Only One Forever (Only One 8)

In three weeks, we are going to start the first ever Brad Wilson Summer Hockey Program, a program that is very close to my heart. Wilson wanted to do something for the underprivileged kids out there who have the gift but don’t have the money to help grow their talent. Little do they know that five kids will be given an all-expense-paid scholarship to one of the best schools in the city with a sports program.

“Who the hell does merchandise drops?” Vivi asks while she opens the box of pizza and grabs a slice.

“The same person who does unboxing?” Julia says. “I don’t know. Maybe you got Kendall Jenner’s new tequila.”

“I would take off your shoes.” I point at her heels that I know pinch her feet and make them swell up to the size of elephants. She flips me the bird, slipping off her shoes.

“Where is your wine?” Julia walks to the fridge and opens it. “Oh my God,” she says. “All you have is wine.”

“It’s a fruit,” I remind her, and the girls laugh as she takes out five glasses and fills them.

“A toast.” Julia smiles. “To finally getting one more person into Dallas.” I laugh at her. “Vivi, you’re next.”

“Bite your tongue,” Vivi retorts. “New York has my heart.”

“It had mine, too,” I say. “But your heart can learn to love two places.” I smile at her as she glares at me.

My father comes back down the stairs and sees all of us drinking wine. “Well, that’s my cue to go.” He walks over to Julia and kisses her cheek and then everyone else’s. He gives me a hug, and I wrap my arms around his waist. “Call me later.”

“I’ll be okay,” I say.

“Did you hook up the cameras yet, Uncle Max?” Franny asks, taking a bite of pizza.

My father laughs. “Cameras were vetoed by Auntie Allison,” he says, and I look up at him. “I just want you safe.”

“The alarm guys just left,” I say, and he nods at me.

“Arm it day and night,” he tells me, and I don’t answer him before he walks out. “And lock the door after me.”

“You know it’s a gated community,” Julia reminds him. “And the crime rate in the area …”

“Is under two percent,” my father says, making all of us laugh. “But do an old guy a favor and lock the door after me.”

I walk to the front door, locking it after him. It takes me more than four hours to unpack everything around the house, and when Julia leaves, I arm the alarm and walk back into the kitchen to grab the kettle. I pick up my phone and look down to see that Dylan hasn’t answered my text from this morning, asking him how he is doing.

The burning in my stomach starts when I think of him all alone in Montreal after last night’s loss. I tried to make it work, going to see the game, but with the movers coming, I couldn’t change it. I fill up the cup with my ginger lemon tea and head upstairs, the phone ringing in my hand.

Turning it over, I see it’s Dylan, and my heart speeds up faster. “You’re lucky I feel sorry for you,” I say instead of hello, putting the phone to my ear. “Because I almost denied your call.”

He chuckles out deeply. “You would never deny my call.”

“Um, two weeks ago,” I remind him. As I walk into my bedroom, my whole body hurts from lifting boxes and unpacking. “You asked me if I gained weight.”

“I did not!” he shouts. “I said that angle is not working.”

“Whatever,” I say, sitting on the bed and placing my tea on my bedside table. “It took you long enough to get out of the sulking. Did you get my package?”

“I did,” he says. I want to FaceTime him, but I probably look like a cat stuck in the rain all day long. “Ate both of them in the dark,” he tells me and I fake vomit.

“It’s not that bad,” he says. “It’s the only thing we have here.”

I pick up my cup again and blow before taking a sip. “Are you already in bed?” he scoffs. “It’s six.”

“It’s six thirty, and I’ve been up since four,” I reply. “And I spent all day unpacking my shit.”

“This is how it starts,” he jokes. “One day, you are up partying until four a.m., and the next day, you are going to bed at fucking six.”

“I have to shower, and then I’m going to slide my old ass into bed,” I say. “How are you doing?” My voice goes soft as I ask him.

“Okay,” he huffs, his own voice matching mine. “Fucking sucks. I meet with the press tomorrow. I’m stressed about it.” I hear the doorbell ring. “I’ll call you back,” he says, and he hangs up. I wonder who is at his door.