The next morning, I wake up with Grace snuggled up beside me, and it’s the best fucking feeling in the whole fucking world. She slept at my place last night, and we stayed up until four a.m., alternating between talking, cuddling, and having sex. And not the hollow, meaningless kind I’ve been indulging in since I started college. Sex with Grace means something. It doesn’t make me feel hollow, but full. Brimming with emotions I can’t even give labels to.
Grace stirs in my arms, and I absently toy with a strand of her hair, twirling it around my fingers.
“Morning,” she says, yawning as she lifts her head.
“Morning.”
“What time is it?”
“Ten-thirty.”
“Oh no. We slept in? Don’t you have practice?”
“Not for a few hours.”
“Oh, okay, good. We stayed up way too late last night.”
She hops out of bed and starts searching the room for her clothes. I grin, because I’m the one responsible for why her pants are flung on top of the dresser and why her lacy panties are scrunched up in a ball across the room. So sue me. Groveling makes me horny.
“Is it cool if I invite Morris and Daisy to the game tomorrow?” She eases her panties up her smooth, bare legs, and I’m so distracted by the sight that I forget what she asked a nanosecond after she asks it.
My cock hardens beneath the sheets, tenting up as if trying to get Grace’s attention. She sighs when she notices the campsite on the bed.
“I swear, you’ve got sex on the brain every second of the day.”
“Pretty much,” I agree, then waggle my eyebrows. “Why are you getting dressed? Wouldn’t you rather come here and sit on my dick?”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure, if you want me to pee all over you.” When I open my mouth, she raises a hand in warning. “And don’t you dare say you’re into that, because I am not incorporating pee into our sex life.”
I flop onto my side and laugh hysterically. “Relax,” I stutter between chuckles. “Golden showers don’t get me off.”
Grace snickers. “Thank God.”
After she ducks into the hall to use the bathroom, I reluctantly drag myself out of bed and track down a pair of sweatpants. I’m thinking of suggesting the diner for breakfast. After last night’s strenuous sexcapades, I could really go for a huge greasy platter of bacon and sausage and—and Coach will murder me if I show up to practice sluggish and crashing from a grease high. Frickin’ in-season nutrition regimen.
I pace around as I wait for Grace to come out of the bathroom, because now I’m the one who needs to piss like a racehorse. My buzzing phone serves as a distraction from my about-to-explode bladder, but when my brother’s number flashes on the screen, my good morning mood fades away.
“Hey,” Jeff says after I pick up. “Can you come by today?”
I stifle a groan. “I’ve got practice at one-thirty, man.”
“Come now, then. We’ll be done long before that.”
“Done what?” I ask warily.
“No idea. Dad says he has something important to tell us, but he won’t give me any more details than that. Marty’s covering for me in the shop right now, so get your ass over here. It won’t take long.”
I hang up feeling even warier than before. He has something important to tell us? What the hell could it be? We haven’t had a family meeting in…ever. My father has never sat us down for a talk, serious or otherwise.
I’m still frowning when Grace reappears, and concern instantly creases her features. “Everything okay?”
I slowly shake my head. “My dad wants to sit down with me and Jeff today.”
“Today? But you have practice.”
“He said it won’t take long. He just needs to tell us something.”
“Tell you what?”
“I don’t know.”
She goes quiet for a moment. “Do you want me to go with you?”
I’m touched by the offer, but I shake my head again. “I don’t think he’ll want anyone else there.”
“Obviously,” she says with a smile. “I figured I could wait in the car. That way if it’s something bad, you’ll have someone to talk to on the drive back.”
I hesitate. I’m not sure I want to take the risk of Grace running into my dad.
But I also don’t want to be alone.
“Okay,” I answer, releasing a breath. “But only if you stay in the car. I don’t know what kind of state he’ll be in when we get there.”
We’re both somber as we leave the house fifteen minutes later, and the weather matches our foreboding expressions. The sky is overcast, the metallic scent in the air hinting at a downpour.
My uneasiness grows the closer we get to Munsen. By the time I reach the end of the long driveway and park in front of the bungalow, my nerves have formed a solid, immovable ball in the pit of my stomach.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Grace, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
She shakes her head. “Take your time.” Unzipping her canvas bag, she pulls out a psych textbook and holds it up. “I’ll be fine out here, I promise. So don’t try to rush on my account, okay?”
I exhale shakily. “Okay.”
A minute later, I walk through the front door without knocking, flinching when the familiar smell of stale beer fills my nostrils. I swear, it’s like the walls in this house are soaked with alcohol, slowly releasing the sour odor into the air.
“John?” My brother’s voice drifts through the hall. “We’re in the kitchen.”
I keep my shoes on, a habit left over from childhood. I’ve stepped on far too many puddles on the floors and carpets of this house and soaked my socks. Puddles that weren’t always of the alcoholic beverage variety.
I know something’s up the second I enter the kitchen. Jeff and Dad are at the weathered oak table, sitting across from each other. Jeff is sipping a coffee. My father has a longneck bottle of Bud in front of him, both hands wrapped around the base.
“Johnny. Sit down,” Dad says.
The beer isn’t a promising sign, but at least he looks and sounds relatively sober. And by sober, I mean not passed out in a pool of his own vomit.
I sink into the nearest chair without a word. Studying my dad’s face. Waiting. Studying Jeff’s face. Waiting.
“Chad Jensen came to see me yesterday.”
My head swings back toward my father. “What? Are you serious?” Why the hell would Coach talk to my father?
Dad nods. “He called ahead, asked if he could stop by for a chat. I said sure, why not, and he came by yesterday evening.”
I’m still battling my shock. Coach Jensen drove out to Munsen and met with my father?
“I didn’t know about it,” Jeff speaks up hastily, obviously misconstruing my expression. “I was over at Kylie’s when he stopped by, and Dad only told me about it this morning.”
I ignore Jeff’s assurances. “What did he want?” I ask suspiciously.
Dad’s cheeks hollow as if he’s grinding his teeth. “To discuss possible solutions.”
“Solutions for what?”
“For next year.” His gaze stays locked with mine. “He assured me he wasn’t trying to be disrespectful or overstep his boundaries, that he understood the car accident was difficult for me and my family, and why you’re needed at the shop after you graduate.” My father’s hands tighten around the beer bottle. “But he was hoping there might be some way for you to play hockey next year while still helping out your family.”
My hands curl into fists, and I press them tight to the table, trying to control my temper. I know Coach meant well, but what the hell?
“He also asked me why I didn’t go on disability, if my injuries from the accident were bad enough to prevent me from working.”
Fucking Jensen. He absolutely overstepped his boundaries.
“Your coach has no idea I’m a drunk, does he?” Dad mutters, and now he’s no longer looking at me. He’s staring at his hands.
“No, he doesn’t,” I mutter back. “I only told him about the accident. And that was just because I needed to tell him something so he’d get off my case about not entering the draft.”
Dad raises his gaze to mine again. “You should’ve told me you didn’t declare.”
“What difference would it have made?”
“A huge one,” he snaps. “It’s bad enough that I woke up the other morning wearing clean underwear and all tucked into bed like a fucking child, with the knowledge that my twenty-one-year-old son is the one who put me there.” His head shifts to Jeff. “And that my other son is running my business because I’m too much of a mess to do it myself. But now you’re telling me you’re passing up the chance to play for the goddamn Bruins so you can take care of my sorry ass?”
He’s breathing hard, his hands shaking so wildly the bottle is close to toppling over. He lifts it to his lips and takes a hurried sip before slamming it on the table.
Jeff and I exchange a wary look. Seeing him drink brings identical frowns to our faces, which causes Dad to groan in anguish.
“Goddamn it, don’t look at me like that. I have to fucking drink this, because the last time I tried to quit cold turkey I ended up in the hospital with seizures.”
I suck in a shocked breath.
So does Jeff.
Dad looks from me to my brother, then addresses us in a voice that rings with despair. “I’m going back to rehab.”
The announcement is greeted with silence.
“I’m serious. I spoke to someone at the state facility I went to last time and asked to be put on the waiting list, but they told me a slot opened up five minutes before I called.” He snorts. “If that’s not divine intervention, I don’t know what is.”
My brother and I remain quiet. We’ve heard this speech before. Many times before. And we’ve learned not to get our hopes up anymore.
Sensing our misgivings, Dad sharpens his tone. “It’ll stick this time. I’m going to make sure of it.”
There’s a beat, and then Jeff clears his throat. “How long is the program?”
“Six months.”
My eyebrows fly up. “That long?”
“With my history, they think that would be best.”
“In-patient?” Jeff asks.
“Yeah.” Dad’s features grow pained. “Two weeks for the detox. Christ, I’m not looking forward to that part.” Then he shakes his head, as if snapping himself out of it. “But I’ll do it. I’ll do it, and it’ll stick. You know why? Because I’m your father.”
Shame pours off him in palpable waves. “My kids shouldn’t be taking care of me. I should be taking care you.” He gives me a hard look. “You shouldn’t be giving up your dreams because of me.” He turns to Jeff. “And neither should you.”
“That’s all good and well,” Jeff says, sounding tired. “But what about the garage? Even if the program sticks, you still won’t be able to work because of your legs. You can handle the administrative stuff, sure. But not the labor.”
“I’ll apply for disability.” Dad pauses. “And I’m going to sell the business.”
My brother does not look pleased about that. Me, I’m still reeling from everything else he’s just told us.
“Kylie and I are only traveling for a couple years,” Jeff says unhappily. “I want to work here when we get back.”
“Then we’ll hire someone to run it until you’re ready to come back. But that someone won’t be your brother, Jeffrey. And it won’t be you, if you don’t want it to be.” He slides his chair back and gingerly gets to his feet, then reaches for the cane leaning against the wall. “I know you boys have heard this before. I know it’ll take a lot more than a few promises to prove I’m serious about this.”
He’s right about that.
“The center is picking me up in an hour,” he says brusquely. “I have to go pack.”
Jeff and I stare at each other again.
Son of a bitch. He’s really going to rehab.
“I don’t expect a hug goodbye, but it’d be nice if you boys called me every once in a while, let me know how you’re doing.” He glances at Jeff. “We’ll talk about the shop when I’m done packing. Not sure if we should close up while I’m gone, or if you want to stick around a while longer. If we do close, I’d appreciate it if you could finish up the current work orders for this week.”
Looking slightly dazed, my brother manages a nod.
“And you…” My father’s bloodshot eyes zero in on me. “You better make it to that Providence practice. Jensen said it’s pretty much a tryout, so don’t screw it up.”
I’ve been silent for so long it takes me a moment to find my voice. “I won’t,” I say hoarsely.
“Good. I expect you to tell me about it when I call you in two weeks. You probably won’t hear from me before that. Not during the detox.” His voice is equally hoarse. “Now get outta here, John. Your brother says you’ve got shit to do today. Jeffrey, we’ll talk shortly.”
A moment later, he’s gone, and we hear his labored footsteps in the hallway, heading toward his bedroom. Suddenly I feel as dazed as Jeff looks, and once again, we gape at each other for several long moments.
“You think he’s for real?” Jeff asks.
“Sure seems like it.” Old doubts creep in, bringing a cagey note to my voice. “Think he’ll manage to stay on the wagon this time?”
“Fuck. I hope so.”
Yeah, me too. But I’ve been burned by my father too many times in the past. Fooled by his promises and his supposed resolve. The cynic in me thinks we’ll be having this same conversation in a year or two or five, and maybe we will. Maybe he’ll sober up, come home in six months, and start drinking again. Or maybe not.
Either way, I’m free.
The realization slams into me with the force of a tidal wave, nearly knocking me out of my chair. I won’t have to live here in May. Won’t have to work here. Dad’ll be on disability, the garage will either be sold or managed by someone else until Jeff is ready to take over, and I’ll be free.
I shoot to my feet, startling my brother. “I have to go. My girlfriend’s waiting for me in the car.”
He blinks. “You have a girlfriend?”
“Yup. I’ll introduce you another time. I’ve really gotta go.”
“John.” His voice stops me before I reach the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“You’ll give me a signed jersey when you make the team, right?”
A smile stretches across my entire face. “Damn right I will.”
I leave the kitchen with the sound of my brother’s laughter at my back and sprint out of the house. From the porch, I see Grace in the pickup, her feet raised on the dashboard and her nose buried in her textbook. Her peripheral vision must have caught the front door flying open, because she lifts her head and turns it toward the porch, and I must still be grinning like a fool, because a little smile curves her sexy lips.
I quickly descend the porch steps and make my way to the truck. It’s still gloomy out. The trees are swaying ominously. The clouds are a thick, dark mass undulating overhead. The sky is more black than gray.
And yet my future has never looked brighter.
