Page 12 of Made For You

“I do, including you.” He laughs. “I think we need to sit down and look at things.” I shake my head, not saying anything. “We should at least discuss a couple of things.”

“I don’t think there is anything to discuss.” I open my cabinet to get the frying pan. “There hasn’t been anything in the past two years.”

“I think there could be,” he informs me, and I roll my eyes. “Just hear me out.”

“Send me your schedule, and I’ll see if I can make it work,” I say to him, turning the burner on.

“No,” he snaps. “I’m going to schedule you in, and if you don’t show up, I’m coming to your boat.”

“Are you this pushy with all your clients?” I spray the pan before putting in the veggies.

“When they are acting like asses, yes. So I can come to the boat next Wednesday at two o'clock.”

“I might be busy,” I tell him, and he roars out laughing. “I think I have to wash the cat that day.”

“You got a fucking cat?” he shrieks.

“No.” I laugh at him. “It was a joke.”

“Good, at least your sense of humor is still there. Text me where you want to meet,” he tells me, and I’m about to hang up on him. “Don’t make me chase you down.”

“Bye.” I press the red button, ending the call. “Can you believe that?” I look over at Beatrice, who sits at the entrance of the kitchen, waiting to see if I drop any food for her. “He wants to sit with me?” I add the spinach and then the eggs. “For what?” I shake my head.

I try not to think about the bad that happened two years ago, but no matter how many times I try to push it away, it just comes full force. “What could he want to talk about?” I put my omelet on the plate, walking over to the U-shaped table. “Does he want to talk about how for five fucking months I threw up every single day with dread?” I take a bite, getting up to get myself orange juice and water. Only when I sit back down do I continue, “Does he want to talk about how the press raked me over the coals every fucking game?” I shake my head, the tightness in my stomach making it harder to swallow.

“No matter how good I did, they always were there to kick me in my balls.” I laugh bitterly. “I scored a goal in overtime, which clinched us to head to the playoffs, and what did they do?” I put my fork down and look over at Beatrice. “They happily reminded me that I went ten games with not one point, and I had a minus twelve like I didn’t already know this.” I close my eyes and put my head back. “It was fucking hell. Every single day was worse than the other.” My heart starts to speed up a touch now. “I would sit in my hotel room when we were on the road, in the dark, and hope not to wake up the next day. Sitting in the dark every night as the anxiety would come and claim its place in my head.” The tightness in my chest starts.

“I had no one to talk to, not one person.” My hands start to tremble. “No one, and when I tried, I was basically told that I had to suck it up and ignore the press. They brushed it off, like always. No one even listened. Not one person listened to what I had to say.” I laugh now, but the sting comes to my eyes. “Ignore it, they said.” I swallow as the tightness gets even tighter, and a lump starts to form in my throat, making it hard to swallow. “Easy for them to say. They weren’t the ones on the cover of the newspaper. After every game, a microphone was shoved in my face, asking me why I wasn’t scoring goals.” My back starts getting sweaty for a second, while my neck gets chills, and I know I’m two seconds away from a panic attack. I know the signs. I’ve always known the signs, but I’ve ignored them because that is what you did, apparently. I try to control my breathing, but I get up on unsteady feet and walk to the bathroom, not sure if I’m going to throw up or not.

I walk into the bathroom and sit in front of the toilet bowl with my back to the wall. Beatrice comes in and lies next to me, putting her head in my lap. “I can’t do it.” I pet her head, ignoring the tears leaking down my face. “Won’t do it.” I put my head back against the wall. “I survived once. I’m not sure I can survive again,” I admit, trying to calm myself down. I close my eyes as I try to level out my breathing. “When I called Miles, it was the last phone call I thought I would make. I don’t know what would have happened.” Taking a deep breath in and then letting it out, I open my eyes to focus on Beatrice in my lap. “If this is how I react to even meeting with Miles, how the heck am I going to lace up my skates?” I pet Beatrice. “I would have to go on the road again,” I tell her, “and whatever team thinks of taking me, there is going to be news coverage all over it.” I try not to let it bother me. “One thing I know for sure,” I say, once I know my heartbeat is calming down. “There is no way in hell I’m playing for another organization that doesn’t support my mental health.” She looks up at me. “Not going to do it.”

I close my eyes once more with my head back. I don’t even know how long I sit here before getting up. I walk back up the stairs and clean up the mess in the kitchen. I throw out the now cold omelet that I only ate half of, adding the plate to the sink. I plug the sink and turn on the water, adding soap to it. I look up while I wait for the sink to fill up, and I see her.

She is standing on her boat's back deck and holds one of the lines in her hand. “What the hell is she doing?” I mumble as I move my head to see better. “Is she practicing tying knots?” I ask as she looks at the table in front of her, her iPad tablet propped up. “She’s on YouTube,” I tell Beatrice, shaking my head. “How crazy is that?” Beatrice walks over to the back door and barks when she finally sees Vivienne. “What did we say?” I ask her. She just looks over her shoulder at me, and I can swear she tells me to shut up and to leave her alone.

CHAPTER9

VIVIENNE

“Quick hitch,”the guy says on the video as I sit on the side of the boat tying knots to the side tenders. I watch the video twice before doing it with him, and it usually takes me seven tries before I actually get it. I’ve been doing this all day long.

I started the day at sunrise, watching the sun come up. This time, it was uneventful. I intended to spend the day writing, knowing my parents are arriving tomorrow, but I just couldn’t get anything done. I would sit down and just look at the screen. After an hour, I closed it down and decided to scroll YouTube for boat videos. Now it’s almost dark, and I am still doing knots. I finish the knot and then get up, my stomach growling. “Time to eat,” I announce, grabbing my iPad and walking on the side of the boat to the side steps.

Sliding the door open and stepping in, I put the iPad down on the counter before going to wash my hands. I whip up a salad for dinner, watching the news before taking a shower and falling into bed. The soft alarm wakes me up, and when I open my eyes, I see I haven’t moved all night long. I have never slept better in my life. Getting out of bed, I start the coffee before going to the bathroom.

“It’s today,” I tell myself as I pour milk into the cup of coffee. “It’s today.” I open the sliding door and make my way up to the top deck, where I sit and have my coffee. I hear Xavier open his sliding door and look over and spot him coming out wearing shorts and a sweater.

“Ready to go, sleepyhead?” he speaks to Beatrice, who ignores him and walks off the boat. I take a sip of my coffee as I stalk them walking past my boat. He brings his coffee to his mouth as they walk up the dock. My eyes watch them until I can’t see them anymore. “Jerkface,” I mumble, turning back to look at the sky. Yesterday when I walked down the stairs and saw them coming out, I made it a point not to talk to him and only spoke to Beatrice, even though she can’t talk back. It still made me feel better. I wait until the sun is fully in the sky before I get up and walk back inside.

I’m about to start breakfast when my phone rings. I grab the phone and see it’s my father. “Hello,” I answer him.

“I can’t get in,” he huffs, and I laugh.

“You can’t get in where?”

“In the gate,” he grumbles, and I can hear my mother in the background telling him to be quiet. “I’m not going to be quiet. My child is in there.”

“Dear God, your child is in her thirties.” I hear Cooper in the background. “The word child doesn’t really fit in here.”

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