Page 97 of Hockey Boy
“You should go to the beach with everyone. I just need—” I roll my head to one side, looking out the window into the bright day. Forcing my eyes shut again, I exhale. “I just need darkness.”
The loss of her is instant, but I’m too numb to feel the pain of rejection when she slides off the bed and walks away from me.
She’s going to leave. She should. I told her to. Rather than watching her go, I survey the ceiling and muster the courage to tell her to have a good day. When the room is suddenly shrouded in darkness, the ache in my head begins to ease.
The bed dips, and then her warm hand is on my abdomen and she’s curling herself against me, holding me tight.
“What are you doing?”
“Holding you.”
I still beneath her, my breath catching. “What?”
“Just relax.”She presses a kiss to my chest.
“You don’t have to sit here with me. I’ll be fine. I just need a few hours.”
“That’s fine. We’ll lay here together in the dark.”
“Lex.” This time, my heart pangs, and emotion clogs my throat. “Go. Have fun. Don’t let my depression ruin your day.”
She nuzzles into me and squeezes me tighter. “I’m right where I want to be, Hockey Boy.”
“I really thinkwe need something to set us apart from the Kingston wedding.” Across the desk, I meet Rayna’s eye. Then I assess our boss, Serena, who sits beside her. The bride on the phone has been obsessed with one-upping the Kingstons after Melina’s performance at the reception went viral on TikTok.
Serena nods to me, signaling that I should reply, since the bride isn’t aware that she’s on speakerphone. We were in the middle of an office meeting when the woman working up front told us the bride was on the phone, in a tizzy and demanding to talk to me. “I understand where you’re coming from, but your wedding is this weekend. What exactly are you thinking?”
“Elephants.”
The snort that escapes my lips can’t be avoided. I clear my throat loudly, hoping like hell I can recover before she notices and come up with a tactful response. But all I’ve got is “Elephants?”
“Yes, there was that exhibit at the Newport Mansions this summer.” She launches into a monologue about how, if they’re good enough for the gilded town, then they should wow her guests.
Serena is snapping her fingers at Rayna and mouthing for her to pull up the exhibit.
She taps at her phone, then, with a frown, Rayna turns the screen my way. And once again, my surprised squeak can’t be avoided. “They’re not real.”
The bride scoffs. “What do you mean they aren’t real? I heard all about these damn elephants and how magnificent they were from Missy Tomlinson at the club just yesterday.”
I study the statuesque elephants on the lawn in Newport, tilting my head one way, then the other, trying to figure out what they’re made of and ascertain just how heavy they are. Transporting them could be a bitch. “I mean they’re not real. They’re art. Made from—” I snatch Rayna’s phone and scroll so I can read the description out loud. “The sculptures were created by The Coexistence Collective, a community of two hundred indigenous artisans in the Nilgiri Hills of South India. They’re made from lantana camara, an invasive weed that encroaches on wildlife habitats.”
The bride harrumphs. “Well, that’s ridiculous.”
I’m not sure her request for real elephants three days before her wedding is any less ridiculous than these being sculptures, but I don’t argue with her.
Serena leans down and speaks into the phone. “Would you prefer real elephants?”
While my eyes would love to bug out of my head at the question, the bride doesn’t even seem to realize I’m not the one speaking.
“Maybe. What do you think? A real elephant would definitely be cooler than a singer, right?”
Cooler? Maybe. Smelly? Most definitely. Impossible to arrange? Probably.
Once again, Serena replies. “Oh, absolutely. You’d be the talk of the city.”
Rayna covers a snort with a fist to her mouth.
“Yes,” the bride says slowly, as if she’s really thinking about it. “Yes, absolutely. Although…do you think we could find an elephant that doesn’t poop?”