Page 28 of The Prince and the Puck
“Declan,” he said, his voice clear and calm—for some reason I’d expected him to sound groggy or confused.
“How are you?” I asked, hearing myself echo the stupidest question people always asked when they knew the answer was probably not great.
“Yeah, I’m good. How are you?” How was I? Why had he pinged me twice if he was good?
“Really, Lamb? You called me because you’re good?”
“I called you because you’re my brother, and I miss you. Is that weird? And also—technically, I texted you. You called me.”
It wasn’t weird, but it was unexpected.
“Not weird, I guess. It’s just that you’ve never, in a decade, called me just because I’m your brother and you wanted to see how I was.”
“Fair. Maybe I’ve matured. It’s occurred to me that we are family, and we should keep in better touch.”
I waited for my brother to move on to whatever the real reason he’d pinged me was, but he seemed content to have simply re-opened communications between us.
“Hey, Lamb? It’s great to hear your voice and everything, but you’ve got me worried. It’s not like you contact me all the time. And the few times you have, it’s been because something was going on. I mean, I like the idea of being in touch more, but I just have this feeling there’s something more to it. Is there something going on?”
“I mean... There is, but I just don’t really know how much you need to get pulled into it all.” Lambert wasn’t doing much to put my nerves to rest.
“Lamb, I kinda feel like I’m in it now, and if you don’t give me details, I’m going to think the worst. Right now, I’m imagining everything from Mom and Dad turning Murdan into a nudist colony to an army of rebel rats staging a coup.”
“Rats?” He let out a small laugh. “You’ve always had a good imagination, Deckkie.”
“Tell me,” I ground out. I was losing patience.
“Yeah, okay... so, first, things are good? I mean, with hockey? With you?”
“Yeah, they’re good. The season is shaping up. I had a rocky start, but I just talked to the coach and I’m recommitting. Totally, 100 percent in.”
“Well, that’s good. I mean—yeah, never mind. Pretend I didn’t text.”
My brother didn’t beg me to call just so he could ask how hockey was going and then tell me to ‘never mind.’ And as muchas I wanted to let him off the hook, I knew I wouldn’t stop worrying until I understood what was really happening.
“Lambert. Now I’m worried. What’s going on?”
“I don’t wanna bother you... You made a choice. We’ve all respected your choice. But Dad is...”
Lambert trailed off, leaving me hanging on those two words: Dad is. Dad is what?
Finally, I asked him that very question.
“Look, it’s nothing he’s said. And Mom’s not talking. But there’s something going on. And I think—I mean, I don’t wanna be the kid that cried coyote.”
“The kid that cried coyote? Do you mean the boy who cried wolf?”
“Whatever. Yeah. I mean... Okay, I’ll just say it, but you don’t have to do it. I think you should come home. But I also don’t wanna tell you to come home and then have you get mad because there was no reason for you to.”
“Is there a reason for me to come home?” Worry—maybe even the beginning of fear—began to bubble in my gut, making me wish I hadn’t eaten that meatball sub earlier.
“I don’t know, Deck. Something’s weird.”
I wasn’t sure that something being weird justified me sacrificing my hockey season and jumping on a plane back to Murdan. Especially after I’d just told my coach that this was all I cared about. The truth was, I had a couple of other things to care about, and my family was one of them.
It was just that, in the past, my family didn’t need me. It had been easy enough to leave when I knew I was the spare, and my parents were healthy and vibrant.
Had something changed?
