Page 7 of Stick With Me
Hannah:
Because I know you… Mr. Passed Out After Three Drinks.
Me:
That was one time!
She sends me a selfie, sticking her tongue out playfully, and I chuckle at the screen. But my good mood fades when I look closer and notice the red rims and glassy look in her eyes. I’m determined to turn her mood around when I see her.
The last time we were together in person… fuck, it was before the season started. Since college, our friendship has been mostly virtual—texts, FaceTime, and phone calls. It’s not ideal, but we make it work. Usually, we catch up when the Saints play the Spurs or during the summer. It’s not nearly enough for my liking, but it’s better than nothing.
I’ll be seeing her in just over a week, I remind myself.
The next morning, Hannah is the first person I try, but it’s early, so I’m not surprised when my FaceTime call goes unanswered. She’s never been a morning person. I pull up my mom’s contact and hit the video icon.
Her face lights up on the screen, eyes crinkling with a warm smile. “Hi, honey! This is such a nice surprise. How are you?”
Translation: You don’t call me enough.
“Hi, Ma, I’m good. How’s everyone there?”
“Great, Mia is considering college. What a relief. And you know Greg, trying to keep busy around the house. That man is not built for retirement.” She shakes her head, but there’s a fond look on her face. “How about you? How’s hockey?”
“Is that Ryan, Mom?” Mia shouts from off-screen, and then my stepsister’s face pops up over my mom’s shoulder.
While I’ve always been driven to push myself further, Mia’s the opposite, more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants type. She’s had more jobs than birthdays, more relationships than I can keep track of, and travels nearly as much as I do, which is saying something, considering I’m on the road over thirty days a season for hockey. But her home base remains our parents’ house. Even though we don’t share DNA, I wish I’d gotten some of her carefree spirit.
“What’s up, kid?” I tease.
“You are aware we’re pretty much the same age, right? You’re only three years older, old man.”
“Nearly four,” I quip. She just turned twenty-two, but in my mind, she’ll always be that nine-year-old I first met.
She shakes her head with a laugh. “Can I come down for another game before the season ends?”
With my family living just a couple of hours north of Chicago, visits are easy. “Sure thing. Let me know when and we’ll plan it.” Focusing back on Mom, I ask, “Is Greg around? May as well break the news to the whole crew.”
“Dad! Get in here!” Mia yells for my stepdad.
Greg appears behind them, not bothering to bend to get in the shot. “Ryan? That you?”
“The one and only.”
“How’s our hockey star?”
I can’t help but laugh. “This might be the first and only time you’re right in calling me a star. Coach picked me for All-Star Weekend. I’m the backup, you know, with King out?—”
“Bull crap.” Greg interrupts me. “It’s about time you were recognized for how much you do for that team.”
I clear my throat and shift in my seat.
Greg is who got me into hockey. When he started dating my mom, I was twelve, which is pretty late to the game by hockey standards. But Greg believed in me, signed me up, bought my gear, and never missed a practice. I wouldn’t be here without him. He’s been more of a father than the guy whose last name I carry: Logan. I’ve made it my own, taking ownership of the name of the man who bailed on me and my mom when I was too young to understand what was happening.
I shake out my hands, realizing I’d clenched them into fists.
“Honey, I’m so proud of you. That sounds wonderful! Greg is right, you are a superstar,” Ma says. I don’t bother correcting her. Superstar, All-Star, same difference.
“Congrats!” Mia adds.
