Page 127 of My Merry Mistake
I set my pizza down. “Oh.”
“Mood killer, right?” His mouth quirks.
“Finn—”
He holds up a hand. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”
And yet . . . there’s still pain there. I can see it in his eyes.
“I’ve never lost anyone that close to me,” I say. “But I imagine there’s no statute of limitations on grief.”
“Yeah, but I don’t like to be a downer,” he says, shrugging and acting like he’d rather talk about something else. He piles another piece of pizza on the stack already on his plate. “It kind of wrecked our family for a long time. Everyone dealt with it differently. It’s better now.”
I think about the way he talked to his mom on the phone. The way this tragedy must’ve bonded them for life. The way a person’s outlook would change after something like that.
“I can’t even imagine.” I say. “How old were you?”
“Fifteen,” he says between bites. “He was seventeen.”
I go still, thinking about my own family, knowing that if anything happened to one of my sisters, I wouldn’t recover.
He gets a faraway look on his face. “He was that guy everyone loved, you know? The guy who never met a stranger. The one everyone wanted to be friends with. All the girls wanted to date him.” He looks at me. “He was that guy.”
“So, this runs in the family,” I say.
He chuckles, then takes another bite. “He’s the reason I play hockey.”
“He is?”
“I mean, I play because he can’t.” He opens his water. “This was always his dream—to play in the NHL one day. He was good too. Definitely would’ve made it.” He picks up his plate and walks into the living room.
I follow him, taking a seat on the end of the couch. “So it’s not your dream?”
“I mean, it isnow. After he passed away, I just kind of put all that on the shelf.” He sits. “I know that’s a crazy thing to say to someone like you, but I’m not a person who needs to accomplish some big goal. Losing my brother shifted my perspective on that. On everything, really. I’m just happy to be here. Happy for every opportunity I get. Every chance I get to do something incredible—like play professional hockey with the likes of Dallas Burke.”He says his name like he’s reading a headline. “But every little thing too—like buying you your first Christmas tree.”
I wonder if he’s cracked some sort of happiness code. I can’t imagine feeling as content with a day like today as I would after a day with a huge win on a professional stage.
Maybe that’s the problem.
I look at him. “You do know that they’re also really lucky they get to play with you, right?”
He shrugs and waves me off. “You have to say that because, like, your whole family is dating the team,” he says, mouth half-full of pizza.
“I mean it, Finn,” I say. “It’s awesome to be content and grateful, but don’t sell yourself short. You put a lot of good into the world too.” I say it matter-of-factly because I don’t want him to see that all of this is affecting me in ways I don’t understand.
I’ll process it later. I’ll processall of itlater.
He sets his plate down and looks at me. “Hey, do you have a calendar?”
I do a double take, confused. “Yeah, I’ve got my calendar on my phone.” I fumble for it, then open the calendar app.
“Okay, you’re going to want to mark the date—” he taps my phone with his finger. “The first time you’ve ever complimented me.”
Slowly, I lower the phone and look up at his stupid grinning face.
I take a bite and look away. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
