Page 59 of Cross Check
“You asked me if I wanted to get married. You never said if you wanted to.”
“Oh, yeah, I do.” I sigh. “I want like, ten kids. A big family with a big backyard and tons of swing sets. But not for a while. I have Stanley Cups to win first.”
“Grant!” Liam yells, interrupting me. My eyes almost bulge out of my head when I see him waving my way with a grin. “Get your ass over here! We’re making a human pyramid!”
“Okay, I have to run.” I tap my cheek, making sure I’m not dreaming. “The grumpiest guy on the team is hugging strangers. And suggesting we do a human pyramid? I think we’re on the verge of some sort of breakdown, and I’m being summoned.”
“Go have fun.” Amelia laughs. “And be safe.”
“Bye, Lia,” I slur, heading for my teammates. “Miss you already.”
“Bye, Grant,” she says, ending our call with another pretty smile I hold on to the rest of the night.
TWENTY-ONE
AMELIA
I shouldn’t be surprised when my phone rings again and Grant’s name flashes across the screen. It’s way too early, but I’m already smiling when I pick up the FaceTime call.
“How are you still awake?” I roll onto my side, noticing how much quieter this call is from the first one of the night. “It’s five in the morning.”
“Love is keeping me going.” He sways to the left, and elevator doors close behind him. “I’m at my hotel, but I have to be quiet. I’m staying on the same floor as Coach, and he can’t know I’m getting back hours after curfew. Shhh.”
“That’s not obvious at all.” I laugh when he rests his head against the metal wall behind him. “Did you have a good night?”
“It was the best night. But you know what? Professional sports leagues kind of suck.”
“Are these drunk musings?”
“I’m not drunk.” His neck tendons extend when he swallows. A giggle slips out of him. “Okay. I’m drunk.”
“But at least you’re subtle about it. Tell me why the leagues suck.”
“Because I’m a guy, right? And my whole life growing up, I was told I can’t show emotion. There’s no crying in hockey, blah, blah, blah.” He waves his hand in front of his face then gasps. “Whoa. Fingers are weird.”
“So weird,” I agree.
I haven’t been able to stop smiling despite running on fumes. After we hung up earlier, it was impossible to fall asleep. I’d lain awake, afraid that he’d pass out or choke on his own vomit. Nervous he’d fall off a curb, break his ankle, and be done for the season.
I’ve always been an over-worrier when it comes to my friends, the one who waits up until I get a text letting me know they made it home okay. Grant is firmly in that category now, and I care about his well-being.
Existential conversations about the purpose of our appendages and a waning intoxicated buzz are better than hearing he’s in a ditch somewhere, and for the first time all night, I relax.
“Anyway.” He sighs. “Like, tonight? Tonight I was with my best friends. They were so happy and excited to celebrate, and I was so happy. So what if I cried a little? So what if I told them I loved them, because life is short, you know? Like, if I die tomorrow, I don’t want anyone to doubt how I feel about them. I don’t care if they give me piggy back rides and hold my hand when I can’t walk straight. But other people do. It’s bullshit,” he declares, and the last two syllables slur around each other. “I’m sensitive and soft, and this world sucks a lot of the time.”
“That’s a gift, Grant. Men should be allowed to tell their friends they love them.”
“I knew you’d understand.” The elevator doors open. Grant sticks his head out. “Shhh. Coach is nearby.”
I bite my bottom lip as he stumbles down the hall with surprising grace from a guy totally inebriated. He reaches his door, tapping his key card against it and slipping inside. A wince crosses his face when it slams shut behind him. There’s another round of giggles, and all of this is hysterical to me.
“Whoops,” he whispers from the confines of his room. “That was loud.”
“Are you sharing a room with anyone?” I ask, hoping he won’t have to end the call right away.
“Nope! I got lucky tonight and have my own room.”
“That’s nice. Are you going to be able to sleep?”
