Page 75 of Making the Save
How incredible was that?
I had fans, sure. But I didn’t make people cry. The closest I got was drunk Peak’s fans coming up and telling me how, when we won the Stanley Cup four years ago, their father had cried real tears. Mostly people wanted to tell me I was playing for shit. Or they wanted to talk about Liam.
Sydney was something special. The effect she had on people was special. All that garbage with the media and asshole fake boyfriends was just that. Garbage.
If she could push all of that aside and record an album full of songs like the one she was writing on my porch – she’d be unstoppable. On her own terms. For the right reasons.
“It’s perfect for the cabin,” Syd said as we walked down the sidewalk, peering into other shops as we went. “I knew it the second I saw it. But, you know, you could use some blankets and pillows. Maybe some art on the walls. Something to make it a little cozier.”
She stopped suddenly, looking down the main street of Telluride, the view of snow covered mountains in the background.
“Wow,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, looking up at the mountains beside her. “It’s how I felt the first time I stood here and saw that view.”
“It’s like when I saw the ocean for the first time. I didn’t think anything could be so grand. But this… this isgrand.”
“Come on,” I took her hand. Only because she wasn’t going to watch where she was going now that she was focused on the mountains. “How about we get some lunch?”
“Oh,” she said, still looking at the mountains. “I could eat.”
We tucked inside one of my favorite spots when I was in town. An informal place full of hikers and locals. At the bar I ordered beers and some poutine, which the two Canadian dudes who owned the bar, rocked.
I found a table in the back and made Syd sit against the wall so I could shield her from anyone coming in the place with their camera out. Although, on a random Tuesday afternoon it was nearly empty.
I didn’t want to keep her from her fans, not after seeing her with the furniture store owner, but I wanted her to myself, too.
Was that wrong? I wondered. Selfish? As her fake husband, where did I belong in the equation?
Liam would know, I thought sourly. Liam did social shit a million times better than me.
I set one of the beers, a local IPA, down in front of her and stopped. “I don’t even know if you like beer.”
We were doing this all out of order. Married, but not really. Dating, but not really. Fucking, but not really. Knowing each other, but not really.
All we needed was a damn baby and we’d…
It hit me in the back of my head like a sledge-hammer.
“I like beer with salty food,” she was saying. “And on hot days it’s hard to beat, but-”
“I didn’t use a condom.”
She blinked at me. I stood there with my own beer in my hand and I could actually feel the blood draining from my head.
“You better give me the beer, you look like you’re going to faint.” Syd took it from my hand and set it on the table.
She wasn’t wrong. I collapsed into the chair across from her.
She took a sip of beer and made a considering face. “Not bad.”
“Syd, did you hear me?”
“I mean, it’s a little punch you in the face but not as bad as some IPA’s.”
“This is serious,” I barked.
“Why?” she whispered. “Do you have an STD I need to know about?”