Page 22 of For Puck's Sake

God bless her. I take a long sip, not knowing where to start, or what to say. All I know is I need my best friend, and after years of not reaching out to her, I’m grateful for this. I open andclose my mouth, then it all comes tumbling out of me. “Ridley asked me out to lunch. Well, he texted me after about a week of stalking me around town. Okay, correction, he wasn’t really stalking, he was attempting to get me alone to talk, but I had that feeling, you know.” Red frowns. I wave off her brewing comments because I know they’re coming by the way her lips are parting and rush to continue. “Did you know Tor tricked us both? He let me stay in the guesthouse, while Ridley is in the main house. He and Alexis are in Paris. I thought they would be here, or I would never have asked to stay. But they are there and married now apparently. Ridley is here, sharing the same space with me.”

She shoots me a ‘no shit’ look. I roll my eyes, you know, maturity and all that. I ignore her and keep rattling on, if I pause for a second, I won’t finish.

“Not quite forced proximity but the man is only a few walls away every night. Walls away, Red. Let’s just say when we found that bit of news out, our first little reunion did not go well. I ran from him and cried against the door of the guest house like I’d escaped certain death. It was not my finest moment, but I have a mountain of trauma and no climbing gear to help me get over it. Now he is telling me that he wants to have lunch, talk, maybe start over.” I take a breath and focus on Red’s stunned face. She pulls on her braids, giving her scalp a little scratch as she shakes her head from side to side. Is she amused?

“I told him this would be fun to watch, and you two aren’t disappointing me at all,” she said absentmindedly before she returns her attention back to me. “Are you going to go to lunch?” she asks as she tilts her head and studies me.

I nod my head. “I said yes. Sandwiches. Ridley is not much of a cook, unless he’s spent the past two years learning just for me.” I chuckle to myself, and I guess it’s Red’s turn to stare at melike I’ve lost my mind. I mean, a woman can dream. Like Ridley Masters has time for cooking lessons.

“I’m going to play devil’s advocate here,” she raises her hands up in surrender and continues. I already know I’m not going to like what she is going to say, but that’s why we’re besties. “Brea, you only have a few weeks left in town and he will be starting preseason training soon. Talking is good. I think you two need to clear the air, but starting over, what difference will it make? You’re both on two different pages in your lives.”

I frown, hearing the truth in her words.

“If you want me to tell you to go for it, then I’m rooting for you both. You can defy the odds, second chances and all that. I will. Because I believe in the possibility. But I don’t want you to hurt any more than you already do. You or him.” She leans back against the bar and watches me speculatively. Is she waiting for me to get upset at her words? I can’t, she’s not wrong. Red never bullshits me and I’m thankful for her willingness to not placate me.

I hang my head, looking down at my distorted crestfallen reflection staring back at me through the shiny wooden bar top. “I know. I’ve had nothing but time to think about it. I know we don’t make sense together, not anymore, or fuck it, Red, maybe we never did. But despite everything, I owe him a conversation. I know it sounds ridiculous, but maybe this time we can get it right,” I say hopefully. “Being here together at the same time means something. After two years of skirting around each other, here we are,” I say, spreading my arms wide. “So, yeah, I agreed to lunch, although, it hasn’t happened yet, because we are both so busy, but at least we aren’t actively avoiding each other.”

“You’ve thought it through. As your friend, that is all I need to know. Only you and Ridley will know what you can handle ultimately. Only the two of you can decide to make it work and put forth the effort regardless of your past. If you decide to startover, I support you both.” She shoves off the bar and goes back to her morning prep.

I sag in relief. “Thanks, Red, I needed that,” I say to her retreating back.

“You know I have your back. Now repay me by going to Charlie’s and get me coffee. Oh yeah, good luck with teaching today.” She turns, winks and throws her cleaning towel over her shoulder.

I give her two thumbs up and follow my nose to Charlie’s.

“Perfect.” I beam at my four students sitting in a circle around me, acoustic guitars issued by the community center perched on their knees. Not going to lie, I was dreading this when I agreed to it. I thought my mother would march in here just because she could as an excuse to see me, but she didn’t show. Small mercies.

“As homework for next week, I want you all to work on your finger placement on the fretboard. Go over the basic notes, listen to each one over and over again until they are clear to your ears. If it doesn’t sound right, go back to your finger placement. It is essential, yeah?” I lift my eyebrows in question as they hang on my every word.

“Yeah!” they all say enthusiastically.

I check my watch and can see we’ve gone slightly over the time allotted. Placing Bessie down against my knee, I clap my hands at my students. They deserve applause for the work they’ve done today. I didn’t think I would enjoy teaching, but I’m good at it.

“That’s it for today. You all did a great job. Can’t wait to hear your progress next week,” I say as they begin to put away their guitars and file out of the room.

“Bye, Ms. Brookes,” Jaime, the youngest of my students waves as he exits the room.

I look up just as the poor kid collides with a massive body blocking the entire doorway. The man reaches out and grabs Jaime with one hand, while clutching a brown paper bag with my name written on it with bold black letters in the other.

The guy cringes, looking worried as he checks Jaime over. “Sorry, little man. I’m in a rush and didn’t see you.” He gives Jaime a small smile then shuffles over to give Jaime room to exit.

Jaime’s mouth falls open as he looks up at the man in awe, and now I’m intrigued. He towers over Jaime, six foot three, four, maybe. He’s young, early twenties, massive bulky muscles straining his Prestige polo shirt. He’s handsome, with brown skin and light brown eyes, easy smile, even though he looks ready to bolt as he looks over at me nervously.

“No problem, Derrick, I mean, Mr. Shaw. I’m a big fan. I can’t wait to see you play on T.V. My dad and I love Toronto,” Jaime says as someone calls his name from somewhere outside.

“I better go,” Jamie says again as Derrick pats Jaime’s shoulder as he jogs away from the classroom.

I slide Bessie over my shoulder until she’s resting against my back and stare at the hockey player in front of me warily.

“Can I help you?” I ask, nodding to the paper bag with my name on it.

“Sorry, Ms. Brookes.” He holds out the bag and walks toward me as if he’s holding precious cargo. “I’m late. I apologize.”

I tilt my head curious as to why the poor guy looks so anxious. But I decide to help him as I see sweat bead at his temple and reach tentatively for the bag.

“I’m Derrick, Derrick Shaw. I’m Mr. Masters’ assistant this summer. He told me to make sure you received your lunch exactly at noon and it is,” he checks his watch and closes his eyes, muttering a silent fuck. “It is ten minutes past.”

He looks so apologetic all I can do is laugh at how ridiculous this is.

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