Page 144 of Off-Ice Misconduct
I’ve had the supreme pleasure of watching Dad grit his teeth while East fusses over him. Mom didn’t even fuss over him like that. But Dad does what East says, even though I can tell he’d rather be intubated again.
“I’m definitely his boss,” Dad says with a smirk I never want explained, but then he winces. “Maybe not when it comes to post-hospital care, though. Can I live in your frat house with you until I’m healed up?”
I laugh. “Sorry, Dad. I love you, but I’m not going up against East on that one.”
The man’s already emailed me lengthy recovery programs he must have put together while Dad slept. He’s been talking to the physiotherapist and booking home care, so that Dad can go home sooner. And I’m pretty sure I’m only receiving the emailsas a courtesy, not as a co-conspirator, though I agree with his plan.
“Guess I’m stuck with that overbearing little menace,” he says in a way that warms my insides. Dad’s in love. He’s so over the moon for East, he’s gonna let him go ahead with his brand of suffocating care.
“It seems stupid now, but I really thought you forgot about her,” I say, broaching Mom, a topic that hasn’t boded well for us in a long while.
He inhales the fresh air. “Not stupid. I … watched you break, Ace. Therapy wasn’t doing much for you—or me. The only thing that worked for me was burying Grace a second time, in my work. I thought it might work for you, too, if you’d just try it. But it pushed you further away from me, so I pushed harder, scrambling to get us back to where we were.”
I nod. “I knew that’s what you were doing, I was frustrated you wouldn’t let me grieve at my own pace. But I can see what you saw now. I was hanging onto the past so hard, there was no way I could step into my future.”
We hit the edge of a partially frozen pond, and I park the wheelchair, sitting on the bench next to him. We watch the view together, and I swear to fuck, Mom’s here with us. This would be a great time to tell them both …
“So, if say, Vancouver wanted to sign me, how many jerseys would you want?”
“Vancouver,” he breathes. “Really?”
“Yeah. They want me, fuck, honestly? Everyone wants to sign me, still, but I’m choosing Vancouver.” I haven’t even told Luke yet—or anyone. But I’m kinda glad Dad gets to know first.
Mom and Dad.I know you’re fucking here, Mom.
“Of course, they do, Ace. They’re smart. They know what you’ll bring to the team.”
“Yeah, apparently I have the stats to compete with Rhett Elkington.”
“You have more than that, son.” He reaches a shaky hand to pat my chest, right over my heart.
I take it, and hold it, so fucking grateful I haven’t lost him, too. That I’ll get the time with him I didn’t get with Mom, because I’m going to get my head out of my ass. I’ll never stop loving Mom as fiercely as I do, but at some point, hanging onto her like I have, shifted from grief to something heavier and harder to name. I kept moving, kept giving, kept going, just so no one would notice I was too scared to live. It was avoidance dressed up as distraction.
But Dad noticed.
And Luke.
Thank fuck they weren’t gonna let me spin there forever. Mom would die a second time if I were trapped in that kind of purgatory forever. Maybe the pain I noticed in Dad was about Mom’s death at first, but after that, it was because of me. Having to watch me stay stuck, worried about losing who I was to grief. And if what I saw in him was just a reflection of my grief, no wonder he was desperate to rip me out.
“You’ll be ready to walk down the aisle with East, Dad. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Oh god. Don’t tell me there’s going to be two of you. I need you on my side. He bought sixty pounds of incense purported to help lift the healing aura, I’m gonna smell like the inside of a crystal shop run by a raccoon in a caftan. Then, he informed me this morning that he found a company that delivers fresh, spray-free celery juice every morning and does dry brushing as a courtesy—what kind of psychopathic company does both of those horrible things?”
“Um, what’s dry brushing?”
“He made me try it once,” he grumbles. “Utter torture. It’s supposed to be good for boosting circulation and lymphatic drainage, but it feels like exfoliating your soul with a cactus.”
“I won’t let him exfoliate your soul with a cactus, Dad,” I promise.
“Always knew you were a good son, kiddo.”
As if he could hear us conspiring, East barrels toward us in long strides, scarf flying behind him, long jacket flaring, making him look like a wizard on a mission.
“There you two are. The nurse said you’ve been gone a while now. It’s too cold out here; we need to get you back inside.”
East doesn’t get far. Dad summons the strength from somewhere to yank him onto his lap.
“Your leg!” East screeches.
