He Shoots, She scores

Chapter Thirty-Five: Weston | Comeuppance

"Fuck" I curse as Olive tries to bite me for the third time in a row. Who knew bunnies could be so vicious? Everytime I've seen Gracie handle that thing, it's been nothing but soft and cuddly with her. But the second I try to hold it, it nips at me with those sharp teeth. By the time I finish brushing the thing, I've got bits of hair clinging all over my clothes and blood drawing from my fingers.

I've done half an hour of research to properly brush and clip a rabbit's nails, and then I spend another half hour cleaning up the mess that animal has left behind. Hay and poop scatter the floor and I've cleaned up at least two piss stains. I'm done emptying the litter box and putting Olive back inside when I face Gracie. "Hey. I finished" I tell her.

Gracie blinks a mile a minute. "You actually did it?"

I frown. "You asked me to do it. Of course I did."

"Wow. I- thank you." she cries of gratitude. She raises her eyebrows gently and takes in my appearance. I'm sure I look like one of those cartoon characters who've just been through a tornado. Just the act of trying to catch Olive alone has given me the same exertion of practicing hockey drills. "It wasn't any trouble, was it?" Gracie gives me a side eye, almost like a challenge for me to admit my defeat. 

"No. No trouble at all" I say, definitely not having gruesome flashbacks.

"Okay, good. Because there is something else, I was hoping you could do for me..." She looks away sheepishly. "Unless you're tired! I'm sure you have better things to do!"

"Name it" I say with confidence as I'm plucking a piece of rabbit fur off my pants.

The next day, I'm in the kitchen baking two tray's worth of cookies when RJ strolls in, grabs a Gatorade from the fridge, turns around, stops and does a double take. "What in the navy hell do you think you're doing?"

"Baking" I grumble without taking my eyes off the mixture in front of me. I've given up on using the mixer and decide that my hands are faster, so I'm kneading the cookie dough with my hands like it's pizza. The sticky feeling is getting on my nerves, but the craving I have to see Gracie smile keeps me going.

"Yeah, no shit. The question is why?" He dips a finger into the batch and sticks it in his mouth. The face he makes has my heart sinking. It's the face a toddler makes when trying a sour lemon for the first time.

"What? Is it bad?"

"Depends. Are you trying to poison me?" He dry heaves before gurgling water at the sink. He's using the bottom of his shirt to dry his mouth before asking, "Why are you making cookies anyway?"

I wipe my hands on the apron dangling from my neck while double checking the recipe on my phone. "I'm doing it for Gracie. She says she wants to take them to her cast and crew tomorrow. You know, to show them her appreciation and all that."

"Uh-huh. You're still not answering my question though, man." He uses his Gatorade to point at our surrounding. "Why?"

"Cause it'll make her happy" I say without thinking. The re-gurgitating noise RJ lets out has me regretting telling him at all. "You know what, unless you have some useful baking advice, get out!"

"Dude!" RJ cries. "You know what's going on right?" He asks this like it's obvious. He sighs, rolls his eyes and says, "You're baking. You never bake. Instead of going to the gym like you normally do, or sleeping with some girl you barely know, or getting wasted, you're here, in the kitchen, making fucking cookies." When I'm silent, RJ looks like he wants to smack me. "You have it real bad."

I groan and lean my hip against the counter. "I know. You think I don't fucking know that?" I wipe the sweat with the back of my hand. I stare at the goo that's supposed to evolve into some pastry delicacies. "I like her, RJ. I really, really like her." As I'm saying it, my mind is picturing her. It's like my brain has been hard-wired to block everything out but Gracie, occupying every space and crevice up there.

Although, 'like' may be an understatement. I like all sides of her. Every single part, even the ones she's not aware of. I like Gracie shen she's at home belching out soundtracks in her pajamas. When she's out in a tight dress. When she's barking something sassy at me. When she glares at me. When we meet on the balcony in the middle of the night and the wind is blowing her hair past her shoulders and she has this faraway look in her eyes. "You and Eli were right, okay? That what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes. Yes it is." RJ watches me carefully. "It's probably why you've been real shitty lately."

I wince. "I have, huh?" I blow out air. "I think I owe some guys on the team an apology."

RJ waves a hand towards his face. "Helloooo? Did you forget you nearly broke my jaw on the ice yesterday because I was singing too much Shakira?"

I raise a brow. "Yeah, well, if you could hear yourself, you'd be trying to punch you too."

He rolls his eyes and claps my shoulder. "Love makes us crazy. So- back to the issue at hand- what's stopping you from being with her?"

"Gracie doesn't trust me. She doesn't think I can commit." I run a hand through my hair.

"Ah. So this-" he gestures towards the mess, "-is your way of earning her trust."

"Yeah" I breathe out, using the spoon to try the raw cookie batter. "Shit." I'm coughing to get the taste out. Man. RJ really wasn't exaggerating. "I don't know the first thing about baking. What am I supposed to do now?"

RJ pushes his sleeves up before planting his hands on his hips. There's this scheming face he's wearing. RJ's ideas happen once in a blue moon, but they never disappoint. "Get me some eggs, flour, and sugar. Oh, and an apron." RJ meets my eyes. It's the same look he has when we're about to go on the ice and he's so sure we'll win. Determination and credence. "Well what are you still standing here for? Go!"

Cue the montage. RJ and I set to work in the kitchen. Flour is flying everywhere and he's shouting orders like some damn lieutenant, but hours later, we've perfected the recipe. I'm not a sweet tooth, but after a bite, I think I may change my mind. RJ helps me package them up before we're meeting Gracie on campus.

When we enter the auditorium, Gracie's angelic voice is echoing the stage. It looks like they're in dress rehearsal. Usually Gracie goes to practice in leggings and a t-shirt but today she's in denim cut offs (very short, might I add) with a flannel shirt tied at the waist and cowboy boots. This southern look is hot on her. RJ and I stay in the darkened corner watching the team rehearse, and I have to say, it's mesmerizing. My entire life has been so centered on 'sports, sports, sports', that seeing another passion in action is foreign to me. I don't think I would've ever chosen theatre for myself (singing, dancing and acting are nowhere near my alley) but in a way, being on stage is like being on the ice. There's an older lady barking commands for where the actors should be (reminds me of Coach Evans). By the time their musical number is over, everybody is flushed and tired. It's the same as how us players leave the ice feeling drained, but the good kind. Playing is a team effort. You need every person involved, just like everybody here on the production. After seeing Gracie in her element and watching her hard work come alive, the respect I have for her grows stronger by the second.

"Holy shit. She's really good" RJ murmurs next to me.

"Yeah" I say, only half listening. My attention is on Gracie in the middle of a monologue. I swear, there's some kind of voodoo shit that washes over me when I step into the auditorium. When I'm in here, my eyes and ears are glued to Gracie. I can't watch anyone else. I'm instantly drawn to her.

"I didn't know she could act like that" he continues saying. "Or sing. Or dance."

"She's perfect" I murmur. And it's true. Every action she does is so natural, and it's obvious she's having fun while doing it. There's a spark in her eyes. An unmistakable sense of passion. I can see her taking the world by storm someday.