Victor

by Brenda Rothert

Our Uber driver is a retired waiter who talks the entire way to my house. When we pull up outside my modest little white house, I’m reminded that Victor and I live in two different worlds. My four-horse carriage is officially turning back into a pumpkin.

  Victor walks me up to the front porch, maintaining a friendly amount of distance between us.

  “So you want to hang out again sometime?” he asks. “Maybe catch a baseball playoff game at a sports bar or something?”

  My pulse instantly goes into overdrive. “Yeah, sure.”

  “You like baseball, right?”

  “I love it.”

  “Okay, cool.” An awkward silence falls between us.

  “So thanks for tonight,” I say, grabbing the screen-door handle. “Last time I’ll say it, I promise.”

  Victor grins. “Yeah, I had fun.”

  “Good luck in Seattle.”

  “Thanks. I’ll text you.”

  He gives me a wave and heads down the stairs, the bottom one creaking loudly as it always does.

  I keep it cool as I walk inside, but once I close the door, I lean my back against it, smiling like a giddy girl into the dark, empty living room. I take out my phone to text Ari, as promised.

  Me: So much fun!

  Ari: Aghhhh I knew it! And it’s 1:30 am!!!! Did you guys do the dirty?

  Me: OMG no. It’s not like that, I told you.

  Ari: Hmm…did he ask you to go out again?

  Me: Not go out, per se, but we are hanging out.

  Ari: SAME THING. And wth is per se?

  Me: I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’m going to bed.

  Ari: I want ALLLLL the details tomorrow.

  Me: You got it.

  I’ll tell her everything about tonight when we have downtime at work tomorrow. For now, I just want to replay every amazing moment in my head.

  Chapter Twelve

  Victor

  * * *

  Luca’s snoring, his head on my shoulder and his mouth wide open. Before he had kids, he never slept during the day. But now he sacks out on every flight. And nothing wakes him up. Kids crying, people arguing, turbulence—he sleeps through it all. A woman went into labor on one of our commercial flights last year and he snored like a chainsaw the entire time.

  I’ve never been able to sleep on planes, though. And the flight to Seattle is one of our longer ones. I’ve got Wi-Fi, so I cruise through every sports site I follow, glad to see I’m no longer making headlines. Some of those sports writers are smug as shit, relishing the opportunity to kick players when they’re down.

  I try listening to an audiobook after checking sports sites, but I can’t get into it. I’m restless.

  Wonder what Lindy’s doing? It’s not the first time I’ve thought about it today. Lately, I’ve been thinking about her every day, actually. She’s warm and funny. It feels good to be around her.

  Not just good, but…effortless. Usually when there’s a woman I want to be around, I have one goal—getting her into bed. Not that I don’t enjoy the chase—I do—but it’s work sometimes. With Lindy, though, I’m just me and she’s just her.

  I think maybe we need to be friends. Good friends, who hang out and do shit for each other, like water your plants when you’re out of town or come bail you out of jail.

  Not that I have plants or have ever been arrested, but still—it’s good to have a friend like that. And while I have my teammates, there’s something different about Lindy. She’s soft and sweet. With her, I don’t think it matters how much money I make or how cut my abs are.

  I’ve never had a female friend. Never even wanted one, until now.

  I shift my shoulder, trying to get Luca to stop snoring six inches from my inner ear canal, and then text Lindy.

  Me: Hey, what are you up to?

  Lindy: Nothing much, just cleaning the kitchen. Is everything okay?

  Me: Yeah, why?

  Lindy: I figured you were texting me for a reason.

  Me: Just wanted to see what’s up with my puck whisperer.

  Lindy: Oh. Well, I wish I had something exciting to report. The sink has been scoured and the floor’s about to get mopped. That’s all I’ve got.

  Me: Hey, nothing wrong with a clean kitchen.

  Lindy: Are you on the way to Seattle?

  Me: I am, we’re in the air now.

  Lindy: Are you supposed to be on your phone??

  Me: Yeah, plane’s got wifi.

  Lindy: Phew. Can you tell I’ve never been on an airplane? LOL

  Me: Never?

  Lindy: No.

  Me: Will you be watching the game tonight?

  Lindy: I wish! I have to work.

  Me: You can come to home games anytime. Just let me know and I’ll set it up.

  Lindy: Really??

  Me: Absolutely. I take care of my friends.

  Lindy: Wow. That’s really nice, thanks.

  Me: So if you were to go somewhere on a plane, where would you want to go?

  Lindy: Oh wow…I’ve never even thought about it. Florida would be nice.

  Me: Florida? Not Paris? Bali? Shanghai?

  Lindy: Me? God no, I only speak English. I’d starve to death in another country.

  Me: Okay, an English-speaking place maybe…

  Lindy: I wouldn’t even know what to do!

  Me: Relax and eat and sightsee…vacation stuff.

  Lindy: I’ve never been on a vacation.

  Me: Really?

  Lindy: Really.

  Another text hits my phone then.

  Mom: Hi Vic, how are you? You’ve been playing so great lately, I’m such a proud mom!

  I cringe, getting a sour taste in my mouth. My light mood vanishes. My mom’s always been able to accomplish that. I text Lindy back first because I want to end our conversation on a good note.

  Me: Gotta go. Text me later if you want.

  Lindy: Okay, bye.

  I lean back against my seat, exhaling hard. I’d like to ignore my mom, but she won’t go away. I’ve been dealing with her shit since the moment the salary from my first NHL contract went public.

  Me: Hi mom, how much do you want?

  Mom: Are you trying to say I only talk to you when I need money?

  She literally only contacts me when she wants money. I’m not pretending otherwise.

  Me: You don’t want money, then?

  Mom: The roof on the house I’m renting is leaking and the landlord won’t fix it. I need to get into a new place. I’ll pay you back.

  She never pays me back. Not that it matters. I’ve got more than enough money to cover the small amounts she hits me up for. But it would be really fucking nice to have a parent—just one—who actually cared about me.

  Me: How much?

  Mom: $2500 would cover it.

  Me: I’ll have my accountant call and set it up.

  Mom: Great!

  That’s the end of our conversation. This is nothing new, but at least she can’t disappoint me anymore. My dad took off before I was born, and my mom raised me on her own, if you can even call it that. She was gone a lot, and when she was home, she was usually partying. There was a constant stream of men in and out of our apartment.

  My own mother once wondered out loud why she had me, since she usually just got abortions when she was pregnant. I couldn’t wait to grow up and get the hell out of there. Playing hockey was the only time I felt like a normal kid.

  But no matter how far I am from my mother, both physically and emotionally, there’s still a little boy inside me who wants his mom to love him. To be interested in him. Staring out the window of the plane, I let the melancholy set in. It still hurts when my mom contacts me to just ask for money, even though it happens every few months.

  Tonight, though, I’ll need a clear head. I have to keep proving my worth as a first linesman. Hell, I’ve been trying to prove my worth to someone or another for my entire life. And I’m always either completely failing or just hanging on by a thread.

  Seattle’s arena is
gorgeous—it’s one of my favorites to play in. Our pregame skate clears my head and I hang out with Anton and Luca while we eat lunch.

  Right before game time, I settle into a quiet corner of the locker room and listen to my pregame playlist. I’ve got my eyes closed and my headphones on so I can focus on finding the headspace I need to be in tonight. Someone shakes my shoulder gently and I look up.

  It’s Anton. His expression is sober. I pull my headphones out as he crouches down to look me in the eye.

  “Hey.” His voice is almost a whisper. “Jonah just got terrible news. Lily collapsed at her parents’ house this morning. They aren’t sure what happened yet, but…she’s gone.”

  “She died?” My blood runs cold. “Holy shit.”

  Anton nods. “It’s a bad fuckin’ deal. Jonah’s in the training room right now talking to Lily’s mom on the phone.”

  I scrub my hands up and down my face. “Fuck. I’m just…we just saw her the other night. She was fine.”

  “Yeah. Mia’s gonna be devastated.”

  I sit back against the wall, feeling like someone just punched me in the gut. “I better tell Lindy before it hits the news.”

  “Yeah, you should. Jonah’s out for a while, obviously. So we’re gonna have to help Baxter out by being extra sharp on offense.”

  I think I agree, but I’m not really paying attention. I can’t think about hockey now. My teammates are like brothers to me—they’re the only ones who’ve ever given a fuck about me. And Jonah’s so in love with Lily.

  I stand up, my eyes welling as I get my phone out. I exhale hard, steadying myself. Walking into the bathroom for privacy, I dial Lindy.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey.”

  “Victor. Hi.”

  I take a deep breath. “Hey, I don’t have very long, but I wanted to let you know…Lily West passed away this afternoon.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, everyone here’s in shock.”

  “Oh my God.” Lindy’s voice breaks with emotion. “What happened?”

  “We don’t know yet. She collapsed at her parents’ place this morning; that’s all I know.”

  “Oh, Jonah,” she says softly.

  “Yeah.” There’s a commotion out in the locker room and I look around the corner to see Jonah crying in Anton’s arms, the rest of the team silent.

  “Hey,” I whisper into the phone, “I have to go. Keep this to yourself, okay?”

  “Yes…I mean, of course.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay.”

  She’s crying. I hate that I had to give her bad news over the phone, and that I can’t offer any sort of comfort. But right now, I have to go see to Jonah.

  When I get out into the locker room, Easy’s hugging him. There’s not a dry eye in the house. We all loved Lily.

  Jonah pulls away from Easy and looks over at me, his expression tortured. I’ve never seen such devastation in a person’s eyes.

  I walk towards him and embrace him. He cries even harder, his whole body shaking with grief.

  “I wasn’t there.” His tone is anguished. “She’s gone and I wasn’t even there.”

  “She felt you, Jonah. You were always with her.”

  One of our assistant coaches approaches us.

  “Jonah, we’ve got a flight home set up for you. Someone from Seattle’s front office is ready to drive you to the airport.”

  Jonah stands up straight, squaring his shoulders and wiping his eyes. It’s not the right time to tell him we’ve got him covered—no matter what he needs—but we’ll always have his back.

  A numb silence still hangs over the locker room when Jonah departs. We have to find a way to focus on hockey tonight, and win this game without our starting goalie.

  It won’t be easy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lindy

  * * *

  “You want one?” Jerry offers the three men on our couch a bottled beer from his cooler.

  “Are you shittin’ me?” Don asks, sounding genuinely offended.

  “Uh…” Jerry looks down at the cooler, then back up. “No?”

  Chuck just laughs; he’s the most easygoing of Dad’s friends. But my dad shakes his head, looking as disgusted as Don does.

  “Goose Island? What the fuck kind of name is that for a beer?”

  Don chimes in. “Goose? Sounds like the kind of shit guys who like to stick their fingers up other guys asses drink.”

  “If I wanted to drink piss, I’d turn my dick in the other direction at the urinal and drink it for free,” my dad says.

  Chuck cracks open a cold can of Old Style, just enjoying the back and forth.

  “Goose Island,” Don mutters. “You’re in the South Side, kid. Ain’t no yuppie pussies drinking that shit in this neighborhood.”

  “I drink it because my grandpa liked it,” Jerry says, shrugging as he twists the cap off his beer. “And since he died saving orphans from a burning building, it’s a way for me to remember him.”

  “Aw, shit.” My dad’s scowl drops away. “Really?”

  “No.” Jerry takes his first sip. “I just wanted to make you assholes feel bad.”

  The guys erupt in laughter, Chuck getting up from the couch to offer Jerry a fist bump. I’d be laughing, too, if I wasn’t so upset about Lily.

  I can’t stop thinking about her. She was so nice to me when she didn’t even need to be. In fact, she was nice to everyone we saw that night at the game. I admired the way she always seemed to know exactly what to say. Rich, poor, young, old—Lily was at ease talking to anyone. She was one of those people who left you feeling good about yourself.

  “Here we go,” Don says, quiet settling over the living room as the puck drops for the game on our TV.

  “Rhett Baxter is goaltending for the Blaze tonight after the unexpected death of Jonah West’s wife earlier today,” an announcer says in a sober tone. “Our condolences go out to Jonah and his family.”

  “Jesus,” Don rubs his temple. “How long’s he gonna be out?”

  “Probably a while,” my dad says, switching his empty beer can from his koozie and replacing it with a fresh one.

  I look over at my dad and he meets my gaze, holding it for a couple seconds. I know from his expression that he’s thinking of her right now—my mother.

  She died of a brain aneurysm when I was four. It was sudden, and the doctors told my dad she didn’t suffer.

  We did, though. I’ll never forget the nights my dad sat next to me in my bed as I cried for her. Inevitably, he cried, too. We held on tightly to each other as we grieved. My dad had been so in love with her, and he was completely lost when she died.

  He rose to the occasion, though, figuring out how to cook simple dinners for us, braid my hair and help me learn to read. Before, my mom had been a stay-at-home mom who took care of raising me and keeping our house in order.

  My dad became a hero to me, and I think he always will be. He’s dated on and off over the years, but never found anyone who could compare to my mom.

  And now I hurt for Jonah, knowing what he’s going through. You could just see the love between him and Lily when you looked at them.

  There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to watch this game. It doesn’t seem right that Lily’s now gone from this world, yet it keeps turning.

  The team still has a game to play, but I’m only watching to see Victor. Otherwise, I’d be curled up in bed right now, wallowing in my sadness.

  The whole team looks sluggish. Rhett Baxter gets in some good blocks, but three goals get past him. The only goal scored by the Blaze is a wrist shot from Luca, and even he looks surprised when it goes in.

  The Blaze players quietly leave the ice, most of their heads down.

  “Lindy, you okay?” Dad asks me as the guys are packing up to go.

  “Yeah.”

  I didn’t eat any pizza and I haven’t moved from my recliner once during the game. I’m covered by an afghan
my mom made before I was born, my go-to comfort blanket.

  After he closes the door behind the guys, Dad crosses his arms and looks at me.

  “What’s going on? You sad they lost or somethin’?”

  I can’t help a small smile. My dad tries so hard, in his own way, to be there for me when I need him. I love that about him.

  “I knew Lily West.” I sit up, keeping the big blanket wrapped around my shoulders. “She was so nice.”

  Dad nods and sits down on the coffee table so he’s facing me. It creaks beneath his weight.

  “Jonah West’s wife?”

  “Yeah. I met both of them recently when I went to a game.”

  “A game?” Dad lifts his brows in surprise.

  “I met Victor Lane at the arena one night and he invited me to come to a game.”

  Dad smiles knowingly. “So that’s why you changed your hair.”

  I shake my head to deny it, but the blush warming my face is a giveaway.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about all this?”

  I shrug. “We’re only friends.”

  “Only?” Dad grins. “There ain’t much better in this world than a true friend.”

  “Did you see him holding his shoulder after he got run into the boards? Do you think he’s okay?”

  “Hockey players are tough as nails. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  I nod, my fingers toying with a fringed corner of the afghan. “He’s really nice, too. They all are.”

  “You met the whole team?”

  “Most of them. We went out for dinner and drinks after the game.”

  Dad grins. “My little girl’s hanging out with the Chicago Blaze.”

  “Only once.”

  “Bah. Now that they met you, your phone’s gonna be ringing nonstop. Good for you, Lindy.”

  I roll my eyes. Dad’s expression turns from gleeful to serious. He says, “You know I’m good, right?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, furrowing my brow.

  “I mean…” He looks away, searching for the right words. “I know it’s been only you and me for a long time now. And I love having you here, don’t get me wrong. But if you meet someone, and—”

  “Dad, it’s not like that. Victor and I are just friends.”