“It’s in your contract, Ryan,” she replies, dropping her gaze back to her phone. “Poppy says ‘jump,’ it’s your contractual obligation to ask ‘how high?’ Right now, Poppy says ‘hold a dog and read the card.’”
My anxiety mounts as I watch Morrow give a winning performance, the happy puppy wiggling in his arms. It’s so easy for him, so effortless. The media, the attention, the distractions.
But I’m not like him. This shit isn’t easy for me. I’m usually so good at avoiding it. And Poppy doesn’t usually corner us like this. She only snagged me because I was standing there looking like I had nothing to do.
Rule number freaking one: always look like you have something to do!
“Claribel, please,” I beg, trying to hand her the card again. “Get someone else.”
She slowly raises her gaze again, studying my face. “What’s your problem? Why is this such an issue for you?”
“It’s not—”
“What, did a dog bite you once?”
“No.”
“You afraid of cats?”
“No,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “It’s not about the animals—”
“Oh, so you’re opposed to charities?”
“No,” I say, frustration rising.
“Then I don’t see the big deal. Just hold the leash, read the card, and earn your enormous paycheck. Stop being such a drama king.” Not waiting for my response, she stalks off.
Drama king? This is such fucking bullshit. My job shouldn’t depend on me doing shit like this without warning or time to prep or anything.
Ilmari shuffles past in his full goalie kit, helmet tucked under his arm.
“Mars,” I hiss, keeping my voice low.
He pauses, one brow raised at me.
I’m usually scared of this guy and would never normally approach him, but right now, I’m fucking desperate. “I need you to take over for me here.”
His brows narrow. “No,” he says, shrugging past.
“Mars, please.” I grab his arm, pulling on him.
“What the hell is your problem?” he growls, jerking his arm free of my hold.
“Mars, please do this for me. I can’t do it. I can’t—fuck,” I groan, dragging a hand through my hair. “Do it with me,” I offer. “I’ll hold the cat and play with it, and you read the card. The fans will love seeing both of us. Come on, please.”
He goes impossibly still, surveying me. Slowly, he glances over my shoulder, watching for a moment as Novy chats to the camera, pretending he gives a shit about the weird alien dog in his arms.
“I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t serious,” I admit. If there was one person I can trust with this, it’s Mars. He’s a total vault, nothing in or out. “I—fuck,” I groan again. “I need help, Mars.”
His gaze shifts back to me, studying me.
I let him look. I let him see my fear and panic as I hold out the card again. “Help me.”
He glances from me to the card.
“Okay, Ryan, you’re up,” Poppy calls. “Did you pick your animal? Let’s go, honeybun. We don’t have all morning.”
I wince, eyes shutting tight as I pray this will all be over soon. “Please,” I whisper again. “Please, Mars.”
Slowly, he reaches out and takes the card from me.
I let out a heavy breath of relief and nod. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he replies.
“Ryan!”
“We’re coming,” I shout, spinning around. “Mars and I are gonna shoot the spot together.”
“Oh—” Poppy glances between us, eyes wide with surprise. Like me, I think she’s a little afraid of the surly Finn. He gets out of everything unpleasant with just a glare. “Oh, that’s so wonderful,” she cries, clapping her hands.
“No dogs,” Mars says behind me. “Pick a cat.”
“Sure thing,” I say, hurrying over to the carrier holding the little grey and white kitten.
If Mars is helping me, he gets whatever he wants. I’ll hold a cat or a python or one of those weird naked mole rat things. Hell, I’d wrestle an alligator on camera if it means Mars reads the damn card.
“Oh my goodness, that kitten is double cute,” Poppy cries, hearts in her eyes as she watches me snuggle it. “You’re just the sweetest thing,” she coos. “Yes, you are. Yes, you are.” She ducks down, giving the little kitten kisses, her hands holding to my folded arms.
From behind her, Novy and Morrow glare at me, still holding their squirming dogs. Shit, the looks they’re giving me could peel paint.
“Uhh, Pop?” I say, shifting away from her.
“Oh,” she says with a laugh, dropping her hands away from me, totally oblivious to this new tension. “Are we ready then, gentlemen?” She glances to Mars. “You got the card?”
“Got it,” he says, holding it up.
“What’s the kitten’s name?” she asks, leading the way over to the cameras.
Mars glances down at the card with a frown. Then he sighs. “Miss Princess,” he mutters.
Poppy squeals. “Oh, it’s perfect! She is such a little princess.”
Mars and I both lean away from her exuberance. Over by the camera, Claribel just shakes her head.
“You owe me for this,” Mars say only loud enough for me to hear.
I give Miss Princess a little pat on the head. “Totally,” I say with a smile. My heart rate returns to a normal rhythm as we take our places in front of the camera.
40
Shelby’s birthday party is chaos. I feel like I’m back in college at a frat party. Music pumps through the house sound system, with people dancing and mingling in every room. There’s a ton of food, even more alcohol, and a present table stacked with gifts. My meager offering of chocolate chunk oatmeal cookies will go unnoticed next to this mountain.
Every Ray seems to be here, and most of them brought wives or dates. I’m casually keeping an eye out for Ryan, but it may be hard to track him down. If we’re both circling around, we could go from room to room missing each other. And, like an idiot, I left my phone in the car. There was nowhere to put it in this damn costume.
I’ve spent the last hour mixing and mingling with this eclectic group of NHL stars and the people who populate Shelby and Josh’s life. I’ve probably met at least thirty people who are church friends, neighbors, or parents from their kids’ schools.
It turns out Josh and Shelby are those people. The people-pleasing social butterflies. They give and give everything to everyone all the time, leaving nothing for themselves. It means that their home is a mess, and their life is chaotic, but they have a hundred people ready to drop everything and dress up to celebrate a birthday.
It’s kind of nice when I think about it. As a Gemini, I can socialize in my sleep. I’m the queen of hosting a great party. But I have an off switch. I need to retreat. I need the quiet. I’m actually deeply private, and I don’t make friends easily.
Troy carries some of the blame for that too. It’s a narcissist’s M.O. to separate and isolate their loved ones from other people who can be critical or voice a second opinion. It took me ten freaking years to realize how effectively he’d removed all my friends from my life.
It started with little things, like he thought my college friend Kelly had an annoying laugh. He worked slowly from there, sowing the seeds of criticism. Her laugh was annoying…then it was her jokes that were annoying…then she was annoying. Then the requests started that we not hang out with her anymore. After a while, I stopped taking her calls, never noticing that it wasn’t my idea.
Yeah, that was a whopper to unpack in therapy.
I resent myself so much that I fell for it. How could I not see what he was doing? How did I not see the way I was changing? But I guess, over time, it’s like all these little pieces of yourself get chipped away. Like a piece of glass, tumbling along the bottom of the sea floor, you change. You get harder, you close yourself off. What once shined with brilliance becomes dull.
And then it’s ten years later and you suddenly realize you don’t laugh anymore. You stopped telling jokes because he never liked that you were funnier than him. And you wanted him to feel good, feel like the man. Funniest one in the room. But the joke’s on you both, because he’s not funny, so neither of you laugh.
And god, but I really love to laugh.