“Nah.” He shakes his head somberly. “I‘ve got to get my own rubbish sorted today.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask him, the wave of concern flooding over any need to defend myself. We haven’t talked about Eloise since before we got to the club last night. I’ve been so wrapped up in Carina that I forgot my brother had gotten himself into a dodgy situation with his wife.
“I’m still asking for the divorce,” he starts, exhaling. “I did the math. If she’s pregnant, it ain’t mine, mate. I’ve been traveling. It’s been a bit.”
A small “o” forms with my lips, words failing me.
“Yeah,” he continues. “I didn’t want to accept it.”
“Well, I’m here,” I remind him. “Anything you need. I’ve got things here if you need to take off to get it all sorted.”
“I’m sure you do.” He wiggles his eyebrows before quickly snapping back to a more serious tone. “Thanks, Ry. I might have to take you up on that. We both know Eloise isn’t going to make this easy.”
“No, making things easy isn’t exactly Eloise’s style,” I agree as he stands up.
He stops to pat me on the shoulder, neither of us saying another word before he leaves the room.
The ding of the text alert from my mobile in the bedroom steals my attention. Immediately, I switch from being worried about my brother to anxiously hoping it’s Carina.
Carina: “Good morning, Ryan. I just wanted to see if it was still okay if Lina and I came by the set. Her game should wrap up in about fifteen minutes.”
I smile at the sight of her name and her words sitting on the lock screen of my mobile.
Ryan: “Mornin’ luv. What time suits you? I can be there within the hour. x.”
The set is only ten minutes from the hotel, but I had fallen into bed last night without showering. I need to wash up, run some product through my hair, and change into clean clothes. First impressions are important. You don’t get them again. If I learned anything about Carina last night, it’s that her daughter means more to her than anything. Which means, I have my work cut out for me today.
Carina: “Can we make it two? Lina will want to stop at home before heading there.”
Ryan: “Two hours it is then. See you ladies in a bit. x.”
After sending two back-to-back texts, I realize she probably doesn’t realize I end most texts with an “x.” It was second nature. I wasn’t trying to creepily finish them with the implication it meant “kiss” like I’m sure she’s assumed.
Explaining that would only make me look even more ridiculous than I already do at this point. So, I leave well enough alone, deciding that making a conscientious effort to avoid them on any texts sent to her going forward would be a better move than trying to explain that I’m not actually a complete tosser.
I pull up “My Mix” on the music app on my mobile and press play. Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay” is playing as I turn the water on in the shower. Though there are some newer songs in my music library, I would say more than three-quarters of the music I have is from before I was even born. Most of it is the music I grew up listening to—like Marvin Gaye, Al Green, Otis Redding, The Foundations, and my gran’s favorite: Stevie Wonder.
Gran used to say I was “just an old soul” when Alfie would tease me. My brother always listened to loud Celtic punk rock. It was too much for me. I went to a Dropkick Murphys concert with him when we were teenagers, and while I stood back, anxious the entire time, Alfie was right in the circle pit and crowd surfing, feeding off the energy of the band.
It’s just another example of how we might be brothers, but we are as different as they come.
Stripping out of the plaid pajama pants I threw on when Alfie first started banging on the suite door, I step into the walk-in shower. I had already placed the shampoo and body wash I brought from home in the shower yesterday. I’m sure the lilac blossom body wash left by the hotel is just fine, but I don’t necessarily want to smell like a field of lilacs.
As Sam Cooke croons about bringing sweet love on home to him, I sing along, using the shampoo bottle as a microphone—the bottle of body wash serving as the only audience that will ever hear my horrible, off-key singing. After washing my body and joining The Temptations in a shower rendition of “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg,” I turn the water off.
I dry off quickly, then wrap the towel around my waist before leaving the bathroom. I realize I forgot to put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on my door, knowing housekeeping can pop in at any time. Unsure of how long I’ll be staying here, the last thing I want is to traumatize some poor soul just trying to do their job.
Instead of my typical dress trousers and button-up shirt, I reach for one of the two pairs of jeans I own and a black V-neck T-shirt. The weather in Massachusetts has been unseasonably warm and shows no sign of letting up the next few days. Which is fine by me. I would move to where the sun shines brightly year-round, if my job allowed it.
For the time being, I’m stuck here in Colwood. I’m not feeling as stuck as when I first got here yesterday though. And, while I could deny it to Alfie until I’m blue in the face, there’s no arguing with myself.
It has absolutely everything to do with a certain blonde cooking personality we signed yesterday.
14
Carina
Anything that could have gone wrong this morning, did.
I slept through my first alarm.
As I was hurrying to get in the shower, I scalded my skin on the burning water because I didn’t bother checking the temperature before I got in.
By some small miracle, I managed to get out the door in time. So, I stopped to get coffee. Just to spill it on myself before I even pulled out of the parking lot. I ended up borrowing a T-shirt from my mother because the white shirt I had left my house in had a fresh, brown coffee stain on it.
We left my mother’s house without grabbing Lina’s soccer bag—realizing it halfway to the field. We had to turn around because her cleats and shin guards were in it.
Then, the icing on the cake that was my shit-tastic morning?
Richard fucking Olsen was at the field waiting for us. Standing next to his mother in a pair of khaki shorts and a navy blue polo.
His eyes lit up at the sight of us.
“There are my two favorite girls!” he’d exclaimed. Quickly adding in, “Other than you, Mom.”
He stayed the whole time, acting like the world’s most supportive dad.
Because that’s all it was, an act—and everyone there knew it. The parents on the team he tried to talk to, the coaches he introduced himself to after the game, and Lina.
Whether it was just luck or her sheer determination to prove herself in front of Richard, Lina played the best she had all season—scoring three out of the four goals, including the tiebreaker that gave her team the win.
A goal I almost missed because I was busy choking on air when Richard asked me to dinner. I wanted to shut it down. I couldn’t think of any reason to go out to dinner with him. Until he said, “I think we both know I’ve been less than what you and Lina deserve. I want to change that.”