by Gina Azzi
When I drag my suitcase down the steps, Easton strides forward to help me. I hold up a hand, stopping him. “You’ve done enough for me, thanks.”
His expression hardens except for his eyes, which bleed with emotion. But I block them out. He can’t have it both ways. Either he wants me or he doesn’t. But he doesn’t get to cast me aside and then make me feel guilty about it.
“Thanks for letting me crash here,” I say breezily, pulling my coat from the closet.
“Claire,” he sighs. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“How are you getting there?” Easton stalls, shifting from one foot to the next.
“My ride is out front.”
He frowns. “What ride? Who did you call?”
“My brother,” I murmur, pulling open the front door. I glance outside and meet Austin’s concerned expression at the bottom of the steps.
Austin looks past me and glares. I don’t bother turning around to see Easton’s face. Mainly because I know it’ll hurt and I’m already drowning in pain.
“See ya around, Easton,” I say over my shoulder and pull the door closed behind me.
25
Easton
The knock on the door has me bolting upright.
It’s been four hours since Claire left. Is she back? Part of me hopes yes while the other part prays no.
“I’m really okay. Thanks for hearing me out.” I cradle my phone between my shoulder and ear as I stride toward the front door.
“You’ll call if you need anything?” my sponsor, Rick, asks.
“Yeah, man. I swear it. I’m straight.”
“Okay. Keep your head up, East.” He hesitates and I wait for him to continue. “You know, this is why they say not to get romantically involved for at least a year.”
“I know,” I agree. But Claire is different, isn’t she?
As soon as I end the call, I pull the door wide open. Noah and Austin stare at me, grim expressions on both of their faces.
“What are you doing here?” I scowl.
My brother gives me a look and pushes past me into the foyer. Austin glares at me for a long moment.
“How is she?” I ask.
He swears and steps inside. I close the door and trail them into the kitchen. Noah fills some glasses of water and reaches into the snack cabinet. He pulls out bags of pretzels and chips.
I lift my eyebrows. “Are we binging tonight?”
“Better than drinking,” Austin retorts, his tone sharp.
Noah sighs and points at the barstools. “Both of you, sit. We need to figure this shit out. It’s affecting the team, it’s affecting your recovery”—he points at me before swinging his gaze to Austin—“and it’s affecting your sister.”
I wince at the mention of Claire and kind of hate that Noah directed his observation toward Austin and not me. It’s not like I don’t care about Claire. It’s not like I’m not sitting here fucking burning for her.
But how can we move forward if she’s not being honest with me? Besides, she deserves more than I can offer, right? The job, the stability, the social life? Did I push her into doing the band stuff? Did my encouragement drive a larger wedge between her and her parents?
A startling thought causes me to freeze. Do Mary and Joe resent me too?
“How is she?” I ask again, desperate for information.
“She’s hurt,” Austin says carefully. He glares at me. “What the hell happened, man?”
I bite into a chip, relishing the loud crunching sound. We’re definitely binging. “She didn’t tell me about the job offer in New Jersey. And we got into it.”
Austin’s eyes narrow. “What job?”
Noah swears. “You didn’t know either? What, did she only tell Indy?”
“And probably Savannah and Rielle,” Austin admits. He turns his attention to me. “You asked her to stay?”
I rear back. “Of course not. That’s why we got into it.”
“She wants to turn down the offer.” Austin puts two and two together.
“She can’t pass up on opportunities because of me,” I declare.
“Finally, something we agree on,” Austin mutters. I hear the edge of begrudging respect in his tone and I hold on to it.
“Look, Aus, I love your sister.”
Austin startles, as if my declaration is the shock of the century. I roll my lips together and consider his expression. Maybe it is. I’ve never been so adamant about my feelings before, for anyone, never mind a woman. But Claire isn’t just some woman; she’s mine. Even if she’s not with me, I won’t ever stop putting her interests ahead of everything else. Ahead of my own wants.
“I want what’s best for her,” I continue. “And right now, that’s not me. Or this.” I throw my arms out to encompass the living space Claire and I shared for the past few months. “She should be focused on her career, her life, her friends.” I drag my hand through my hair. “Fuck, last week, I took off on her, trying to clear my head. I’m not trying to jerk her around, man.” I look at Austin again. “But if I’m being honest, I’m all over the place. I’m not good for her. Not like this.”
Austin regards me carefully. Across the island, Noah shifts his weight, crossing and recrossing his arms.
“How are you handling everything?” my brother asks.
“I’m okay. Just hung up with my sponsor when you guys knocked. Honestly, my worst night was last weekend. I came home and there was a bottle of vodka on the counter—”
“What? How?” Noah cuts me off.
I wave a hand, not wanting them to blame Claire but not wanting to lie either. “Claire and Rielle forgot it—”
“Jesus,” Austin whispers.
I shake my head. “It’s not on her. It’s on me. I was crashing at Panda’s place anyway. The point is, I’m still battling this. I will for the rest of my life; I know that. But I’m not yet distanced enough from it all to have coping mechanisms. That night, I needed Claire the way I used to need vodka. You think it’s fair to place that type of pressure on someone?” I look between Noah and Austin. “Don’t get it twisted; I want to be with Claire.”
Austin stiffens beside me.
“But not if she feels like she can’t be honest with me. Not at the expense of her happiness. And not at the expense of making her resent me,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“That’s the most grown-up thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Noah comments.
Even Austin nods. “I didn’t know it was really like that on your end,” he adds after a moment. “My sister, well, apparently she’s been twisted up over you for years. I thought you were just…messing around with her.”
The fact that he would think that of me, that I’d be careless with his sister, hurts. “I’d never try just casual with Claire. I wouldn’t do that to her. Or you or your parents.”
“I know that now,” he says.
“I’ve been hung up on Claire for a lot longer than anyone realized.” I offer him a smirk. “I’m just better at hiding things.”
Austin snorts, shaking his head. “Now what?”
“Now, I focus on hockey. I keep going with my recovery. I learn to move forward. And I give Claire the space she needs to pursue the future she wants.”
“That easy, huh?” Noah asks, skeptical.
I shake my head. “It’s not easy at all. Letting her go is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I’ve been saying it all along; I want what’s best for her.”
“Me too,” Austin agrees.
“Okay.” Noah raps his knuckles against the countertop. “So you guys are good?”
I glance at Austin and nod, sticking out my hand.
He slaps it away and throws an arm around my neck, squeezing a little tighter than necessary. “We’re good.”
“Good,” Noah breathes out a sigh.
Austin drops his hold and glances at me and Noah. “Now, let’s talk hockey.”
I throw myself into my game.
With t
he exception of my AA meetings and therapy sessions, I live, breathe, even sleep hockey. In many ways, I feel like a little kid again and it’s rejuvenating.
I keep my schedule packed but simple. My routine is intense but welcomed. I focus on repairing my relationships with the guys on the team, especially Austin and Torsten. I pour my all into recovery, attending extra therapy sessions to work through the dark thoughts that still circle in my mind late at night.
It’s at one of these sessions that my therapist looks at me thoughtfully and asks, “How often do you still speak with your father?”
I’m quiet as I think about the last year. “When not in rehab,” I joke and he cracks a smile, “a few times a month.”
“He always calls you?”
I nod. “When he’s drunk.”
“Why do you answer?”
“Because he’s my dad,” I respond automatically before leaning back in my chair and letting my answer sink in. “Because I’ve never not answered.”
My therapist nods. “What do you think would happen if you didn’t answer?”
Anxiety crawls into my throat the way it always does at the mention of Dad. “I don’t know. Maybe he’d call back. Maybe he wouldn’t.”
“And your brother? What’s his relationship with your parents?”
“He stopped interacting with them a long time ago. He sends a check and that’s it.”
“Do they call him?”
I shake my head. “Not that I know of.”
“Do you think a similar arrangement could work for you?” he poses the question gently.
I fidget in my seat, imagining a time when I didn’t feel like I was at Dad’s beck and call. All those cold nights from my childhood come rushing back. Then, the games he would come watch, banging his fist against the glass to get my attention and hurl out an insult. Followed by the phone calls I’ve been fielding for the past few years. Every time we hang up, I feel it. The clawing need to drink, the desperation to erase my memories, the desire to be numb. “Maybe,” I finally agree.
“Or do you think a possible solution could be to sever the connection on your terms?”
I glance up, narrowing my eyes. “What do you mean?”
My therapist regards me calmly. He’s methodical and thorough. Under his scrutiny, I feel like a small child, unable to contain the energy that’s buzzing through my veins. Could I do that? Just cut off ties the way Noah did? Why didn’t it seem like a possibility before?
My blood is pumping through your veins.
Because I fear that I’m like him. That I am him.
“What do you think I mean?” he asks.
I snort. “That I should call up my dad, lay down some boundaries, stick to them, and move forward. Just like Noah did,” I blurt out the answer that’s been staring me in the face all this time.
“That could be a solution,” my therapist agrees without giving anything away.
I roll my eyes and heave out a sigh. “And if he calls again?”
“Do you think he will keep calling after the first few months that you don’t answer?”
I shake my head, knowing he wouldn’t. Persistence was never his strong suit.
“So?” he prompts.
“So, I could move forward,” I realize, running my hand over my jaw.
“It would be a step in that direction.”
I mull it over, finally nodding. “It’s worth a try.”
Dr. Le smiles. “I think so too. Our time for today is up but I’ll see you—”
“Friday.”
“Friday,” he agrees, standing.
I leave Dr. Le’s office and consider our conversation all the way to my car. Suddenly, the answer seems so obvious, so easy. I flip on my car and connect the Bluetooth. Then, for the first time in three years, I dial my dad instead of waiting for his dreadful call.
“Yeah,” he answers, his voice gruff.
“Dad, it’s me.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to tell you that I’m done.”
He snorts. “What’s that supposed to mean, East?”
“I’m done with you,” I clarify, my voice steady.
“Now hang on just one minute. Your mother and I can’t—”
“You will receive a money transfer the first day of each month. I won’t cut Mom off and that means, I’m stuck supporting you too. But that’s it. I will no longer pick up your phone calls, whether you’re sober or blitzed out of your mind. I will no longer entertain your sob stories or listen to your bullshit and insults. I’m done with you.”
He’s quiet for a minute and the lack of a response unnerves me.
Then, “Finally wising up, huh?”
“Finally. And I have Noah to thank for it,” I say, wanting him to know that I know just how much I owe my brother.
“You have Noah to thank for everything,” he barks out.
“Yes,” I agree. “And no thanks to you. Take care of yourself, Dad.” I hang up.
My hands wrap around the steering wheel and clench tightly. My body feels jittery, with nerves zinging up and down my limbs. I stare out the windshield at the world.
People sipping coffee on street corners waiting for the light to change. Moms hurrying toddlers in snowsuits home from daycare. Cars whizzing by.
I laugh. Oh God, do I laugh. Hysterically, until I’m bent forward, clutching my stomach. It’s a huge release, one that lasts for several minutes and leaves me breathless and lightheaded.
My entire perspective shifts in the ten minutes I spend sitting in my car. For the first time, I realize I’ll be okay. I won’t fall off the wagon again. I have the skills, the will, the purpose to keep moving forward. Just one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. This time, I won’t fail.
I drive home, race up to my room, pack my bag, and head to the airport.
I have a hockey game to win, playoffs to look forward to, and a life to start living.
26
Claire
“Cheers to ClaireBear Designs.” Rielle lifts her wine in the air, her eyes glittering.
Indy smiles, clinking her sparkling water with lime against our wine glasses. “Yay!”
I roll my eyes but can’t stop the grin that splits my face. “Thank you, girls. I can’t believe I’m really doing this.”
Rielle waves a hand. “Honestly, it’s about time.”
Indy nods. “And your parents don’t seem too opposed now that you showed them your business and marketing plans.”
I wrinkle my nose. “True. But you didn’t see Dad’s face when I told him I turned down the job offer in New Jersey.”
“He sure came around quickly in only three weeks,” Indy comments.
“Mom helped,” I tell her. When I first told my parents about the job offer in New Jersey, after Austin brought it to their attention, they were elated. I mean, Mom assured me she would miss me if I moved, but they were so proud I landed their dream job for me.
The only problem? It wasn’t my dream job. I fully came to terms with that when I physically couldn’t accept the offer. That, and Big Roxi asked me to design a cover for his next single and some merch mock-ups. He said we’re testing the waters and if he likes my product, we can talk about a full album cover. He also signed a letter of engagement with Aiden’s firm.
After I turned down New Jersey, I bolted to Rielle’s apartment. With her marketing expertise and Indy’s flare for research, we drafted a business and marketing plan that had Dad’s eyes widening in surprise, Mom’s smile stretching across her face, and even Austin’s respect.
Within a week, I set up a website, registered an LLC, and began a newsletter. I’m a business owner. Of a small, fledgling, uncertain business but ClaireBear Designs is all mine.
I take a deep sip of my wine, relishing the taste.
“How else are you holding up?” Indy asks me.
I shrug. “I’m okay.”
Rielle lifts an eyebrow.
I amend, “I am trying to be okay.
I’m hurt. I miss Easton. A lot. But in some ways, I think you guys and even East were right. We jumped into things quickly. It was a lot in a short amount of time and…” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “Maybe I needed this time to sort things out for myself. I feel better now that I have a direction for my life. I love having an outlet for my creativity. If I didn’t have ClaireBear Designs, I’d for sure be moping around. I guess I’m just as okay as I can be right now.”
“But do you still wish you and Easton were together?” Rielle asks.
I nod. Then sigh. “I don’t want to compromise his recovery but when we were together…it was everything at once. You know those love stories you see in movies? When it’s all-encompassing and passionate? Everything with East was like that. There was this intensity, this understanding between us. It was just deeper, more real, than anything I’ve ever experienced.” I offer my cousin and friend a sad smile. “I worry that he’s it for me. That I’ll never find that with another man again.”
I expect them to laugh or brush off my worry. Instead, they both stare at me with concern etched in their expressions. And not the pitying kind of concern but the empathetic kind.
Indy reaches over and takes my fingers in her hand. “It could still happen.”
I shrug. “Maybe. How is he?”
Indy heaves out a sigh and Rielle leans forward. Indy glances at us. “You know Noah and I swore we wouldn’t get involved in whatever is going on with y’all.”
Rielle laughs.
“But, you’re my blood, so, he’s doing as okay as he can,” Indy says.
I frown. “What’s that mean?”
“It means he’s being like you. He’s keeping himself insanely busy. AA meetings, practices, workouts, therapy. He’s throwing himself into it with everything he has. But he’s also healing, figuring things out, and managing.”
“Good.” I smile. I mean it too. More than anything, I want Easton to be happy. Even though it hurts that we’re not together. Even though he hurt me when we broke up. Even though a lot of things, at the end of the day, I want the best for him the same way he wants the best for me.
