Page 22 of Heart Taker

We landed in Vermont in the afternoon, and the bus ride to Sutton took longer than usual given all the weekend traffic. I’d had a mind to stay in Burlington, to text Darby for a meetup, but I wanted to get home to see my family more than anything. We’d gone through enough hard times over the past decade, and when there was a celebration to be had, they deserved to share in it.

Moments before we disembarked from the bus, Coach got up and motioned for our attention. His hair was uncharacteristically messy, his black RayBans still perched on the end of his remarkably straight nose (for a former hockey player). Why I noticed all this was beyond me.

Must be the hangover.

For some reason, I was dying to see his expression. I’d never seen him less than put together and knowing that he was probably rocking dark shadows and bloodshot eyes like me made me want to laugh out loud.

Fuck, did I need a nap or what?

“The school’s throwing a rally tonight, starting at eight, in honor of the Cougars win,” Banning announced, his voice hoarse. “Go home and get some rest first. I’ll see you guys on campus later.”

Then he stepped off the bus and Jace took his place.

“And don’t forget the black-tie firehall fundraiser next Saturday!” Jace added as we stood up and grabbed our shit. “Everyone’s gotta be there.”

Finn and I were due to help out at the event too, thanks to Coach volunteering us. Then I remembered that Kirkland was going to be there giving the keynote speech, and my mood improved exponentially.

I headed down the aisle and tapped Jace’s shoulder.

“What do you need from me that day?” I asked him.

“If you and Finn can arrive at the venue at four to help us set up the silent auction items?”

“Got it.”

“And you have to wear a suit,” Jace reminded me with a grin. “No leather jacket.”

I rolled my eyes and nodded. “I get it. I promise.”

“You gonna crash out this aft?”

“Not yet. I’ve got to pick up my brother and go visit my dad first.”

“That’s cool. Are we going to meet them sometime? Are they coming to the fundraiser?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I mean, my brother’s seventeen. Jo’s probably already got plans for next weekend that don’t includehanging out with his older brother. And my dad, well, he’s got health stuff.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about your dad,” Jace offered. “Maybe another time?”

“Maybe.”

“Bring your brother to the rally tonight. He can hang out with us.”

I nodded but left it at that. It was one of the rare times I mentioned my family. I’d confided in Finn, of course, who’d met my brother, and in Kayden, who’d made Sutton U bracelets for the entire team and, as per my request, several for Josiah. But I had a hard time talking about my situation with the rest of the guys. I wasn’t sure they’d understand or maybe I was worried they’d feel bad for me. Or think I wasn’t giving hockey my all. Either way, that’s how I dealt with it, by keeping it to myself.

Like my sexuality.

I hated showing any kind of vulnerability and in hockey, you get used to staying stoic, and pushing forward, pushing hard, no matter what. There was no time for second guesses or doubt. Not from teammates or from myself…

I texted Josiah, stepped off the bus, and headed for my truck. The gray pickup was used when I bought it and it wasn’t much to look at, but it was paid for, so it was all mine.

After picking up my brother, we drove straight to see my dad. The care home that he’d lived in for the past two years was set on the west side of Sutton and had views of the mountains and nearby lake. Since spring was finally here, the day sunny and surprisingly warm for Vermont, we arrived to find many of the residents outside. The home was once a hotel, refurbished to meet hospital standards, and had a lot of acreage, including a garden and terraces for residents and visiting family.

I spotted my dad right away. I got my size from him, along with brown eyes and blond hair, his now turning gray. My fathergot around in a wheelchair most of the time, but he could use a walker when he wanted, and for short periods of time. He was fighting hard to get his mobility and his speech back, but I knew that it was going to take years. Watching him take tentative steps, the walker in front of him, his nurse by his side, I had an overwhelming feeling of pride. Pride and frustration. I wanted everything to be like it was for him in the past; to hear him laugh and joke around, to have him skate alongside me and Jo.

But wishing and reality were two different things.

Still, he was here, and that’s what mattered.

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