Page 3 of Outlaw Heartstrings
On top of the agonizing ankle pain, the muscle mass I’m going to lose in this leg is going to be off the charts. And no general manager wants a weak defenseman limping around on the ice and getting his ass handed to him.
So, yeah. Chances are good that I’ll never play hockey again.
I’ll admit it—I have an over-sized ego—and I can’t bring myself to imagine coming to the end of my hockey career without having a championship ring to my name. That’s the part that keeps me up at night.
Growing up in a struggling single parent household carried a stigma that lingered on me like a bad scent. A lot of the time, I felt inadequate, unimportant, insignificant, small. That’s why I always wanted this hockey thing so badly. Somehow it felt like winning the championship title could have finally allowed me to shake off the stench of inadequacy. I’m low-key terrified that’s never going to happen now.
Still, I appreciate my brothers and their encouragement at the moment. The truth is, I’ve been a whiny asshole the past few weeks, throwing myself a pity party as I come to terms with this injury. I owe these guys.
Twisting in my seat, I let my eyes travel over each of my brothers in turn. “Thanks for rallying around me throughout this entire ordeal. This whole thing sucks, but having you guys by my side has really made everything easier.”
Oliver nods solemnly. “This situation has been a reminder of just how much we all have each others’ backs.”
“In good times and in bad,” Lincoln adds.
I look to Rocco, expecting him to make his own sentimental contribution to our brotherly love fest. Instead, he just squirms around in his seat.
Yup. He needs to use the bathroom again.
“We’re here! Finally!” he practically shouts, relief visibly washing over his face as he points out the window.
I face forward and catch sight of theWelcome to Fairy Bushsign looming up ahead.
The guys perk up as we near the end of our long drive. Nostalgia hits me as the car cruises over Lucky Clover Bridge toward the heart of town.
Fairy Bush, Iowa, is a 5000-person blip on the map. Once upon a time, my brothers and I used to run this small town. Or at least, that’s how it felt way back when we were a bunch of rowdy high schoolers. But then again, maybe we were just full of ourselves. It sure feels like everyone forgot about us the minute we left this town.
The guys start pointing out our old stomping grounds as we pass by.
“That’s the old football field where I had my first kiss,” Lincoln muses with a quiet chuckle.
“And where I should have been crowned homecoming king,” Rocco adds, puffing up his chest.
We drive past the small park we’d go to every day after school. The playground looks completely new now, the old rusty slides nowhere in sight.
“That’s the tree I fell out of when I was nine,” Oliver mumbles.
“Yeah, and broke your arm in two places,” Rocco says. “I had to carry you all the way to Mom where she was at work, because you wouldn’t stop crying.”
“Well yeah, it fucking hurt.”
“Damn. Looks like they closed down the old diner where we used to buy milkshakes on the weekends,” Lincoln interrupts, pointing to the corner as we approach downtown.
My brothers continue their trip down memory lane, our return to Fairy Bush laced with old memories, and I can already tell this is going to be a sentimental freaking summer.
Growing up in Fairy Bush wasn’t the easiest. But it wasn’t all bad. I have a lot of good memories from here, too.
A strange sensation zips through my gut. I’m still not sure how I feel about returning to our hometown. Especially after being away for nine long years.
Lincoln drives us up Marigold Peak, into the hills. Apparently, my new rental property is on this lush hillside overlooking the rest of the town. Up until today, I’ve only ever seen the property in photos. Lincoln and Mom dealt with all the house hunting and logistics while I was in the hospital, doped up on painkillers.
The area looks quiet. There are only a couple other houses up here, but there are a few more under construction along the way.
This nice part of town is definitely not the one I’m familiar with.We grew up in a shack on the bad side of the tracks. Being able to live up here is something we only ever dreamed of at the time.
Though I do recall some of my childhood friends living in the fancier neighborhoods. I think back to some of them.
When I left to play hockey after high school, I tried to maintain those friendships for a while, but none of them really stuck. We all lost touch eventually.
