to get hurt,” she tries to defend her.

  “I don’t want to get hurt either.” I look up. “But I want to get to know her.”

  “Then you get to know her,” she says. “Just tread lightly.”

  “I will, Mom,” I say, and she changes the subject. We speak for about ten minutes, and then I let her go.

  I’m cleaning up the kitchen when the phone rings, and I suddenly smile. She isn’t just calling me; she’s FaceTiming me. I prop the phone up while I wash my dish and see her face come into the picture.

  “Are you washing the dishes?” she asks, and I see she is sitting at the desk now with her own phone propped up.

  “I am. I just finished eating,” I tell her.

  “I just ordered room service,” she says. “What did you eat?”

  “Chicken and veggies,” I tell her.

  “Did you cook that yourself?” She raises her eyebrows.

  “Nope,” I say turning off the water and walking to grab a hand towel. “I have meals brought in. What did you order?”

  “A kale salad and some grilled salmon,” she says. “I’m going to hit the gym tomorrow morning before work.”

  “I have to be on the ice at nine,” I tell her. “We have two away games on Tuesday and Thursday but then come right back and have a Friday game.”

  “Where are you going?” she asks me.

  “First Philly and then Boston,” I tell her.

  “Oh, you have to have a cheesesteak for me,” she moans. “The one with the Cheez Whiz.”

  When her meal gets there, she doesn’t let me go. Instead, she eats, and we chat the whole time. She tells me about getting kicked off her school bus when she was six for telling the bus driver he was a douche canoe. Then Zoe also did because she just did what Zara did. The stories had me in stitches, and it makes me like her even more. She loves her family fiercely, and she will fight tooth and nail for them. She reminds me of Candace.

  When she hides her fifth yawn, I look at her. “How do you get more beautiful?” I ask her as she lies in the bed with a soft light in the background. Her eyes look down shyly when I say that.

  “I’m not beautiful,” she says, and her voice is soft, almost as though she’s embarrassed.

  “You are so much more than beautiful,” I say, and suddenly, I wish I could reach out and push the hair behind her ear and lean over and kiss her. Softly. “I’m going to get to bed.”

  “Me too,” she says. “Sweet dreams, Evan.”

  “Sweet dreams, my sweet Zara,” I tell her. She looks at me with that sly smile again and then disconnects. I turn off the lights in my bedroom, and I fall asleep with her smile on my mind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zara

  “Thank you so, so much,” Kellie says, hugging me when the car arrives to bring me to the airport. It’s been a whirlwind of four days filled with fittings and design changes. We hit up a couple of designers who bent over backward to design what she needed. I even picked up a little something in case I went to the casino night with Evan.

  Every single night, we’ve spent hours and hours on the phone talking. He makes me laugh at the stupidest things. He also is hands down the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. When he traveled and FaceTimed me wearing his cashmere Burberry jacket and beanie, I swear I had drool dribble out of my mouth. His scruff makes it that much hotter. I’m usually drawn to a clean-shaven man, but something about Evan just makes it.

  “I want you to promise me you’ll go to that casino party,” Kellie says to me, rubbing my back. I usually never bring my private life into an
ything, but she saw me on SportsCenter and had to ask me about it. When I told her the story, she was bent over laughing. “Even if I have to send the plane to LA and drag you to Dallas myself.”

  I laugh at her and go to hug her husband, Brian. “I would listen to her if I were you,” he says, and I just shake my head.

  “Thank you guys so much for having me,” I tell them both and watch the driver load my bag into the car. I get into the car and text my sister that I am on my way home.

  I don’t bother texting Evan because I know he got in last night close to two a.m. They have their game tonight at home, and then he’s off again for another two games road trip. I jog up the steps to get on the plane and smile at the flight attendant when she asks to take my jacket. I shrug it off and give it to her and walk to the table and see a square white box on it.

  “Those were delivered less than two minutes ago,” she says, and I turn and take off the curled ribbon. When I open the box, I laugh because there are four cupcakes in the box. With a little note on the side.

  A sweet treat for my sweet Zara.

  E.

  I shake my head and sit on the chair, taking a picture of it and adding it to my Instagram.

  A sweet treat for a sweet Zara. I don’t tag him, but I know he’ll see it. He’s been all over my Instagram these past couple of days. Liking pictures. Sending me DMs about my pictures. And they come at all hours of the night. Probably when he’s on the bus or the plane.

  They look too good to eat, but I reach in and grab a red velvet one, which is my favorite. I bite into it, and I swear it’s the best cupcake of life. The cream cheese frosting is whipped, which makes it so much lighter.

  I’m taking my second bite when I see that Justin, my younger brother, commented on my picture. I open it up.

  You have never been called sweet in your WHOLE LIFE.

  I laugh and answer him back.

  It just depends for who.

  I click on his name and see that he has just one picture up, which I know is a freaking lie. I know he has a secret Instagram that is not for family members. I also know that Snapchat is his social media of choice. He’s going to turn eighteen in a couple of months, and from what I’ve been told, he’s a hot one on the ice, and his extra activities off ice have him nicknamed “Sly Stone.”