Focus

Christmas came and went. James went to Whitby and I went to Boston. When we got back to Nashville we exchanged our own gifts. I brought treats and toys for the dogs and a custom painting of Nixon and Snoop for James. I knew I had done well when I rendered him speechless.

“You like it?”

“Syd, where did you get this? How? This is amazing.”

“A guy I knew at college, he’s a painter and sculptor. I gave him a picture of the boys when I was home and he put it together in a few days. I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it. I love these damn dogs. And I love you. Perfect.”

I hummed against his mouth as he kissed me and didn’t even complain about him making love to me in front of the fireplace before I opened my gift from him. He presented the black box with a right red ribbon as we reclined on the floor, me kissing his shoulder.

I love presents, I won’t lie, so I might have squealed a little when he handed it to me. Untied and opened, the box revealed a gorgeous Cartier Ballon Blue watch. I actually gasped at the sight of it.

“James…this is too much.”

“Just enough I think. Let me put it on you.” He got the thing loose from its packaging and slipped it on my wrist, perfect fit. He held his own wrist with a Cartier Tank MC on it and put them side by side. “Nice match.”

“Yeah…a good match.” I looked at the time. “Let’s try it out. How soon do you think you can make me come again?”

James rolled his eyes before smothering his body over mine. “Give me five minutes, Syd, no more.”

New Year’s Eve and Day came and went. James was in Dallas, I stayed in Nashville. After a heartbreaking loss to the Stars, the boys bounced back with a great OT win against Carolina before coming home for a couple of days.

Tuesday I came downstairs to see James sitting on the couch reading the paper. When I bent to kiss his cheek, he pulled away from me, turning to ask without a trace of a smile, “Why’d you move to Nashville?”

I shrugged and took in his serious face. “Shit with my family, but why are you asking me that right now?”

He turned the paper around so I could read the headline of the sports page, “James Neal, Nashville Predators’ Forward, Involved with Sister of Boston Killer.”

Son of a bitch. Well, there is was. I figured I had two options, beg for forgiveness for not telling him sooner or gauge his reaction first. “Oh, that. Yeah, like I said, shit with my family.”

James scoffed in disbelief. “Shit…family shit. This,” he grabbed the paper and shook it towards me, his voice steadily rising in volume. “This is not family drama, it’s a fucking nightmare.”

I yelled right back at him. “You don’t think I know that? Why the fuck do you think I left?”

“And you didn’t think to tell me, this, this shit about your brother? You didn’t think I should know?”

“James! You never even asked me why I left!”

“Because I didn’t think it was relevant!”

“Why the fuck is it relevant now? Because the press found out?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Syd, yes! Do you know how this looks for me? What people are going to say about me? About you?”

“Oh, right, so that whole line you fed me about not caring what people thought of me, that was just a load of bullshit, huh?”

“Sydney, this is the not same conversation. This is my life we’re talking about, my career. You lied to me. And now I have to go out there and deal with this shit knowing half a story. A story I had to read about in the fucking newspaper!”

Somehow I found a way to stay calm, even with him practically screaming in my face. I told him, “I never lied. If you had asked me why I left I would have told you the truth. The whole story. But you never even asked, James.”

“Bullshit, Syd. Withholding the truth is the same as lying, you know that.”

“I don’t know shit about that, but apparently I don’t know you as well as I thought either.”

“Don’t do that, don’t turn this around on me like I’m being the asshole.”

“Well if the shoe fits.”

“Fuck you, Syd.”

That was it. I threw my arms up. “I’m sorry, ok? Is that what you want? For me to say I’m sorry? Fine. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry that my brother’s an asshole. I’m sorry he’s in prison, yes, for killing a guy. I’m sorry everyone thinks it’s my fault. I’m sorry I had to leave Boston because people wouldn’t stop asking me about it. I’m sorry I moved to Nashville. Mostly, though, right now, I’m really, really fucking sorry I met you that night.”

His tone softened now. “Sydney, come on…”

“Fuck off. Oh, and I’m SO fucking sorry that James fucking Neal is embarrassed by me. Just…I don’t need this shit from you. I can take it from a lot of people, my family, my friends, assholes in Boston, but I never thought…” I swallowed a sob; I refused to cry in front of him. “I never, ever thought that you would be that guy, the one who’s so concerned with his public image that your first reaction to hearing my brother killed a man is not to ask me how I survived that, but to become angry with me for not telling you.”

I did start to cry then and I turned away from him, nearly slapping the tears off my face to get rid of them. I felt his hand on my shoulder, but I pushed him away. “Don’t fucking touch me.” I backed away, blinded by tears I worked that stupid watch he had given a few days ago off my wrist and threw it at him, hitting his chest; he let it fall to the ground, reaching for me instead.

“Sydney, don’t do this.”

“In case you were wondering, I didn’t handle it well. And that guy he killed, he was my boyfriend. Boston tough guys, they have their code, you know? That’s how they work shit out. That’s why I really left. Not because I was ashamed of my brother, but because I had had enough of selfish sons of bitches who worried so much about what people thought of them. Ironic that I got involved with you when I got here.”

“Syd -”

“Don’t. Don’t even bother. You can call that writer and tell him the whole story, tell him the rumors are lies and that we’re not involved, I don’t care what you do to fix this for yourself. You’re a piece of shit, James. And I’m done.”

I vaguely remember him shouting after me as I left his house. I don’t know how I got home, but I must have driven and not crashed somehow. My apartment was dark, deserted as it so often was since I met James and practically moved in with him. I remember crawling into bed, pulling the covers over my head and crying until my eyes were sore, my pillow was soaked, and day had turned to night.

My phone rang and rang and rang, but I was too busy wallowing to get up and turn it off. Around noon there was knocking on my door that was persistent until it became a banging. I never even thought about getting up to answer it.

I fell asleep in a pile of blankets and self pity and was woken up at around midnight by more banging on my door. I ignored it. When it went on for about a half hour, I finally got up, only because I didn’t want my neighbors to either call the cops or complain about me.

I nearly ripped the door off the hinges when I opened it. “Goddamn it, James - Jos?”

“About fucking time, my hand is numb.” Roman pushed his way into my apartment and closer the door.

I stood there dumbfounded, arms crossed in front of my chest. “What do you want?”

His eyes were full of sadness. “Is that how you talk to your friends now, with such disdain?”

I didn’t mean to cruel to him, but I felt the tears welling up again and I really didn’t want to start that mess, so anger was my only other option. I headed towards the kitchen. “You want tea?”

“Yes, but I’ll make it.” He took the kettle from my hands and filled it at the sink before setting it on the burner. I leaned on the counter watching him until he turned around, then I just looked at the dirty tiled floor. “You wanna tell me what the hell happened?”

“What did your friend have to say?”

“He said you had a fight, ugly one. That you never told him your brother was in prison for murder.”

Reminded of it, I lashed out at Roman. “We had a fight because James is a prick who cares more about his image than he does about me.”

That sorrowful look was back on his face and it was about to erode the front I was trying so hard to maintain. “Sydie…you know that’s not true. He loves you. I think he has a little since the first day you met. You mean the world to him.”

“Yeah? He has a funny way of showing it.”

Roman nodded, the kettle whistled. “Sit down. I’ll bring you a cup. Sugar?”

“Two, please.”

I crawled back into bed because my entire body felt weak, probably from not eating all day. When Roman brought me my tea, he sat on the edge of the bed, sipping his own. “I wanna tell you what he told me today.”

“I’m not in mood for this.”

“I really don’t care, you need to listen to me.” When I didn’t argue he continued. “He came to morning skate and we all knew something had happened. Most of us read the paper, too. James…he was yelling, about you, at the press, but I could tell he wasn’t really angry. He’s like you, tries to act all mean so no one will see how sad you are.”

A tear had slipped past my defenses and Roman thumbed it away. “You noticed that, huh?”

“Sydie, he told me later that his heart was broken, but that he knew he deserved it because you were right. You should talk to him. He’s not a bad guy, he just said something stupid without thinking and he knows that.”

“Me being right about him being an asshole doesn’t make me feel better, Jos. He’s still an asshole.”

“You don’t believe that, I know you don’t. He’s my friend and I love him, but he was wrong, he shouldn’t have made it all about him. And you’re my friend and I love you, but you were also wrong not to tell him, because when you did that you made it all about you. I know both of you and you’re not selfish people. Lapses in judgment can be forgiven on both sides, but giving up on him, Sydney, that’s something you’re going to regret for a long time.”

“How do you know? Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Because I’ve seen you together and it’s beautiful, the love you both have. I’m not telling you what to do, but I don’t think you should walk away.”

“Roman…Jos…” I tried to find the words, but only came up with tears until I managed to tell him, “It hurts so bad.”

He pulled me into an embrace and held me there as I cried, murmuring consolations, telling me I was going to be ok, that I should talk to James. When he had said all he could think of, he tucked me in, kissing my hand. I listened to him clean up our tea and close the door when he left. I laid awake all night, staring at the ceiling, wishing that day had never happened, hating James and missing him at the same time, and crying until there was nothing left in my body but regret.

Notes

I was feeling a little melancholy this weekend and I decided to make myself even more sad by writing about James and Syd having a fight. Now I hate myself for it.