It was a little cruel, having to return to mundane, everyday life so soon after coming back from the most blissful four days that have ever taken place in the city of Pasadena. As much as I wished that all those good vibes could have come back home with me, I wasn't hopeful. Because when you start off the new year straddling Taylor Hudson's lap with his hands gently caressing your body, I'm afraid there's nothingâand I really do mean nothingâthat dark, cold Winnipeg has to offer that could beat that.
After Taylor whispered in my ear, "You should get some sleep," and stroked my back until I was in a sitting position, we walked side by side into his house. Although there was still some lingering pain at the back of my head, the pleasant tingles in the pit of my stomach were much more dominant, and they only intensified when Taylor gave me a lazy, sleepy smile as he opened his bedroom door for me. Unlike my first night in Pasadena, I managed to have a peaceful, deep sleep and when I woke up in the morning, I was headache free. Taylor's hands had done magic.
The next few days were warm and sunnyâas Taylor had promisedâand the five of us spent them outdoors. Mornings were spent on the golf course that James and Mark were members of and Taylor taught me how to putt the ball straight into the hole from ten feet away. Even though the scene in movies where the guy has to put his arms around the girl to correct her position makes me cringe every single time I watched it, I couldn't deny that it felt pretty damn good to have Taylor's large, tanned hands tweak my hold on the putter. We'd stay on the green until it was time for lunch, and we'd eat on the patios of bistros and small, independent restaurants. At least four of us would eat; Sofia seemed more preoccupied with telling me stories about her son as a small boy than with the chicken salad in front of her.
So, even though Taylor and I didn't have oodles of one-on-one time, I still enjoyed every moment of my trip. After all, I couldn't afford to be greedy. This was his family who saw little of him as it was. The last thing I wanted to do was make him feel like he had to choose between hanging with his family or me. Besides, his parents and uncle were amazing, not to mention that having them as a buffer allowed me to process my feelings for Taylor without having him so up and personal in my space.
Because maybe it had been the headache influencing those L-word feelings, or the fact that Taylor had touched me, really touched me, and was the first boy to ever do so. But when I watched Taylor laugh at something his uncle said while they were golfing, wearing a white polo shirt and navy shorts, I knew that neither of those things were to blame. He had thrown his head back so that the sun caught his strong jawline in the most flattering way and that, coupled with the damp, black curls peeking out from the back of his grey baseball cap, made him the most handsome boy I had ever seen.
I didn't want to look away and truthfully, I probably wouldn't have if I hadn't caught Sofia out of the corner of my eye watching me stare at her son. On that beautiful, fancy golf course, the most empowering feeling simmered in my chest. Love.
On my last day in Pasadena, I packed my things in Taylor's old room feeling in love.
I said goodbye to James, Mark, and Sofiaâwho made us exchange numbersâfeeling in love.
I rode in the passenger side of Taylor's Jeep as he drove me to the airport feeling in love.
With the driver.
That feeling endured as I left the ground, crossed the border, and returned to Winnipeg.
As I spent the remaining few days of the break vegging in sweatpants and watching whatever movies were playing on TV with my mom, the feeling distracted me. For once, my mind was dominated by something other than school or my family.
That distraction persisted as I had my first classes of the second semester. Because I had no other choice if I wanted to graduate in good academic standing, the feeling faded to the background, a buzz and not a siren.
And now, as I pulled open the heavy glass door and stepped into the warm, bustling coffee shop near campus to meet Angela, it was still there.
My phone had buzzed a few minutes ago with a text message from Angela, informing me that she was already there, and it only took a few moments of scanning the mostly filled seats to find her. When her eyes glanced up from her phone, searched the room briefly and then landed on me, they brightened. By the time I approached the table, Angela was standing.
"Long time no see!" she beamed as she pulled me in for a tight hug.
I gave a gentle yank on her low, auburn ponytail. "It's only been a few weeks, but yeah, I missed you too."
"You better have!" she quipped, assessing me. "I'm sorry, but I have to admit, I was expecting a tan."
I shot her a look. "You were? You know I wear sunscreen every day here in Winnipeg, so what do you think I'm going to do in freaking California?"
Angela reached into her bag and pulled out her wallet. "Still can't believe you went there, by the way! I'm going to go get our drinks." She glanced up at me. "Medium hot chocolate?"
"Make it a small, please. And thanks."
As Angela nodded and departed for the line, I unzipped my coat and stuffed my knit hat and mittens into my coat pockets. Angela had put her coat around the chair that had a good view of the one TV in the café, which was currently showing Winnipeg's main news channel. Figuring I wouldn't miss much, I happily took the seat with the back facing the TV, opposite Angela's chair.
The line was moving quickly, and Angela was already waiting at the counter for our drinks. We made eye contact and she pulled a funny face that said, you better be ready to spill all those beans.
The day I arrived back in Winnipeg, she texted me to ask about my trip. I responded that I was tired from the flight but that I'd text her the following day. I usually didn't have any qualms telling Ang what's going on in my life but this was something I wanted to keep private, at least for a little while. It wasn't that I thought Angela would have a bad reaction, but I was still hesitant. The knowledge that I loved Taylor felt like a baby bird. It was so pure and delicate, and it needed to be kept close to home before it could just be released into the real world.
So, everything I texted her was true, but it wasn't the whole truth. If she was disappointed with the material, she didn't show it.
I hoped she wouldn't probe me more now, but I knew she would, so I planned on deflecting to her and Lawson whenever possible. Thank god there were people who actually liked to talk about themselves, because I was totally not one of them.
"For you, my dear," Angela said, plopping my small hot chocolate on the table. Her own large one stayed in her gloveless hand.
"Thank you."
"No problem. And no, I'm not accepting your E-transfer of three bucks, so stop that."
I had to try.
"Fine, but they're on me next time."
"You better believe it!" she winked.
Yeah. Hers definitely didn't have the same appeal as Taylor's. It made sense, I guess; I wasn't in love with Angela.
"Is it just me or does this semester already feel long?" she groaned, throwing her arm down on the table and resting her cheek in her palm.
"It's not just you," I said, bringing my cup to my lips.
Even though we've only had one full day of classes, all of my professors were throwing us in to the deep end. The concept of easing in seemed foreign. I already felt that watching TV for two hoursâthe length of a Storm gameâwould put me behind.
"But at least it's our last one," I continued. "And we'll have the anxiety of waiting for our grad school responses to keep things interesting."
"Yeah, right. Where did you apply again?"
"Only Vancouver, University of Manitoba, here, and Toronto. How about you?"
"Where didn't I apply, is more like it," she joked, pulling a face. "Vancouver, Toronto, Ottawa, Calgary, Montreal, and Halifax."
I raised my eyebrow. "Nowhere in Manitoba? You're so sure you want to move away?"
"Oh yeah. Some days I feel like I can't go far enough."
Huh. Some days I feel like I want to stay with my parents forever.
But then again, I had fun in Pasadena, and they weren't there. Of course, there's a huge difference being away from someone for four days and four years. Still, it was progress.
"I wish you had applied to more places. Now we have less chances of going to the same school," Angela frowned.
She brought her cup to her lips and, by the way the focus of her eyes went upward, looked at the TV.
"I know. But I only wanted to apply to the schools that I would genuinely be excited about if I got in. I think Vancouver's a bit of a long shot, don't you?"
"Hmmm," she murmured.
Her eyes were still looking past me, but her initial face of intrigue transformed into one of shock.
What the hell?
"Ang, what's going on?"
I had barely gotten the sentence out when she blurted: "Taylor's been traded to Toronto."
Holy shit.
Now I knew why practically every single player in the league sweats buckets at the trade deadline.
Being traded is fucking awful.
And I hadn't even left the city of my old team yet.
I can't remember ever feeling this useless. My ass was planted on the couch in my apartment while my parents and uncle ran around like headless chickens trying to get my shit packed.
My mood was uncharacteristically asshole-like because I didn't even bother telling them when they began to pack things, like plates and cutlery, that had come with the place.
I just couldn't be assed to move, let alone say anything.
But don't let my motionless posture fool you. My head was swimming with confusion and noise and a little bit of excitement.
When Darren called me the day before to tell me that the Storm had traded me, I was so preoccupied with the fact that I was leaving the team who drafted me first overall after only half a season that it didn't even register what team I was going to.
"I thought I had a no-movement clause," was the only thing I managed to say after two whole minutes of painful silence.
"You do, but Taylor, you know there's always loopholes in the contracts and conditions that must be satisfied..."
And blah blah blah.
I only heard two things.
One: The Storm traded me.
And two: That, yeah, they could do that.
I was pretty sure that Darren had hung up on me. I couldn't blame him; when the person on the other end of the line is too busy staring at the damn wall to talk to you, I'd hang up as well.
As soon as I realized that the line was dead, I called my uncle, knowing that he'd almost certainly be with my parents.
That conversation barely registered, and I couldn't answer a question about what any of us said to save my life. All I knew was that I received a text nine hours later from my mom that the three of them had arrived in Winnipeg.
And here they were, doing their best to make the trade as easy on me as possible.
So, I had them taking care of the household stuff and my agent taking care of the hockey stuff.
Hence, me sitting on the couch like a bump on a log.
"Hey, don't look so down," my uncle said, giving a light tap to my shoulder.
"I can't believe they traded me," I murmured, my eyes glued on a mark on the carpet. "Was I really underperforming?"
Because yeah, lesson learned. When the news breaks that you're being traded, don't go on Twitter. The site is full of armchair GMs convinced they know why the hockey world operates the way it does. I turned my phone off after that, and hadn't turned it on since.
"No!" Uncle Mark said immediately. Then, some deliberation. "Well, keep in mind that you have the potential to be a top player in the league, so maybe compared to those expectations, you didn't quite measure up."
For the first time since I sat down, I moved my neck. I just looked at my uncle, but it must have been quite the look because he stopped talking about that. Immediately.
"Look, Taylor, forget I said that. But I think you need to stop worrying about why the Storm traded you and start getting excited about joining the Saints."
Ah. The Toronto Saints.
Toronto. The one Canadian cityâif anyâthat an American probably knows about. My new home.
I sure as hell knew about the Saints. They were one of the original NHL teams since the league started with seven and literally no team had as rich a history as the Saints.
Yeah, because that's what fucking matters to a hockey player. The history.
Told you I was being an asshole.
But in all seriousness, if I had to get traded, I could've done much worse than getting traded to the first-place team in the Eastern Conference.
Uncle Mark felt the same way.
"Winnipeg selected first in the draft last year because they were the last place team. And, unfortunately, they're on the track of finishing in a low standing spot again. The team just has too many weak links to be a serious contender. That's why I think they traded you. Because they need more assets and knew they could get a lot for you. Now, the Saints, on the other hand, are having a great year. But you, Taylor, have the ability to make them have a Stanley Cup winning year."
His words were exciting, lighting a spark deep within me.
"You think so?"
"Why the hell not?" Uncle Mark smiled.
I exhaled a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. I knew from watching hockey all my life that the chase for the Stanley Cup was like none other. To win it, a team needed to win four rounds of best-of-seven hockey. Not only was it gruelling, but it was fair. Flukes and luck didn't cut it. You needed to be the best team to win.
And that's what I wanted. To be on the best team. To win.
Okay. Fine.
Maybe this trade wasn't such a bad thing.
I had liked Winnipeg. Maybe not liked but it wasn't horrible. My coaches and teammates were decent. No real complaints but nothing irreplaceable either.
Hockey aside, there was only one real downside to leaving Winnipeg.
Camille Riccardi.
Just thinking her name softened me. She was my friend, probably the best friend I had ever had, and I'd miss her. I'd miss hanging out with her and listening to her talk hockey and school. I'd miss the way she'd blush whenever she got embarrassed or felt shyâwhich was oftenâbut would also say the most hilarious and crude jokes.
I had purposefully pushed away thinking about how I felt about her. All I knew was that I thought she was hot and that I cared about her.
I also wanted to sleep with her.
I could only imagine how it would feel to have her small body underneath mine.
Shit!
I wasn't supposed to be thinking crap like that.
Like a fire was lit beneath me, I jumped off the couch and grabbed my keys off the front table.
"Where are you going?" my mom called as she shoved some hoodies into a cardboard box.
Although she hadn't spoken directly to me all afternoon, I had heard her mumbling in Spanish while she packed up my things.
"I just need to clear my head. I'll be back soon, but I need you to do me a favour."
This could be the last time I saw Taylor before he left for Toronto, and there was a chance he wouldn't even be here.
Or that I wouldn't be let in.
I had tried to get a hold of Taylor all day but all my texts and calls went unanswered. I didn't take it personal. The messages weren't even getting delivered, so it was obvious his phone was off.
What I did take personally was that he didn't even try to contact me. He didn't know that I knew that he had gotten traded, so what? He was just going to leave without saying goodbye to me?
That hurt too much to think about.
I didn't know too much about how NHL trades worked, but I knew that there was no time to waste. The team wanted the new player there yesterday, and the season stopped for nobody.
I had been sitting in a library on campus, just staring at my phone, begging it to light up. I was getting absolutely zero work done, and I knew that I'd regret it later, but I couldn't bring myself to focus.
Finally, I did get a text and I sprang from my seat to get my phone, even though it was sitting right beside me.
It wasn't from Taylor, but it was from the next best thing. His mom.
Her message was the reason why I grabbed my things immediately and went to the nearest bus stop without even responding.
Sofia: Taylor went to the Modar Centre. I think he could really use your support.
She didn't mention that Taylor was traded either. So either these people thought I had some spidey-sense when it came to hockey or she thought it was irrelevant, and that all that mattered was that her son needed help.
The bus came quickly and there was little trafficâit was the middle of the afternoonâbut I still had one very large obstacle in my way.
The Modar Centre was a professional sports facility. You couldn't just waltz in from the public like it was a mall at any time you want. I remembered from when Taylor took me skating here that you needed a key to access it outside game hours. (Even then, security guards lined all the gates.)
I arrived in front of the double doors out of breath. I called Taylor's cell again, but it went straight to voicemail.
Come on, Taylor.
Because I didn't know what else to do, I just stood there, hoping that my desperation could open the doors.
When I peered in I saw someone walking by. He noticed me.
Thank god.
Maybe they still wouldn't let me in but at least I could plead my case.
"Hello? Can I help you?"
I bet the recognition flashed in his eyes the same moment in flashed in mine.
"Dan!" I almost yelled. Thank goodness for his name tag. "I'm Camille. Taylor's friend. Do you remember me?" He was the Zamboni driver, the one Taylor met for coffee occasionally.
"Hey, yeah I do!" he said, showing me a smile that was missing a tooth. "What can I do for you?"
"I really need to see him right now," I blurted, "and his mom said he's here. Can I come in? I'm sure you're not supposed to justâ"
"Yeah, yeah, come in."
"Thank you so much!" I said, brushing by him.
"It wasn't Dan, if anyone asks."
"You got it!" I yelled from a few feet away.
My first thought was that he'd be sitting in the stands. Maybe looking onto the ice where his NHL career began but wouldn't end. I scanned the millions of rows but they were all empty.
Shit.
Had he left already? It was possible. How long could he possibly want to stay here, doing nothing?
I pivoted, about to leave, when it hit me. I was thinking about it from the wrong view.
Taylor was a hockey player, not a fan.
So if he was to look onto the ice, he'd do it not from the stands, but from the bench.
There wasn't a lot of walking room in between the rows, so I had to walk sideways. Finally, I came to the end of the rows, where the tunnel that led from the dressing rooms to the bench was. The Home bench was on the opposite side of the tunnel and as soon as I had a view of the bench, I had a view of Taylor.
Jesus.
My heart lifted in relief.
Taylor was sitting on the boards, his back resting against the padded edge of the glass at the end of the bench. He was just staring at the ice with a pensive expression.
I felt a bit of my heart break. For Taylor, because he was leaving this place. And for myself. Because he was leaving me.
"Hey." My quiet voice echoed in the large, empty rink.
Taylor's head turned around slowly until his eyes landed on me. He didn't look at all surprised to see me, but he did seem happy.
"Your mom told me you'd be here."
He didn't say anything until I was a foot away from him. I sat on the bench and placed my hands underneath my bum to stop them from shaking.
"Yeah. Sorry I haven't texted you, but I've kept my phone off."
Even though I was sure I knew, I still asked.
"Why?"
"Because it's been ringing and pinging off the hook since yesterday."
"Yesterday?"
"Yeah, I've been traded. To Toronto."
Oh. So he does know how to say those words to me.
"I know. But I just found out today."
I stopped myself from admitting that it was the news station who told me. He knew a whole day before and hadn't found a moment to tell me?
"Why didn't you tell me, Taylor?"
"I just did."
I gave him a look. This was so not funny. Couldn't he see that?
"When do you leave?"
I didn't particularly want to know, but evidently, I couldn't trust him to share important information with me.
"Tonight."
Wow.
Bury the sadness, Camille. You're angry at him, remember? Worry about missing him later.
"And you were going to leave without telling me? Without seeing me one last time?"
"No," he said simply.
I narrowed my eyes. "If it wasn't for your mom who texted me..."
"You're right. If it wasn't for my mom, who texted you to come here, because I told her to."
I watched in disbelief as a smile spread across his face.
This idiot.
"I told you, I have my phone off. So I told her to tell you. You really thought I'd leave without saying goodbye?"
Stammering, I said, "No, of course not. At least, I didn't want to."
I watched as he swung his body around and came to sit next to me on the bench. Truthfully, him leaving without a trace would have been so uncharacteristic compared to the way he's treated me.
"Damn right I wouldn't have." He paused, "Camille," he murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear.
Oh god. I needed an inhaler.
"You're my best friend, you know that? And I don't mean just in Winnipeg."
I tried biting my lip to contain it, but it was futile. The smile was just too big to stop.
He wasn't telling me he loved me, and it was fine. Seriously. Because he cared about me. He was someone special to me and I was someone special to him. That was what I wanted.
"You're mine, too."
Taylor laughed. "It's okay. I know yours is Angela. It doesn't change how I feel about you."
My shoulder lifted in a shrug. "No, I mean it. You make me feel things that Angela doesn't," I admitted.
"Really, like what?"
Don't do it, Camille.
Don't admit to this guy that he makes you feel loved and turned on and so damn happy. He's about to leave for a city on the other side of Canada.
"Well, you laugh at my jokes."
"That's because they're hilarious."
The severity in Taylor's eyes suggested that he expected me to say something deeper but I was chicken.
"So, Toronto. They're a good team."
"Yeah, so I've heard."
"I'm guessing your parents and uncle are over at your place right now?"
He nodded. "They're going to fly out with me and help me get settled."
"That's good."
I was going to say more but he seemed so distracted that I could probably say that the ice was on fire and he wouldn't blink.
"Taylor," I said, lightly shoving his shoulder. "Don't worry about me. There's no chance you'll miss Winnipeg that much. Quite frankly, you're going to a better team and city. So the only thing you'll maybe miss is me. We can text and FaceTime, though."
"I can also fly you out," he said, determined.
"Yeah, sure, I can visit you."
"Is there a long weekend or something coming up?"
Oh. He was serious. He wanted to plan something now?
I thought for a moment, but my head felt fuzzy. "Um, the first week in February the university gives us a few days off to study, but I could visit then."
Taylor nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He sighed when the black screen stared back at him. "Right, I forgot I turned it off. But I won't forget. First week in February."
"And I'm pretty sure the Saints haven't played the Storm here in Winnipeg yet, so you'll be back before you know it."
He nodded solemnly.
"Come on, Taylor, cheer up. Soon this small, cold city will be a distant memory to you."
His eyes turned to me and moved down my face slowly. "I don't want you to become a memory, though. I'll be texting you and you better respond."
"Deal," I smiled.
He nodded, satisfied, and took one last long look at the ice. "I better get back. I leave soon."
"Yeah."
"Did you take the bus here? Never mind, of course you did. I'll drive you home."
"No, it's okaâ"
I didn't get to finish that sentence. The feel of his arms suddenly wrapping around my waist stunned me. He crunched down and pressed a gentle kiss to my temple. My arms slowly circled above his neck and my head rested against his chest.
"Take care, Camille."