Page 58 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Part of me gets it, understands her need because she’s married to a much older man who probably didn’t seem so old twenty years ago when she married him. Then when I remember how much grief she’s giving me and what she’s trying to do to Finn, I get over my understanding and any sympathy disappears. She’s mean and spiteful and she doesn’t need to be.
There’s no way I’m going to tell Finn about the scheme, not until it’s all over. It’s not dishonest, I’m only postponing the truth.
“Sherry is taken with him. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t care,” he says.
Two hours fly by as I re-apply my attention to the veterans who deserve it, listening to war stories and jokes and sharing coffee and cookies. When it’s time to leave, Caroline and Neil join Finn, Grace and I in a huddle outside. Boston is cold today. Looking around, I don’t see the Boylstons--or our young man-boy.
Neil invites us all to go out to dinner and Finn says no. Though it’s expected, he’s more gracious about it and that’s progress. Grace leaves to go back to campus in Newton and Mary goes with Caroline and Neil, her new best friends. Dying of curiosity, I want to talk to Caroline about what happened with Sherry and the beefcake-trap, but it’ll have to wait. Until when, I’m not sure because I’m hoping Finn’s going to invite me to stay over again in spite of the playoffs requiring a new level of seriousness.
Or maybe it’s about time for me to invite myself. It’ll be a good test of where I stand with him. For real. With so much pretense and so much chemistry, and so much guilt and I don’t know what else on his part, in spite of our promise to be honest with each other, it’s hard to do when I know Finn needs to be honest with himself.
Heaven knows it’s taken me a while to be honest with myself, and I’m a romantic. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be for a cynic like Finn.
There’s at least a week until the Brawlers need to play their first playoff game since they earned a bye-round finishing first in their division, so I’m hopeful that he’ll say yes if I ask.
But before I can get up the courage, he pulls out his phone and types in an order for an Uber. Because I’m huddled close against the cold, I can see that he’s typed in my address. Disappointment clouds my body like a physical weight.
“Don’t let today spoil you,” Finn says. “This’ll be my last day off for a while. We’re locking down for the playoffs starting tomorrow. We’re taking this cup run seriously. We’ve committed to blocking everything else out to concentrate on working and improving as a team.”
“What exactly does that mean?” I have an idea, but I have to ask, to hear it in order to squash every ray of my crazy romantic hopes.
“It means no moresleepovers.”
I wait, and when he doesn’t qualify that withuntil the playoffs are over, oruntil we win the Stanley Cup, my heart thuds and rises in my throat as my stomach sinks like he’s stomped on it. Trying not to let my face fall, to heck with honesty because I don’t want him to see that he’s hurt me, that I’ve harbored romantic dreams of our future in spite of all his warnings, I smile and separate from him, letting go of his arm.
“Vivvie,” he says, his voice soft, he looks at me, but he doesn’t continue, doesn’t move to give me a kiss good-bye when the Uber car arrives. He does go to open my door, but I get to it first and get inside. Then I slam it shut and turn away as we drive off. I can’t let him see me cry.Foolish tears. Foolish romantic.
