Baden, page 7
“Nope,” I reply and leave it at that.
Sophie makes a choking sort of laugh and then pushes up from the couch, causing my arm to fall away. She walks over to a buffet table along one wall and reaches inside for a box of tissues. There’s no shame in the loud blowing of her nose. “You’re very kind to try to alleviate that burden from me.”
“I’m not being kind, Sophie,” I chastise. “I’m being pragmatic.”
She nods as if she understands, but I can see her struggling.
I scoot over on the couch, giving her plenty of room, and pat the cushion she vacated. “Come sit back down, and I’ll tell you all about my recovery, how badass I am in the gym, and why I decided to take this coaching position rather than try to get back on the ice.”
“You had a chance to play again?” she inquires hesitantly but doesn’t move.
“A slim shot, but there was a chance.”
“Just… wow,” she murmurs. She shakes her head in what I’m guessing is the same disbelief most people have when they take in my recovery. “Listen… I’ve got some chili simmering I made earlier and was just going to make corn bread. Do you want to stay for dinner?”
“Sure beats room service, which is what’s on the menu,” I reply. I’d wondered what that delicious smell was when I first walked in.
“Well, come on into the kitchen and tell me all about your badassery while I finish up dinner.”
It’s refreshing to see her share a little humor, but the strain around her eyes remains. I know she’s not going to give up these harsh feelings simply because I say everything’s okay.
But I’ll be glad to keep reiterating it to her. I never want her to feel an ounce of pain over what happened, as that would be as heartbreaking to me as if she’d been raped or killed.
I follow Sophie into the kitchen, taking a moment to check out her house. It’s definitely an older abode, but some updates have been done. I wonder if she did them herself or did she buy the house this way. It’s a mixture of old—faded linoleum flooring—and new cabinets with granite countertops in the kitchen. The wood floors in the living room have been recently refinished, polished to a sparkling sheen, but the walls are dated wood paneling.
I offer my help, but Sophie replies by banishing me to a chair and serving me lemonade. While she makes the corn bread and adds spices to the chili, I tell her about my lengthy recovery, leading right up to the offer to coach with the Titans.
Sophie faces me, a spoon in hand. “So you had to take a risk one way or the other… stick to rehabbing yourself to get back on the ice, or take on a new career with no experience.”
“That’s exactly what it boiled down to.”
“Not an easy choice,” she muses before turning back to stir the chili. I try very hard—really, really hard—not to notice what a great body she has, encased in a pair of faded jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a pair of dark-gray socks. For the first time, I notice she’s wearing a Titans shirt with the recognizable logo of a flaming T in deep purple with silver outlining. It’s faded—clearly, she’s had it a long time.
Until this moment, it never even crossed my mind she’d be a fan of the very team I’ll be coaching. Then again, I should’ve assumed so. Pittsburgh is one of those cities where the fans are as plentiful and rabid as they come.
“I see you’re a fan.”
She glances over her shoulder at me. “You’d be hard-pressed to find any native Yinzer who isn’t a fan of the Titans.”
I laugh, nodding. “Well, I can get you tickets to any game you want.”
I’m expecting her to be excited by my offer, but instead, she stiffens slightly. With her back to me, she says, “That’s really sweet, but I actually don’t feel comfortable going.”
I’m stunned for a moment, not understanding what she means by that.
Before I can ask for clarification, she faces me, and I see by her expression that she’s decided to hold nothing from me. I’m glad—we share a bond, and we shouldn’t hold anything back.
“I’m, uh… having a bit of trouble getting past the fear of someone attacking me again. I don’t go out much.”
The minute the words are out of her mouth, she braces for my reply. Her body tenses, her chin sticks out a bit, and her eyes take on an icy edge. That response alone tells me exactly how people have been treating her admitted fear, and I’m guessing it’s been with zero validation.
“I hate that you’re feeling this way,” I say. “Trauma like what we experienced can hang around for a long damn time.”
Those were the right words, as gratitude shines in her eyes, and her shoulders relax slightly. Her stare never wavers. “Are you scared?”
I’m honest with her. “Not of being attacked again. But I’ve been living under a fear of not being normal again.”
Sophie lets out a humorless laugh. “I feel so silly being obsessed with this fear. Practically, I know the chances of it ever happening again are small.”
“Extremely small if you don’t go anywhere.”
A slight nod of admission is followed by a flush of embarrassment in her cheeks. “I got fired yesterday because I couldn’t get back to my normal job.”
“I’m sorry,” I say earnestly. “That sucks.”
“I’m doing all the right things. I’ve been in therapy, and I do go out sometimes and have been getting braver. It’s just taking so damn long.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
She smiles and then bends to check on the corn bread. As she’s pulling it out of the oven, I decide to see exactly how brave she’s getting.
“So if I invited you to lunch, would you meet me there?”
She places the corn bread on the counter, takes off the oven mitts, and faces me with one eyebrow cocked. “How close by?”
“What’s the farthest you’ll usually travel away from your house?” I query.
“I go to Mount Lebanon to see my parents, but other than that, just a few miles.”
I think for a moment before saying, “Listen… I’m a traditionalist, and inviting you out to lunch means I would pick you up. But I think you need some pushing of boundaries, so how about you meet me for lunch at the Fairview, and we can eat there?”
“Is that where you’re staying?”
“Until I can decide what to do for housing. I don’t know whether to rent or buy, or stay in the city or a little farther out. I figure I’ll look around this weekend.”
Sophie leans against the counter, crosses her arms, and studies me. “You’re going to push me, aren’t you?”
“Yup.”
“You know I don’t need saving,” she points out.
“Kind of used to it by now,” I retort with a grin.
Sophie busts out laughing, and fuck if it’s not beautiful. She shakes her head, not in denial, but amusement.
“We’re going to be good friends, Sophie,” I assure her. “I’ve come a long way from that awful night, and I’m not going to leave you behind.”
Her expression softens, the threat of tears again in her eyes. She blinks furiously and nods. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply with a smile and then nod meaningfully at the chili. “Now, is the food ready because I’m starved.”
She laughs again. “It’s ready. Let me dish it up.”
CHAPTER 7
Sophie
My palms are damp as I pull onto Liberty Avenue and the Fairview Hotel comes into view. With no luck whatsoever, this morning I tried to back out of lunch with Baden. When I woke up with an acute case of nerves—the thought of driving and parking downtown made me want to vomit—I decided to chicken out and cancel.
It wasn’t so much the driving to the Fairview that bothered me but rather the parking and walking to the hotel. There’s a garage near the Wood Street subway station, only a block away from our meeting point, but the prospect of traversing the shadows and the multitude of hiding places between cars freaked me out.
It was more than I could bear, so I sent Baden a text that said, I’m not going to make lunch today. I’m sorry.
I expected him to text back with something like, No worries. We can reschedule.
But when Baden told me yesterday that we were going to be good friends and that he was not going to leave me behind, he meant it. His text held no subtlety whatsoever: Whatever it is that’s making you too afraid to come here, let’s figure out how to deal with it.
I stared at my phone in disbelief. He was actually going to push me to do this.
I started a reply to brush him off, but my phone rang, his name on the caller ID. Hesitant, I answered, “Hello?”
“This is too important to text back and forth,” Baden said crisply, then chuckled. “Oh, and good morning.”
“Good morning,” I replied automatically, my heart racing a tiny bit. Fear of him making me go, excitement in hearing his voice, awe he cared enough to call and not text.
“So, what’s your main fear?” he asked, no room within his determined tone to let me brush him off.
I decided to go with it. “I don’t want to have to park in the parking garage and walk over to the Fairview. The thought of it terrifies me.”
And then the man proved why we would indeed become good friends. He didn’t try to push me beyond barriers I knew I couldn’t make it past. He didn’t shame me. He showed no frustration.
Instead, he spoke my fears out loud. “I totally get it. Parking garages can be dark, and given you were attacked in a parking lot, that’s a lot to ask anyone to tackle. But I have a solution. Pull up to the front of the Fairview, and I’ll pay for the valet. I’ll wait outside for you. Easy as that.”
He obviously couldn’t see me, but his kindness brought tears to my eyes. I swallowed hard and replied, “Okay, then. I’ll see you at noon.”
As I approach the Fairview’s semicircular valet drive, a handful of people are standing outside. My eyes roam frantically for Baden. I know deep in my bones that if he’s not standing there, I’m most likely going to drive by and head home.
I spent months in therapy, my counselor reiterating that my fears were genuine and nothing to be ashamed of. They were a result of trauma. But at this moment, where I’m already planning my escape route, I know I’m being absolutely irrational.
Just as he promised, Baden is standing outside the lobby doors talking to one of the valets. He sees me pull up, recognizing me behind the wheel, and gives a brilliant smile.
Oddly, my pulse slows in relief he’s there, and I release a long exhale. But just as quickly, it picks back up again in recognition of what an extraordinarily handsome man he is. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s standing there waiting for me so I won’t be afraid, or the way he looks that’s pushing my buttons. He’s got on a pair of jeans, a dark-navy pea coat to ward off the cold, and black suede chukkas. Casual yet fashionable with his gentlemanly ways and dark hair perfectly swept back, I can’t help but think he’s the stuff white knights are made of.
As I swing into the circular drive, I berate myself for even thinking about Baden as a white knight.
Not that he isn’t. More like he was. As in the past. He saved me once, and I don’t need him to save me again.
Except for this one occasion where he’s waiting for me so I don’t have to park in a garage.
The valet opens my door, Baden standing at his side. He pushes money into the man’s hand as I step out.
Baden grins at me. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I reply, unable to contain my own smile.
Baden shivers and grimaces. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to cold weather again.”
“Again?” I ask as Baden takes my hand and tucks it into the crook of his arm. It’s such a charming move, but what I notice most is that I feel secure and safe.
“I’m from Montreal, so we’re no strangers to cold weather. And I played in Buffalo,” he explains as we walk toward the lobby door. “But I got spoiled in Arizona, I guess.”
We reach the revolving door, and I precede Baden inside. When he’s spit out behind me, I take a moment to appreciate the beautiful interior. I’ve never stayed at the Fairview, but I’ve been here one other time for dinner. The gleaming lobby is all marble, leather, and chrome, and a granite fireplace has been built into a wall beside the concierge desk.
But what I love best about this hotel is their mascot who freely roams—a pittie-boxer mix named Orbie who was rescued by the hotel’s general manager. He brings Orbie to work each day, and he’s become the official hotel ambassador.
Orbie approaches with a wagging stubby tail, and I crouch to give him a scratch behind the ears. Baden mimics my actions and calls the dog by name, which means they’ve already met.
We straighten, and he says, “The biggest benefit to this hotel. A dog in the lobby to greet you.”
“I imagine with as many hotels as you stay in during the year, you have a variety of perks made available to you.”
Baden leads me toward the staircase that goes up to the restaurant. “I’ve indeed had many perks at a variety of luxury hotels, and I can undoubtedly say having a dog in the lobby is the best.”
“So, you’re a dog fan?”
“I’m an any animal fan,” he explains as we ascend. I note that while Baden’s gait seems normal, he holds on to the rail for support. “But dogs are my favorite. We had them growing up, but my lifestyle isn’t conducive to having one now. Too much travel.”
“I know what you mean.”
Baden doesn’t say more, and our pace slows slightly. It seems to take more effort the last few steps, and I resist the urge to ask if he’s okay. He’s clearly still battling in his recovery, and I don’t want to embarrass him.
Not that he should be embarrassed. Seven months ago, he was paralyzed from the waist down. I hardly think a struggle to take a flight of stairs is anything to be ashamed of, but I’m not sure how Baden’s psyche holds up under scrutiny, so I chatter away. “When I was working as a medical training rep, I traveled all the time. Otherwise, I would’ve totally had a dog. We also had them growing up—a cocker spaniel and a husky, but I think if I get another dog one day, I’ll get a lab or a golden retriever. My friend Frankie has a lab, and he’s awesome.”
We reach the top, and Baden pauses briefly. He’s not winded and doesn’t appear to be in pain, but I get the sense that climbing that flight might’ve been harder than he’d anticipated.
“That sucked,” he says jovially, shooting me a wink.
“If it helps, you looked marvelous making the climb,” I say.
“It helps,” he replies with a grin and then leads me into the restaurant.
Baden had apparently made reservations as the lady at the podium seats us right away after he gives her his name. If she recognizes him as the Titans’ new goalie coach, she gives no indication.
At the table, Baden pulls out my chair as I unbutton my coat and then surprises me by helping me take it off. He drapes it over my chair and then does the same with his before sitting.
The hostess offers us menus before rattling off the lunch specials. “We have a wood-fired Atlantic salmon fillet with fresh vegetables, beef tenderloin tips with roasted red potatoes, and our vegetarian special is a spinach risotto. Brad will be your server. Enjoy your meal.”
Baden thanks her, glances down at the menu, and then back to me. “So…”
“So…” I smile, feeling like I’ve got a million things to say, unsure where to start.
But then a young man approaches, dressed in black pants and a white shirt. He carries a pitcher of chilled water and a plate of sliced lemons. Clasping my hands in my lap, I wait for him to pour the water and set the plate down.
He no sooner leaves when a woman, also dressed in black pants and a white button-down, appears. “Good afternoon. Welcome. Would you like to hear our specials?”
“We’ve already been told,” Baden replies.
The waitress pulls a pad out of her apron, pen poised. “Are you ready to order?”
“We just sat down,” Baden says politely.
Blushing, the woman apologizes and backs away, promising to give us more time.
Giving me his attention, he opens his mouth to say something but is cut short by a large, middle-aged man who walks up to our table. “Mr. Oulett, can I get a picture and an autograph?”
I’m jolted, completely surprised by this stranger coming up to our table and asking something of Baden. I shrink back slightly, my brain not connecting that this is a fan but only recognizing it as a strange man coming at us. The instinct to bolt is strong, and my legs shake with the effort to stay seated.
Sweat dampens my forehead, and Baden responds to the man but I can’t understand what he’s saying. It sounds as if he’s in a tunnel far away, and the edges of my vision blur. A weight presses down on my chest, and I no longer feel like running because I can’t. I feel weak all over.
“Sophie.” My name, loud and clear. Baden’s voice. A warm hand on my shoulder. “Sophie.”
I blink and I’m staring into Baden’s expressive, dark-golden eyes. He’s squatting beside my chair, one hand on the edge of the table, the other on my shoulder.
Realization that I might have just had a panic attack, and it was ugly enough to pull Baden out of his chair causes me to flush hot with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
“Shhh,” he murmurs, a slight squeeze to my shoulder. “I think you got a little overwhelmed. No one saw anything.”
Such a kind way to say I flaked.
“This is my first time in a restaurant, and all the people coming up at once just…”
Baden’s hand drops from the edge of the table and takes one of mine from my lap. It’s such an intimate touch, our palms touching as he offers me a measure of comfort and safety.
He squeezes. “Let’s not focus on the people,” he suggests in a low, melodic voice. “Let’s focus on things.”
Right now, it’s easy to focus on his eyes, locked on me.
“Describe the table,” he murmurs. “Tell me what you see.”
With great difficulty, I force my attention away from him. “A little plate with lemon slices. There’s a seed left in one.”
