Page 28 of The Love Dare
“I’m interviewing for a job later today.”
“Is that smart?” he asks before he can stop himself. “You don’t need to worry about money. I just want you focused on what’s important.”
“They said it will be good for me to have more structure. It’s just part time. I won’t miss any of the therapy sessions or meetings, I promise. Besides, I’m going crazy stuck in this room all the time. I need to get out.”
That’s exactly what he’s worried about, but he bites his tongue. He spent the better part of his teenage years trying to will her into sobriety. It’s time to trust the professionals. “Well, good luck then, I guess.”
“Good luck on the game tonight. I’ll be watching.”
“I know.” He covers his mouth with his palm to stifle his sigh. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too, baby.”
He hangs up and flicks his gaze to the angry red bubble hovering over the corner of his messaging app. Two hundred and sixty-seven missed texts.
Kill me now.
It’ll take him hours to go through them. And anyone who matters knows not to text him anyway. He’s a lot better at reading than he was as a kid, but it’s still exhausting. Tyler switches over to his voicemails instead. Four. A much more manageable number. He clicks on his agent Jared Daly’s name first.
“You know I looked for you for a fucking hour in that studio last night? You were hiding from me. I know you were. I still can’t believe you’re going through with this, but I know, I know, stay in my lane, which is to make you a shit ton of money. And I’m trying. Trust me, I’m trying. I spent the first hour of my day assuring the team at Bauer that you weren’t going to act like a philandering pig, so thanks for that. When does this damn show start filming again? After playoffs, right? Six months? You’regoing to owe me for this. A dating show. Of all the stupid ideas, this one?—”
Tyler deletes the rest. They’ve had this conversation too many times to count. What his agent doesn’t understand is that this entire situation is half his fault. Yes, Tyler is the one who originally agreed to go on the show, but when he called Jared for help, his agent immediately responded with,Are you a fucking imbecile? A dating show? You can barely string a sentence together in postgame interviews and you think a TV show is a good idea?So instead of asking the man for an escape plan, Tyler argued with him instead. Because that one word,imbecile, immediately raised his hackles. It stopped being about the show and became a matter of pride. He’s been called stupid by too many people, too many times. Nothing motivates him more than proving someone wrong.
He turns to the voicemail from his publicist, Lisa Levy, next.
“Hey, Tyler. Great job last night. I told you that suit would be a hit. I’m fielding calls from a lot of interested parties for interviews. Get back to me so we can review the options. There are a few different ways we can play this—aloof athlete, suave ladies’ man, lonely hero. Think about it before you call. Oh, and I spoke with the producers last night. They’re going to send all the outfits and dates to me for approval. I assume you don’t care. Good luck with the game tonight. Reporters will definitely have questions, but go withno commentuntil your segment withWake Up, America!on Friday. It’ll drum up the intrigue. Your female fans are going to go absolutely wild for this. I can’t wait! The online buzz is already phenomenal. I know you won’t, but just check your Instagram feed. Please. Oh, and don’t listen to a word Jared says. This is going to be great.”
That woman is an angel. She’s also lost her damn mind if she thinks he’s going to go anywhere near his Instagram feed right now. He clicks on the next name instead—Alexandru Rusu.
“Tyler. Is this true? Yetta just?—”
A feminine voice interrupts, one he will always recognize as belonging to his second mother. “Is that him?”
“She said?—”
“Tyler? I was just watching Samantha on the television screen, and I saw you, and— Tyler? Tyler? I don’t hear him. I thought he was on the phone.”
“It’s a voicemail, Yetta.”
“He didn’t answer you?”
“He’s probably sleeping. He’s got a big game?—”
“I don’t care about the game. I want to hear about the show.”
“He’ll call back. Are you still recording?”
“What? I don’t know.”
“Give me the phone.” A little shuffling sound interrupts. “Listen to me. Don’t get distracted by these girls. Watch out for Cronholm. The refs have been letting him get away with cheap shots all season. You saw?—”
The voicemail times out.
Tyler shakes his head, unable to fight the grin pulling at his lips.
Those two haven’t changed since the night they caught him sneaking around their ice rink sixteen years ago. After Alexandru tossed the puck at him, Yetta’s warm voice echoed across the rafters.Let him have a snack first, Alexandru. The boy’s all skin and bones.Yetta won that argument, the way he came to find she often did. He’ll never forget the nurturing look on her face as she passed him that quickly whipped-up sandwich. It was the look of someone who was used to being the backbone of a family, who gave and gave without expecting anything in return, who would always be that shoulder her kids could cry on, that safe space, that unbreakable pillar around which everything else could be built—someone his own mother tried so hard but never quite managed to be.
Yetta was the only reason his life ended up the way it has. She and Alexandru went out to dinner that night. She was the one who told him to stop by the rink on the way home to pick up the gear bag their son had left behind. The most pivotal night of his entire life was all due to motherly love—and, well, sheer dumb luck if he’s being honest.
