21. And Now I Shall Explain Myself

21

AND NOW I SHALL EXPLAIN MYSELF

Asher

I push up the chrome bar with a quiet grunt, the weights straining my arms, but it feels damn good. Not everything does, though—like the way Beckett’s looking at me. We’re in a quiet corner of his flagship gym on Fillmore Street, the early Sunday morning lull giving us the place to ourselves.

“So, let me get this straight,” he says, brow furrowed as he spots me, almost like he doesn’t want to. I grip the bar tighter just in case he’s considering taking me out. “It’s temporary? A mutual arrangement. For her project and the charity? Did I get that right?”

“Pretty much nailed it,” I admit, drawing a deep breath before pushing the bar up for one last rep. My muscles burn, but I focus on the movement until I set the bar back in place and sit up, escaping his death stare. Sure, he sent that easygoing text last night to both of us, but it was followed by one to me alone, saying, Be prepared to explain yourself tomorrow morning .

Now I have, and I’m hoping he gets why his sister and I are staying hitched. But Beckett’s shaking his head and muttering, “Dude.”

That dude is never good. Not the way he says it. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and brace for impact.

“It’s fine,” I say, trying to reassure him. “I’d never hurt her. You know that, right?”

Maybe I was wrong to think he’d find our wedding funny. It’s not just a wedding anymore. It’s a marriage. So, yeah, him wanting to kill me feels reasonable-ish.

Beckett scratches his jaw, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t hurt her. It’s just...” He pauses, then sighs. “Think about the stakes, man.”

I toss the towel aside, meeting his gaze with a serious one. “I am thinking about them, Beckett. All the time.”

“Me too. Because you’re my friend, but she’s my little sister,” he says, crossing his arms, reinforcing the point I already know. “She’s trying to make her way in the world, dealing with an overbearing aunt. You’re already a successful hockey player. If this goes south, you’ll be fine. But she might not be.”

He has no idea how much that only makes me want to protect her more. I square my shoulders. “I won’t let anyone hurt her,” I say solemnly.

Beckett studies me for a moment. “You really mean that?”

“One hundred percent. No—one thousand percent.”

“You’re gambling with a lot here,” Beckett continues, his tone careful. “It might feel like fun and games, but you’re throwing her into the public limelight. The art world—it’s not like our world of sports and fitness. Art is all about perception, value, and reputation. It’s all about who knows who. If this goes sideways, it could mess things up for her.”

“I know,” I say quietly, guilt slicing through me. I’d never want to hurt her. I only want to support her. I long to see her shine and share her light with the world. I hope I didn’t make things harder for her. But that’s all the more reason to look out for her with everything I have. “She’s my friend too.”

Fine, I wasn’t so friendly with her the other night in the hotel room. But no need to mention that. Maeve and I agreed it wouldn’t happen again, so there’s no need to bring it up.

“Yeah.” Beckett nods, relenting a little. “You guys are as good friends as you and me.”

“We are.” I’m glad he knows that. What I feel inside, though, is way more than friendship. “I care about her.”

“I know you do.” He takes a beat. “Sorry for giving you a hard time. It’s just...when Mom and Dad died, I had to look out for her. I can’t stop looking out for her. Maeve’s like a Pokémon that keeps evolving but also keeps trying to run away.”

I shoot him a Did you really go there? look. “Did you just compare your sister to a high-maintenance Pokémon?”

“Yeah, I did,” he admits.

But I don’t see her that way. I see her as the woman who remembers every birthday, every anniversary, every little moment. As the friend who goes to battle with you, who makes you laugh, and who shows up whenever you need someone. I see her as the human who finds inspiration in the sky, the stars, and everything in between. I see her as chaos and beauty melted into one gorgeous, joyful, complicated person who understands I’m not always as happy as I let the world see.

But that all feels private, like what happened in the hotel room. So, instead, I say in a firm voice, “You have my word. I’ll look out for her. Always.”

He claps me on the shoulder. “You’d better.” His tone is lighter, but there’s a real warning in it. “I worry about her.”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean worry?”

“She’s my sister and all.”

But why would he worry about her? Is something wrong? “But about what?” I try to sound casual when I don’t feel casual.

“Just normal worry,” he says with an offhand shrug. He turns to adjust the plates on the bar, taking off one and then another. “Someday, I’ll bench more than you,” he says.

He’s moved on, so I try to put my worry aside. “Someday, I’ll run a business as well as you.”

He laughs. “Fair point, Callahan.” But before lying down, he adds, “So, you two are going to be husband and wife at the picnic?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Weird, but I guess I can handle it.”

“How big of you,” I deadpan.

“I don’t need to get you two a blender or anything, do I?”

“No, but maybe I should get you one,” I say, offering an olive branch since, well, he could have been a supreme dick, but instead he was simply a protective big brother. If I had a sister, I’d probably behave the same.

He grins. “I’ve had my eye on that new Vitamix.”

Later, when we finish working out, we head to The Oasis up the block to meet Soraya for a quick planning session. She’s jogging down the street toward us, wearing workout gear and a ball cap holding back her long hair.

“Hi, guys,” she says when she comes to a stop. “Asher, anything exciting happen overnight? Did you buy an amusement park? Start a space camp? Invest in a yacht with your new wife to use as an animal sanctuary?”

“Nope. But the amusement park and animal sanctuary are excellent ideas,” I say.

“Glad I could be helpful,” she says.

Beckett lifts a hopeful finger. “Can you leave me the yacht in your will?”

“Only if you take the animal sanctuary that goes with it,” I say, swinging open the door to the shop.

“Obviously,” he replies.

“While we’re laying claims, I’d like the amusement park,” Soraya says.

“Sure. I’ll have my lawyer get right on it,” I say.

We go inside and order, then sit down and catch up on our plans for Total Teamwork over smoothies while Soraya makes notes on her phone.

When we’re nearly done, she sets down her phone with a smooth finality. She’s such a good leader. “And thanks to that one hundred-grand donation from someone ,” she says playfully, knowing full well that someone was me. Though, Beckett deserves the credit since he got the ball rolling with the donation to the auction charity that set the whole back and forth of the money in motion “We should be able to expand our services even more.”

“Someone was looking out for us,” I reply.

“Yeah, me,” Beckett says, pointing to his chest.

I point to mine. “Dude, me. ”

He shrugs. “Though originally, I suppose it was Maeve since she technically started this all.”

“Speaking of Maeve,” Soraya says brightly, “we should have a great turnout at the picnic—donors, families, and community members. I’m excited your wife will be there.”

A pang of guilt twinges in me. Yes, Maeve is my wife. But Soraya thinks we meant to get married. That we plan to stay married. That she’s coming to the picnic as my real wife. “Me too,” I say, and while that’s true, I’m not being honest with Soraya, and that doesn’t sit well with me.

But it has to be okay since my goal is to protect Maeve and make sure no one ever knows we’d once planned to get our marriage annulled this week.

Soraya scans her notes and laughs lightly. “I can’t believe I almost missed this. We have a board dinner this Friday. Did you want to bring Maeve to that too? Reina is going, and so is Aram,” she says, mentioning her partner.

Beckett shoots me a hard stare, which I translate as Remember what I just said ?

Of course I remember. And I also don’t mind spending more time with Maeve. “I’d love to. I’ll ask her,” I say.

Soraya smiles. “It’ll be great to have her there. Board stuff—you know how it goes.”

I don’t know, but she’s the non-profit pro, so I say yes.

When the meeting ends, I say goodbye to Soraya and Beckett and jog home, texting Maeve about Friday night as I go.

Asher: Want to be my date ?

I stare at the message after hitting send, liking how it looks. The word date.

Maeve: A board dinner? I take it this means I can’t wear my new Sorry I’m Late, I Saw a Dog T-shirt.

Asher: Maybe save that for the picnic.

Maeve: Noted. Also, you are just filling up my calendar, Callahan.

I’d like to fill her up. But that can’t happen.

Asher: Yes. So I can have you all to myself.

Which is too true. As I reach home, I leave my texts and pop over to Google to order that Vitamix for Beckett. Then, I add one for Soraya too.

Well, who doesn’t love a blender?

But once I’m back at my house, Beckett’s words climb back up the stairs in my head. I worry about Maeve. Is there something to worry about? Is she, I dunno, depressed? Are her career worries turning into something more?

I flip open my laptop in the kitchen, not even bothering to sit down. On the Mayo Clinic site, I look up depression and study the symptoms. Maeve’s not listless, she’s not angry or irritable, and she doesn’t seem to have lost interest in things she loves. If anything, she’s painting and working her ass off, doing pole classes, and seeing her friends as much as she ever has. I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling somewhat settled.

Okay, so it’s normal to worry. Beckett was right. And since I don’t have a sibling, it’s natural that I’d turn to Google.

I close the laptop and check the time. Need to get to the arena soon, but there’s one more thing I have to do. Can’t put this call off any longer. Time to call my dads. Thirty minutes until morning skate, and telling the two people who probably wanted to help me pick out a tux feels way harder than I’d expected.

Deep breath . I pace along my terrace, overlooking my backyard with a garden shed I had converted into a sunroom of sorts—a little space for coffee outdoors, not that I do that very often. The how-to-relax gene skipped me. I turn away and hit call , waiting for John to pick up. Normally, I’d start with Carlos for practical stuff, but this feels like a “John thing.” He’s the emotional one.

“Hey, Dad,” I say when he answers.

“Hey, Ash,” he replies, a little sterner than usual. “Something you want to tell us?”

He knows. Of course he knows. “I don’t know. Is there?” I try to joke.

“Gee, I wonder. I’ll get Carlos on the phone,” he says, then calls out, “Hey, babe, it’s our son—the one who got married without telling us.”

Seconds later, I’m on speakerphone with both of them.

“Was our invitation lost in the mail?” Carlos asks, all innocence .

“It was kind of last-minute,” I explain, feeling defensive. I don’t want them to feel left out, but they were.

“No, really? You don’t say?” John shoots back, his sarcasm sharp.

I feel like a kid again, explaining myself to one or the other, like when I drove John and me to hockey practice before I even had my license. Back then, when I was thirteen and fourteen, John was often too sick to drive, and the first time Carlos found out what I’d done, he wasn’t happy with either one of us, but me more so. “You should have called me at the office,” he’d said. “I would have figured out what to do.” But there wasn’t always time for a phone call to strategize, as I learned. Another time after practice, John was driving me home, and his heart was beating too fast and too unevenly, so he had to pull over. He told me he’d be fine and just needed to wait it out. But I didn’t buy that. I switched places with him and drove straight to the nearest hospital. They checked him in immediately, telling me it was a good thing that I brought him there so they could treat him in time . They used those words— in time . Soon after, he was diagnosed with an unusual thyroid virus that left him weak, dizzy, and occasionally, unable to focus. They put him on meds to manage his thyroid, and he’s still on them. They work wonders, but it’s hard to forget what it was like knowing nothing, just worrying about worst-case scenarios.

Thankfully, Maeve and I dodged our own worst-case scenario by agreeing to stay married instead of looking like idiots in front of the world.

“We did it for fun,” I admit, but the words sound hollow. “Listen, we need to stay married, and...well, I need you to play along with it. ”

“Okay,” Carlos says, shifting from teasing to supportive. “Tell us what’s going on.”

And just like that, they’re in my corner. Sometimes it is that easy. I leave the terrace, explaining everything as I head inside. I pace past the Lego plants on my living room table. Real plants don’t survive in my care, but I can build the hell out of Lego ones. They don’t get sick or die when I’m on the road.

“Well, consider us the happy father-in-laws then,” Carlos says when I’m done.

“Um, babe. I think it’s fathers-in-law ,” John corrects.

“You see what you have to put up with in marriage, kid?” Carlos quips.

I laugh, but inside, I’m thinking it’s not so bad.

And this call wasn’t either. Before I hang up, I remember John’s elbow. “Hey, J-dad, how’s your arm?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s still worried about your sore arm from pickleball,” Carlos explains.

“Don’t worry. I used it to destroy the other team last night. I’m all good,” John says.

“And you’re taking your thyroid meds?” I add.

There’s a pause. “Every day,” he says, sounding kind but also like he wished I wouldn’t ask. “Don’t worry about me.”

But I do. And I always will. “I won’t,” I lie, then tell them I have to go.

It’s time to play, and I’m beyond relieved. Sometimes life is too damn complicated. But hockey? It’s the perfect escape and always has been. I need it so damn much.