Page 14 of Gravity
Calisse, he is everything I have been searching for.
* * *
After we win,and after the media frenzy—one million questions about my season and my legacy—Hunter and I escape the arena and climb into the truck I’ve been lent by the hotel. It’s a fancy, high-end Escalade, on call for the wishes and whims of their millionaire guests.
I burn rubber on a two-lane highway heading out to the desert. Hunter and I howl through the open windows, as if we can shout down the moon. It's adrenaline, victory, the song of champions.
We pull off the road in the middle of nowhere, so far out that Vegas is nothing but a heat shimmer on the horizon, and drink beers beneath the stars. We’re side by side on the tailgate, our legs dangling down, accidentally grazing as they lazily swing back and forth. We relive the game, our plays, our connection. He finishes my sentences. I finish his.
Calisse.
Eventually, our beers are finished, and we lie back and watch the stars burn through the black velvet dome overhead. They seem closer, brighter than they ever do back home, where it feels like each pinprick is a million miles away. As far away as my dreams.
He rolls to his side and I roll to face him, and we spend three hours talking about nothing. I tell him about the time I drew spiders on the toilet paper rolls in black marker and listened to my teammates scream themselves hoarse. He tells me about how the mysterious Monster energy drink thief in their locker room was caught. His captain, who was sick and tired of having his drink stolen, pissed in an empty can and left it up for grabs. A few minutes later, his co-captain was puking on the floor.
“One time,” I say, “I convinced my linemates that we were going to be filmed shirtless for an endorsement deal. We were supposed to be promoting a new kind of gloves. When the sponsor arrived, my teammates went out onto the ice wearing only their shorts and these gloves. Turned out, the videographer was new, and they didn’t know that this wasn’t in the contract. So, maybe for twenty minutes, everyone was acting like this wastout à fait normal.Alors, I blew it because I could not stop giggling.”
Hunter is laughing. He has his head pillowed on his arm, and he’s laughing.
I want to risk it. I want to trace my fingers down the side of his face, push the long strands of his hair behind his ear and cup his jaw. Run my thumb across his stubble. He still has red dirt from the canyon dusting his temples, swirled like spirals after sweating through the game.
Non.Calisse, don’t do it.
But I want to. His voice sinks into my bones. It melts me, making me think about impossibilities and first kisses and threading his fingers through mine. Wondering if we ever would have met if we weren’t hockey players, and what it means that we have.What is happening between us?
“Are you flying out tomorrow?” The All-Star Weekend is over, but there aren’t any games across the league for another two days. Some guys, like me, stick around. Will Hunter?
“I planned on staying an extra day. I didn’t know if I’d need to shake off a hangover.” He flushes.
This buzz I feel isn’t from alcohol. “It is early for Vegas,” I tease. “Should we go back and find you a bar? Or a club?”
“No.” His eyes catch the light falling from a star. “I like this more than a club. This is the kind of fun I grew up with. Tailgating and open skies and a couple of beers.”
“The stars in Texas…”
“Are big and bright.” Another grin. “This is perfect.”
Do it.Tabernak, do it.I breathe in, and imagine how it could happen. My lips on his, his hands reaching for me. His arms wrapping around me—
I blink, and the dream evaporates. It is still a million miles away, on the other side of those impossible stars. Maybe where he is from, dreams can be snatched easily in that big open sky, but not for me.
“Do you like to kayak?” I ask instead.
A crease forms between his eyebrows, probably at my non sequitur. “I love anything outdoors. I go ocean kayaking in Carolina when the weather is good. I paddle board, too.”
“The Colorado River is not far from here. You can kayak from the Hoover Dam to a place called Emerald Cove in half a day, and it ismagnifique. Crystal water, sheer canyon walls.”
“Have you been?”
“Oui. I am thinking about kayaking the river again tomorrow.” I hesitate. “You probably have other things you want to do—”
“Is that an invitation? Or is that a French way of teasing me with a good time?”
“Mais oui,” I laugh, and push against his stomach. He captures my wrist, and my heart stops.Tangle your fingers together. Take hold of this dream, and of him.“Will you come with me?”
“I’d love to.” A jaw-cracking yawn splits his face, and he tears his hand from mine just in time to cover his mouth before I can count his fillings. “M’sorry, I haven’t gotten much sleep.”
How could he? We’ve been together for almost the past twenty-four hours. “I should take you back to your hotel.”
