Page 5 of One Shot

“There is only one new member to the squad this year and it’s YOU! I can’t wait to see you in a month! Ah, shit. Gotta go set some things up. Call me when you get a chance. Love you, Chip!”

I hand Dominic back his phone.

“See!” Mom exclaims. “You got in!! YOU DID IT! Nicky knew you could. This is so exciting!” She pulls out a notepad from who even knows where and starts to write things down. “We will have to go get you some new things for your apartment. Oh, and find you an apartment.”

I drown out Mom’s rambling, downing the rest of my mimosa. Then, I grab the bottle of prosecco off the counter and go to my room.

Chip. I should have known Nick submitted it. He was the one to start that stupid nickname. When Nick was three, he started to call me Chip. Mom had no idea where it came from. MaybeBeauty and the Beast? Maybe he really loved potato chips that Dad would sneak him? Nick didn’t know where it came from either, but it stuck. He went through a phase of calling me Chip until he was about six. He started it again when we got older as an endearing nickname. I actually love it but hated that I never had a good nickname for him.

Nick did this for me—so I could chase my dream of working in sports marketing for a professional team, like he was chasing his NHL dreams.

Is it possible for it to still be my dream? Can I go to a school where my brother should be studying? Can I work for a team that he should be playing on? Can I keep climbing out of my depression and handle the ache of missing him?

I down the bottle of prosecco and pull out a flask of vodka from under my bed. It’s way too early for hard alcohol. I know it’s not a good way to cope and I swear I have been making a lot of progress — ask my therapist! But sometimes, you just need it. Now buzzed before 10am, I fall back asleep.

“Chippie, Chip.”

I stir in bed.

“Chip. Come on.” I feel something on my ear, like someone is flicking it to get my attention. Just like Nick used to do.

I swipe at my ear. Something grabs my hand. I turn around, panicked, about to scream.

“Chip. Relax. It’s me, your favorite and most handsomest brother.”

“My only brother,” I mumble.

“You can’t live like this anymore, Chip.”

He comes fully into focus. There he is. Nick is sitting cross-legged on my bed and wearing a number 88 Wyverns jersey. It seems so real. He looks the same. My eyes sting trying to fight back the tears that threaten to endlessly pour out of my eyes.

“Am I . . . Am I dead?” I whisper, startled with tears in my eyes. “You’re not real. Unless I’m dead.”

“Drama queen,” Nick sings in a high voice. “You’re alive loser—just a little drunk and dreaming. Very vividly apparently.”

He looks into the mirror “Damn, was I really this hot alive? Poor women everywhere. Not able to get a piece of this now that I’m—”

“Eww. Are you fucking kidding me right now? I’m seeing my brother who has been dead for nine months in my room and he’s talking about how attractive everyone finds him?”

“Okay, you have a point. But seriously, Chip.” Nick takes hold of my shoulders, and I can faintly feel his hands. My heart aches with an unsettling mix of remorse, distress, and euphoria seeing and feeling my brother after all this time. He looks into my eyes as the tears inevitably come. My body starts to shudder under the weight of my loss hitting me more and more with each tear that falls. I would give anything for this to be real. For him to really be here with me.

He continues, “You can’t keep doing this—hiding away at Mom’s house and avoiding living your life because I’m gone. I would seriously kick your ass if I was still alive.”

“Well, you’re not alive, Nick. So, it looks like I can keep doing what I want to do. I’ve been actually trying a little bit lately.”

I somehow have a bottle of prosecco in my hand. I take a big swig. What is happening?

Nick—well, dream Nick—squeezes my cheeks before I down another sip, and I spew liquid all over him. He wipes off his face.

“Laur. Lauren. Please. You’re not trying enough. You can’t give up on your life and your dreams. You can’t isolate yourself from the people closest to you. And you sure as hell can’t try to handle it by escaping with alcohol. You witnessed it the night of—”

“Okay, OKAY, STOP,” I cut in, not wanting to relive the memories that torment me daily. Nick took his eyes off the road, but the driver of the semi that hit us was above the legal limit. I wonder if the flashbacks and memories will ever stop haunting me.

Nick places his hands on my shoulders again, attempting to calm me. His brows are creased in a serious demeanor.

“You are going to work with the Wyverns. You’re going to kick ass. You’re going to do this.”

Running, his hands through his light brown hair he lets out an exasperated sigh.

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