Page 7 of One Shot

I can immediately tell I am going to like her. She radiates that ‘I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks’ energy but somehow with a ‘the sun is always shining’ attitude. Jaylin seems like a happy-go-lucky hippie, and I smell a hint of the good herb, so I know I’m spot on. Bren and Jaylin are both helping Mom and Domnic unload the car. They are all so chatty and friendly, laughing and smiling while carrying box after box.

“I think this is exactly what you need,” Mom whispers to me as we grab the last two boxes.

After we have all the boxes in the house and half unpacked, I start to organize my current disaster of a bedroom. The type-A in me wants to be able to sleep in peace knowing I’m not living in the chaos of boxes in need of unpacking. Within just the short time I’ve been here, I know it’s what I need. I really want—no, I reallyneedthis to make this feel like a new home for me. A fresh start. A new chance. Everyone else is hanging out in the living room letting me unpack my new life. About an hour and a half later, I hear footsteps and a knock on my open bedroom door.

“Knock, knock,” Dominic says—what a dorky “dad” thing to do: say ‘knock, knock’ and actually knock at the same time. “Your mom’s getting hangry, and you know how that will turn out. Are you almost done, need any help?”

I turn to him and smile. “Almost done! Just a few decorations left.”

Dominic walks into my room and looks around. “I know it doesn’t mean as much coming from me, but I am so proud of you for doing this. Your mom is too. She doesn’t say it much, but she is always so worried about you. When Nick . . .” He pauses and sighsloudly. “If she lost you too, I don’t think she could make it through that . . . I know you haven’t been yourself, and I can’t pretend to imagine what you feel. But I think part of her felt like she already lost you. You have given her new happiness and hope and me too. I hope you find some for yourself while you’re here. I have a feeling you will.”

I look up at him teary-eyed. Dominic is usually a man of few words when it comes to Nick and me. He made it very clear from the start that he wasn’t going to try to replace or pretend to be our dad, even though he knew we both felt some resentment toward him after he married Mom.

I hang up a picture on the wall that Dominic took almost six years ago—a picture of me taking a picture of Nick skating on the pond near our house. I’m smiling behind the camera, squatting to get a good angle while Nick is facing me, the puck a blur as he tapped it back and forth for some action shots.

“You still have that photo?” Dominic asks.

“Of course. It’s one of my favorite photos of Nick and me. You captured us both in our element perfectly.” With tears still in my eyes, I walk over to Dominic and hug him tight. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I hope I find some happiness too and maybe even get to know Nick in a different way by being here. I miss him every day.”

“I know. Me too,” Dominic mutters, hugging me back tighter than he has ever hugged me. I pull away, and he clears his throat a little bit.

“Now,” he says, “can we please get your mom some food before she insists we don’t eat and just hit the road. You know that will be a drive from hell for me with a hangry Annabeth as the passenger.”

“Oh gosh,” I joke. “She would literally eat you!” I straighten the photo. “I’m ready. Let’s go before she’s at the ‘chew the waiter a new one’ hunger stage. Obviously, we will need appetizers.”

Dominic and I walk to the living room. I feel a little bit lighter than I have in the last ten months. It’s not anywhere near feeling like my old self, but I can still feel it. I know that Bren and Mom can too because I see them exchange a look, both smiling in acknowledgement.

“Now that I’m officially all unpacked, let’s go get some dinner!” I say.

“I know just the place!” Bren responds excitedly.

I hear Mom mumble, “Thank the good Lord. I am about to faint for goodness’ sake,” under her breath.

Bren and I climb into the back of Mom’s car with Dominic riding shotgun. Jaylin went to meet a date for dinner about an hour ago. I don’t blame her—I took quite a long time setting up my room. Bren said we will have to grill her tomorrow on the mystery woman she’s on a date with.

We walk into a place a few blocks off campus called Haee’s. I should have known we would end up at a sports pub. Haee’s is packed with college kids in every type of sports jersey you could think of. It’s extremely loud with dim lighting and TVs covering the walls.

The hostess lets us know that it will be about ten minutes to be seated. I look around, taking in more of the place. The booths are luscious leather, and the lighting fixtures are sleek modern metal—both classy for a sports pub. It’s perfect. I know Haee’s will quickly become one of my favorite places.

“I’m so sorry, Laur . . . I should have warned you. This is one of the two hangouts for the hockey team. I don’t see them around, so I’m sure they're still at practice,” Bren says apologetically. “But I promise this is the best sports bar around and the food is amazing. I come here for pretty much anything and everything. It’s my favorite. I’m sure you’ll love it soon too!”

A weird feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. I look around the crowded place; no Wyverns jerseys in sight yet. I can prepare myself. I haven’t been around anyone wearing a hockey jersey since the night of the accident, the night of Nick’s first game as captain. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Bren places a consoling hand on my shoulder.

“I’m okay,” I say.

For once, I think I might mean it. It would probably be better to meet the team away from the world of hockey instead of on the ice or in the locker room anyway.

“If they do show up,” Bren reminds, “we can leave. Honestly, they probably will be here eventually. The full practice schedule starts again soon. The guys have really been taking advantage of having some down time lately.” Bren gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“No. That’s okay,” I reply. “It might be easier for me to meet them here since I have absolutely no memories here and a hell of a lot at West’s hockey rink. I’ve never been to this place. Nick never took me here.”

“It’s newer,” Bren says. “He wouldn’t have . . .” she trails off. “It’s a newer place.”

“Well then, I can make the Bellinger mark myself.” I surprise myself with that response, but I do mean it.

Our table is ready, and the hostess signals for us to follow her. Like the final buzzer at the end of a game, her arrival solidifies my decision. I love Nick so much, but I think I need to make my own mark a bit too if I want to leave here happier and not a haunted, still depressed mess.

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