“This is…amazing,” she says at last, looking up at Mars. “Kulta, why wouldn’t you do it? This is what you want, right? To attract donors? To help Out of the Net grow?”
“Yes, but the right kind of donors,” he counters, clearly exasperated. “People who care about the environment, people who want to see legislative changes, better protections for the dunes. Not…this,” he says, pointing at the invitation.
“Look, Mars,” I say, gently plucking the invitation from Rachel’s hand. “We’ll get those donors too, trust me. Plenty of people will be drawn to the work of Out of the Net because they care about the sea turtles. But do you know what else pique’s people’s interest? Stupidly handsome, two-time Stanley Cup-winning NHL goalies with an intoxicating air of mystery.”
He huffs, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.
“You wanna know how you help this organization? Be yourself. I’ve never asked you to be any different, Mars. We don’t need the help of marine biologists and conservation specialists right now. We need attention. We need money. We need donors. You are the perfect person to get us all three. So, I present to you: A Night with Ilmari Kinnunen Price.”
He mutters a curse in Finnish.
I wave the invitation in the air with a flourish. “It’s a black-tie gala where you are the star, and you get to shine your light onto your favorite pet project and ask for donations. You’ll mix and mingle and be yourself, and the donations will flood in, I promise you. And you won’t be alone,” I add. “We’re having reps from some of the other turtle orgs come in. Cheryl and Nancy are arranging it all. We might even have an animal ambassador program. Real live baby sea turtles.” I glance to Rachel with a grin. “Can you imagine?”
“Oh god, Caleb will literally pop a lung trying to play it cool around baby turtles,” she says with a laugh. “I really think this will work,” she adds, glancing up at her husband. “Fans and friends will donate just because it’s you doing the asking.”
“It is not my way to put myself forward and ask for things,” he admits, letting a bit of his insecurity shine through again.
And goddamn it, but I love him more for it. I know I’m asking a lot of him, but I also know he can do it. He’s more than just hockey. They all are. And he doesn’t need a fancy degree to impress people with all he knows about dune restoration and wildlife conservation. Citizen science exists for a reason. He’s perfect just as he is.
He just needs to see it too.
Next to me, Rachel smiles, and I know she’s thinking the same thing. “You asked me to sit next to you on the plane.”
He goes still, not looking at her.
“You asked me for that kiss in the street,” she says, stepping closer, putting her hand on his arm. “You asked me to wear your jersey. You asked me to be yours. When you want something badly enough, you’re good at asking for it. Why should this be any different?”
He glares down at her. You could cut this sudden sexual tension with a butter knife. “You don’t fight fair.”
“Have I ever?” She tips up on her toes to kiss his bearded jaw.
“Look, Mars Attack, it’s time to get you outta the net too,” I say, stepping in before they forget I’m here and start banging in the sand. “You told me to make all the decisions. Well, this is my decision. You’re going to the gala, and that’s final. You’re hosting, and that’s final. I will see you on Sunday two weeks from now at seven o’clock, and you better look un-fucking-obtainable. We’ve got a lot of sea turtles to save.”
36
After a long day of event planning with my Out of the Net team, I arrive home to see a new car parked in the driveway. It’s a flashy red two-seater sports car with a convertible top and Florida plates. Snatching up my bags off the passenger seat, I prepare myself to go inside.
I don’t want to fight with Ryan. I don’t want to exist in this awful bubble of unspoken worry and resentment. I want things to be fun again. I want us both to feel good. I want us to laugh and flirt.
Fuck, we need to have a grownup conversation. What am I always telling Rachel? Communicate, communicate, communicate. Look, I’m great at advice. I’m the queen of giving good, thoughtful relationship advice. I can dish it out all day.
Apparently, I just can’t take it.
I enter the house to find chaos waiting within. Ryan’s mix of rock music is pumping from the speakers, practically shaking the walls. The music isn’t the problem; it’s the smoke.