Page 142 of The New Guy
But he’s nowhere to be found.
FORTY-NINE
Gavin
I should have gottena babysitter and gone out to get drunk.
Instead, I sit numbly on the sofa and watch the game with Jordyn.
The poor kid is deeply confused. “Daddy! I don’t know who to root for! I want Hudson to win. But I want Brooklyn to win. They can’t both win!”
“Tell me about it,” I grumble, rubbing my forehead.
I still can’t believe he came out to everyone he knows tonight. It was incredibly brave. Twenty thousand spectators have no idea, of course. The game is hard fought and well-matched.
Every time the camera zooms in on the players’ faces, I’m scrutinizing their interactions with Hudson. What I see is the same game-night concentration as always. The same chirpy conversations. The same shoulder bumps and butt pats and sweaty brows.
The first period is scoreless, which doesn’t help my mood. Because I don’t know who I’m rooting for, either. It’s a battle of wills on the screen. A sweaty battle, and Hudson is right in the mix, skating hard to stop his former teammates from scoring.
Nothing has changed for him, and yet everything has changed for him. I can’t look away. I want to know why he did it. But I also don’t want to ask.
Maybe he met somebody new.
Brooklyn scores early in the second period, but then Colorado answers with another goal.
Jordyn shrieks and buries her face in my shoulder. “Daddy, I can’t watch. This is torture.”
“It’s only a game, baby.”
She looks up at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Then the door buzzer rings. I almost don’t bother answering. It’s kind of late for deliveries, even if Reggie is expecting some more moving boxes.
My sister is moving out. Her band got signed by a label. They’re headed to L.A. to try to make it big.
The buzzer rings again. I answer it this time.
“Delivery!” the guy calls out.
But when I open the door, a dozen roses are thrust into my face. And a six-pack of my favorite beer. “Sign here, sir.”
“Whoa, Daddy!” Jordyn says when I close the door. “Did Hudson send youflowers?”
“Maybe,” I mumble. Then I open the card.
G—I want to see you. I’m at the Hilton. Or I could come to you, but I won’t show up uninvited. I miss you like crazy. And I couldn’t come all this way and not tell you. —H.
Well shit. Me and him at a hotel? What good could come from that?
I stare at the flowers.
But how can I stay defensibly angry in the face of a dozen roses and some very expensive craft beer?
The truth is that I want to see him. So bad. But I don’t want the ugly emotional hangover that will surely follow.
“Is it from him?” Jordyn demands.
“Yup.” I shove the card in my pocket and stomp over to the table with the roses. I don’t even have to put them in water, because Hudson sprang for an expensive arrangement in a vase.
