Page 13 of Until He Scores

With those chaotic thoughts still swirling around in my head, I sprayed down the chair in preparation of my next client before I grabbed a smoke out back. I needed a minute to gather myself and unwind. Guess it shouldn’t have surprised me; Thierry would come back to Murfreesboro to heal. This was home for both of us. I’d done the same after I got tired of roaming.

Our junior year in high school, I’d been offered a full ride scholarship to the University of Georgia for football. I’d already seen my whole life laid out in front of me. College ball, pros, some kind of cushy job in media, even though I wouldn’t have gone to school for that. Yet, as I stared at that letter, before tearing it up, I’d been overwhelmed. I wanted to run that second.

Leave town and never come back.

Never told a soul about the offer before I walked out the door of my father’s dingy apartment, a place I’d hated because it never felt like home without mom, and never looked back. I’d mentally checked out the minute the principal announced our class as graduates. I was back home to grab my shit from my father’s place. I’d only packed the essentials and was on the road to parts unknown. In those few seconds of freedom, it didn’t matter where I ended up as long as the oppressive emotional turmoil ceased to exist.

I backpacked across the country, depending on the kindness of strangers to get me through. I’ll admit, there were a few times I thought I’d end up the victim of some serial killer, but for the most part, I learned a lot about myself. I was resilient. As much as I grieved for my mother, I hadn’t allowed myself to mourn our family. My father and I were irrevocably changed the second mom got her cancer diagnosis. Then for the second time when she passed away in my father’s arms in the middle of cooking supper.

Nothing from then on felt real.

Only when I’d been on the ice had I felt alive.

And I’d given that up.

Chapter 5

Pope

Iexhaled a puff of smoke, bouncing the back of my head off the brick wall.Mom.We’d known her illness was terminal for about six weeks when she passed away in our kitchen. Her breast cancer had metastasized, and the malignant cells spread to her liver, spine, and unfortunately, her brain. The doctors had told my father they could start chemo to give her a little more time to get her affairs in order.

Mom, being the stubborn woman she was, said no. She wanted to go out on her terms. So, dad setup hospice care. I could still picture her standing there. She had a wooden spoon in her hand as dad made someSwedish Chefjoke. She laughed so hard. It’d been the first time we’d heard the melodic sound since she’d started treatment. Then it all stopped. She’d gotten this weird look on her face before mom was falling to the floor.

For a while, I let dad believe I didn’t remember. I used the excuse of “being so young” to cover the truth. I don’t know why I lied to him. Guess it was better than him understanding how traumatic that day was for me. Those memories I kept in a box tucked away in the back of my mind. Mostly, I never brought the day up or what I remembered from that day to keep the imagesaway. Or at least tried not to. No good would come from it, anyway.

Mom had been dead for a long time now.

I wasn’t.

After I snubbed out the rest of my cigarette, I went back inside. My next client, Hunter Banks, was already waiting for me in the lobby area of the shop when I stepped back out front. The lucky son of a bitch just welcomed a son via adoption. He and his wife, Posey, were over the moon about the little guy. With that thought alone, Wes’ words clicked. Sort of. Thierry didn’t have this. He had players on a team who were family because they’d eaten, practiced, played, and slept together in the same hotel rooms. Yes, he had his parents, but anything outside of work and them... He was alone.

Even when he’d been in relationships—fuck, fine, I admit I’d read about him more than I fessed up to—Thierry got used. That last guy was a piece of work. Asshole said Thierry abused him. I called bullshit. There wasn’t a mean bone in Thierry’s body. Derrick got caught screwing a cabana boy or whatever the fuck and tried to play the victim card.

Fuck.I was a prick.

Just like Wes said.

“Hey man,” I said, holding my fist out to Hunter. “Are you ready to get tattooed?”

Hunter beamed. His chest puffed out with pride as he held out the two cards with both his children’s footprints. “More than ready.” He followed me over to the counter, where I placed the cards onto the copy machine glass. “His name is Anders.”

“Good name, man. Congrats.” I scanned the prints into the machine then printed them onto transfer paper. “Let’s get you inked.”

Once more, I placed the transfer on Hunter’s skin and went through the same steps I had with Wes. When I was finishedhere, I’d head out for the night. Hunter was my last customer, and I’d made enough to shut it down for the evening. “How’s Posey doing?”

“She’s great. Made to be a mom.” Satisfaction filled his voice. “Destiny loves being a big sister. Man... I never saw my life going in this direction. Ever.”

With the little I knew about the Banks siblings I felt like our lives ran parallel. They’d lost their parents in an accident, leaving them to raise their younger brother while I’d felt alone most of my life. Crazy how cosmos fucked with everyone.

I chuffed. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

“Coming to the party at the clubhouse?”

“Yeah, Wes bullied me,” I said with a little laugh. “Said Thierry is going to be there.”

Hunter frowned. “Don’t know him.”

Yeah, I didn’t think I’d know him either when we met up again. “He plays professional hockey.”

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