Page 37 of One Little Favor
At least he did right by my parents. He sent my dad a text with directions for picking up the tickets at the arena, and an apology for not being able to make the game tonight. I haven’t been able to bring myself to explain everything that happened, I just told them that I didn’t think it was going to work out between Tom and me. When my mom asked what that meant for my job, I did admit that I’d resigned, but told her I’d already sent my resume in for seven other executive assistant job postings, and that seemed to ease her worry a bit.
It’s a setback, but that’s it.
It’s fucking heartbreaking, my internal voice screams, but I squash it down as the guy next to me sticks out his hand and introduces himself as Dylan.
“Alex said you’re friends of his best friend, and asked if you could stop by the locker room after the game,” he tells me.
“Really?”
“Yeah, you’re Avery, right?”
I nod.
“He wants to meet you and your parents. I’ll wait here with you until the game is over and then show you how to get down there. You’ll need me with you to get by security.”
I introduce him to my parents. Dad is clearly thrilled at the prospect of meeting Alex Ivanov, one of the league’s best players—some are saying that he may be one of The Greats, the kind of player we remember when we think about the best men ever to skate on that ice. But Dad’s trying to hold his emotions in and look all stoic. Mom and I know better, and we share a glance and a smile. It’s great to see him happy.
And it eats at me that it’s Tom who has made this happen. Just like he made it so I could spend Christmas Eve with my parents. Who does that for someone they’re just fucking on the side and planning to get rid of?
And that’s when it finally hits me, like a sledgehammer right to my heart—no one.No onedoes that for someone they don’t care about. Someone they don’t really love.
Oh shit, what have I done?
The buzzer that ends the game jolts me out of my stupor, and my sudden, jerky movement has Mom looking at me quizzically, clearly trying to figure out what’s going on. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on too, especially when Dylan leads us down two levels and then through a door manned by security, then through a wide hallway. I glance beyond the open double doors to my right and see the opening to the ice rink, and realize that we’re already on the level with the locker rooms.
Suddenly, my stomach feels like it’s going to give out, and I reach out and grab Dylan’s arm. “Wait!”
He looks over and me, eyebrows dipped in confusion as I bring us all to a halt.
“Why did Alex say he wanted to meet my parents?” I ask. I’ve met Alex numerous times because not only is Tom his best friend, he’s also his lawyer. Tom specializes in contract law, so it’s not unusual for a professional athlete to be sitting across from me in the waiting area of Tom’s office. But whereas many of those athletes are chatty, Alex has always been so quiet, so reserved—it’s hard to imagine him reaching out to see someone after a game just because they know Tom.
Unless maybe Alex knows what’s been going on with Tom and me? Unless Tom asked him to? I’m so confused about the motives here, and I should just shut up and let my dad meet his favorite player, but there’s an uneasy feeling that’s come over me.
“He didn’t say.” Dylan shrugs one shoulder. “Just said you were friends of a friend and that he’d like to meet you and your parents.”
“But I already know him,” I say suspiciously.
Dylan raises his eyebrows, likeWhat do you want me to say?
“All right,” I say casually, trying to play it off like my mind isn’t absolutely spinning, wondering if this is all some sort of a ploy for Tom to talk to me. Because if he’s waiting down here in the locker room for us ... I don’t know how I’ll feel about that. Maybe a bit mad about being tricked, but actually secretly thrilled to see him because I think maybe I’ve made a horrible mistake.
My stomach continues to flip over as we walk down the hallway, and we can hear the noise coming from the locker room before we even get to the doors. Clearly, they are celebrating what is shaping up to be a great season.
“Wait here,” Dylan says. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“You think this is Tom’s doing, like the tickets?” Mom asks.
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Probably.”
Mom gives me a “hmm” and then turns to ask Dad a question, giving me a minute to look around. I halfway expect Tom to be standing farther down the hallway, watching this scene unfold. But if he’s among the people milling around, I don’t see him, and I definitely don’t get that feeling that I’m being watched, either. We stand outside those doors for about ten minutes, and then three reporters and their camera people leave the locker room, and a minute later Dylan is back with Alex Ivanov by his side.
With his skates on, he’s easily six foot six, so he towers over us as he reaches out his hand to introduce himself to my parents. “Avery,” he says to me with a nod.
He chats for a few minutes with Dad about hockey, answering his questions while Mom and I stand there looking on. With his New York jacket and hat, Dad looks like a superfan chatting up his favorite player.
“Tom tells me you were quite the hockey player,” Alex says to my dad, “before you were injured in the line of duty.”
Dad gives a laugh that’s half snort. “That’s generous. Avery was the real hockey player in our family,” Dad says and nods at me, and Alex’s eyes flare in surprise.
