Page 23 of My Puckin' Luck
“You bet. We got our little ones ice skates coming up for Christmas, can you believe it? Time flies.”
That stops me in my tracks. He’s one lucky S.O.B. to have a family like that. As much as I hate to admit it, Mom was right that I could have made a good father, like my own was. But life hit me with a slap shot to the heart I didn’t see coming, breaking it in two. It’s been years and I haven’t gotten over it yet.
The interaction with Duke strikes me harder than it should. I never know when these things will knock me on my ass. I simply nod and hurry back to the locker room.
All the guys are there, ready to leave, too. Might as well start mentoring, and I don’t feel like being alone now. “I was serious about the offer. My house in an hour. Pizza and beer on me.”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.” Leo slaps palms with me. He’s a local, like me, L.A. born and raised, same high school and college even, although years apart.
We talk a few minutes more and I fill them in on what I know about the players on the Hawks. I send them a ping to my house. We all leave together, going our separate ways to our cars. I’ll see them soon enough.
As is habit, I put my hand in my pocket and feel for the rabbit’s foot. I don’t even know why I carry it around with me after all this time. It once represented something special, a vow I made.
My energy falls to low levels, mentally and physically, in the car. I can’t get home soon enough, when halfway there, another call comes in. It’s from the same person who attempted to reach me at the Denver game. I’d rushed away from Anastasia then, acting like I answered it, but I didn’t and had let it go to voice mail. I still haven’t listened to it.
“Fuck.” This time, I’m already down, I might as well face it, and he’s not giving up. I click to answer, steeling myself. “Hello?”
“Jesus, dude. I’ve only tried to reach you about a dozen times this past month.” Brady’s voice crash lands into my current life like it was only yesterday I bid him farewell at the funeral of his sister and our baby. My insides tornado into knots.
“Yeah. Sorry about that. Busy, you know. Hockey and stuff,” I clip in staccato words. I don’t want this call to drag out any further than it needs to. He’s rarely attempted to reach out to me over the years, and when he does, he’s a blubbering drunken mess, apologizing profusely. For good reason.
He should never have driven off in his condition with my Lilah the night I married her.
I pull over quickly into a store parking lot and slam the car into park as images flash through my head. The simple ring exchange at the courthouse to make everything official. My hand on her tummy as we take selfies as newlyweds on the courthouse steps. The little gifts we exchanged. Hers, a bracelet—I later made sure she was buried with it. Mine, the rabbit’s foot, a running joke between us about which of us was luckier to fall in love with the other.
The scene of the accident hits me next—it’s a wonder Brady walked away unscathed. It wasn’t his fault. Another driver simply lost control and careened into them. But he carried the weight of guilt for years, and for most of that time, I blamed him, too. If only she hadn’t gotten into the car with him that night.
“I know. I keep tabs on your games here and there.” He sounds sober today, clear as a bell.
“What’s going on?”
“My parents want to make sure you know we’re having a memorial for Lilah and the baby. You’re invited. It’s been ten years. Time flies.”
There’s that frigging phrase again, the same one Duke used talking about his kids. Time needs to slow the fuck down. My throat constricts as I scramble for a response.
“I’ll text you the invite. I didn’t want it to come to you out of the blue, and thought I should call you first.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Brady.”
“So you’ll be there?”
A breath blows hard and long out of my lungs. “I’ll have to check my hockey schedule. You know how it is.”
I’m a shit for avoiding him like I have. We were best friends and teammates once. He played in college with me before the accident. To my knowledge, he hasn’t picked up a stick or put blades on since then, preferring battles with alcohol. For me, the distraction of playing hockey was the only thing that kept me waking up every morning after Lilah was gone.
“Sure. Well. I just thought I should be the one to reach you.”
My shoulders drop. I feel like an ass. I try to make up for it. “Hey, Brady. You sound good.”
“Thanks. I got sober. Four hundred days and counting.”
That warms my heart to hear. Unexpected. “Good for you, man.”
“Yeah. And… I met someone at AA meetings. She’s become my everything. Think I’m going to propose at Christmas.”
Fuck, that hits me hard. After all of this,hefinds love? Now I need off this call in the worst way. Deep down, I’m happy for him and would never deny another man his right to love. But I lost mine. This isn’t fair.
“Congratulations. Hey, I gotta go. We’ll talk soon, okay?” I end the call before he can say more. No sooner do I do that, when another call comes in, from Mom.
