There’s nothing I can do.
When a doctor comes into talk to us about Dix’s condition, the news is devastating. He’s unlikely to make a recovery this time. The young male doctor describing the test results and statistical averages is addressing Martin and Laura only.
“I don’t know that therapy will even be an option for him this time,” he says soberly.
My grief breaks out unexpectedly in a verbal outburst.
“He’s right here,” I say from his bedside, my voice breaking. “Stop talking about him like he’s not here. You don’t know that he can’t understand you, even if he can’t respond. He’d want you to tell him what’s going on.”
The doctor’s expression of surprise quickly turns into contrition.
“You’re right. I apologize.”
Anton approaches behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I hold Dix’s hand as the doctor explains his condition. I want to sob, but I manage to cry silent tears instead.
Dix’s condition worsens over the next couple of days. The doctors tell us he’s not stable enough to be transported to a nursing home, which is actually a blessing.
Dix doesn’t want to go to a nursing home. He’s told me several times, in colorful terms, that he’d rather be dead than live at one.
Alexei, Martin, and Lindsey spend their nights at Anton’s apartment. I can’t leave Dix, though, and neither can his sister. Laura and I get to know each other as we keep vigil at Dix’s bedside. I think Anton would love a decent night of sleep and a shower, but he stays at the hospital to be there for me. He doesn’t have to say it; I know that’s why he won’t leave.
It’s just me, Dix, Anton and Laura in the room one evening when I refresh my email for what feels like the thousandth time since we got here. My heart pounds with happiness and disbelief when I see that the message I’ve been hoping to get is in my inbox.
Dix is starting to drift off for the night. The rest of us are watching the news. I jump out of my chair and turn on the lights.
“Dix,” I say, trembling with excitement. “She wrote back. Eileen wrote you back.”
“Eileen?” Laura says, disbelief etched on her face.
Dix’s eyes are open. Whether he can hear me or understand me, I’m not sure. I just have to pray he can.
“I found her through her granddaughter on Facebook,” I tell Laura. “Dix had me write her an email a couple of weeks ago.”
Anton comes to my side, putting his palm on my back as I look into Dix’s eyes.
“Just listen, okay? Eileen wrote you a message, and it doesn’t say, ‘fuck off, asshole,’ like you thought it would.”
I take a deep breath and read it.
“Dear Jerry,
I can’t tell you how happy I was to hear from you. Even after all of these years, I think of you. I’m sorry it took me so long to respond. I was traveling in Europe with my daughter and two of my granddaughters. We went to Iceland two years ago and I thought of you so much since we dreamed of going there for our belated honeymoon.
I have nine grandchildren now; can you believe that? Even as they reach adulthood, they are the light of my life. My husband passed on four years ago, and the grandkids soothed my sadness like nothing else could have.
Your apology was not needed but was appreciated. I know more now than I did then, and there’s nothing to forgive. You are one of many men who came back from war deeply affected. Even when our marriage was crumbling, I never doubted that you loved me. And I loved you, Jerry. In some ways I still think of you as the love of my life.
I’m thrilled to hear you’re living in Chicago with your nephew. One of my granddaughters lives in Naperville. I live with my son in Boston now, but I’m overdue for a visit to see Vanessa and her family in Naperville. When I come, can we meet up for lunch? I’d love to catch up with you more.
With love,
Eileen”
I can’t help it—I’m weeping by the end. And from the way Anton’s clearing his throat, I think the letter got to him, too.
I lean over Dix and cover his hand with mine.
“Did you hear that?” I ask, looking into his eyes. “She wants to see you.”
He’d never want Eileen to see him this way; I know that. Catching up over lunch will never happen. But still, I know how much this message means to him. He asked me every day for the first week if I’d gotten a response, and then he gave up, assuming she’d gotten the message and didn’t want to write back.
I wipe my hand over my cheek and take a tissue from Anton to blow my nose. Laura is standing on the other side of Dix’s bed now, and she whispers, “Mia, look.”
I focus on Dix’s face and see that tears have fallen from his eyes, leaving trails of wetness. I well up all over again.
He heard me. He knows Eileen doesn’t hate him, and that he’s the love of her life.
I think this is as close as he’ll get to a happy ending.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Anton
* * *
Dix’s funeral service is a small, somber gathering at a local church. It’s mostly friends of the family and Anton’s teammates in attendance. I wasn’t sure about standing next to him in the receiving line at the visitation. It seemed like such an intimate, formal acknowledgement of our relationship.
I’m crazy about Anton and I love that he’s proud of our relationship. But I was already an emotional mess over Dix being inside a casket just a few feet away; I didn’t know if I could also face the stares and whispers we’d inevitably get from the other Blaze players.
Lily West, the wife of defenseman Jonah West, doesn’t even whisper. She hugs Anton, then me, and then holds both of my hands in hers.
“Mia, Jonah and I are so happy for you and Anton,” she says warmly. “I hope you’ll come sit with me at games when the season opens.”
I’m stunned—unable to speak past the lump in my throat for a few seconds. Lily was always nice to me when I was with Adam. She’s kind of the queen of the Blaze wives and girlfriends. Her acceptance of me means a lot.
“Thanks,” I say, squeezing her hands back. “I’d really like that.”
I hear another female voice in the line. “I’d really like if she stayed the fuck away from my husband. He’s not gonna be third in line.”
Lily’s nostrils flare with aggravation. Clearly she heard the comment, too.
Anton fills the awkward silence, saying, “Thanks, Lily” and patting her on the shoulder. Jonah hugs him and extends his condolences then, and the line moves on.
As I greet the other wives and girlfriends who come through the line with the players, I wonder which one—or ones—are giving me fake smiles. One of them made that shitty comment. The Southside scrapper in me wants to put whoever it was in her place.
I can’t, though. I hold in the resentment and think about Dix instead. Today is about him.
He slipped away quietly, which felt very un-Dix to me. If he’d had his way, he would’ve exited this world with some colorful words followed by something he chose. I can picture him saying, ‘fuck you motherfuckers!’ and then extending both middle fingers as he jumped from a cliff.
Dix would’ve wanted a memorable death. Something that made the world say, ‘that was one badass old man’. Instead, his body wasted away over hours and days, his flesh sagging and his strength failing. Watching him struggle for breath at the end was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I wanted to breathe for him, console him, tell him it was okay to let go. Anything but just look on helplessly as my dear friend slowly left me.
I cried buckets when Anton and I had to return to his apartment without his uncle. His wheelchair sat empty in a corner and his favorite afghan was still draped across the back of his recliner, just waiting for him.
Dix would’ve told me not to give a second thought to what the other girlfriends and wives think. And he would’ve been right. I often repeat his advice to me about Anton: he’s the lucky one.
I know in my head tha
t I have a lot to offer Anton. But the bruises Adam put on my heart with words like whore and worthless are still there.
Finally, the line of visitors reaches its end. A funeral home employee leads us to a private back room for some quiet time before the funeral starts. Martin, Laura and Lindsey sit together on a couch and Alexei goes outside to make a phone call.
Anton and I are alone in a corner of the spacious room. He takes off his black suit coat and lays it over the back of a chair, then sighs heavily and reaches for me, holding me close.
The faint woodsy smell of his cologne has become familiar to me. I close my eyes and breathe it in, pressing my cheek to his broad, solid chest. Comfort envelopes me.
“Thanks for standing with me,” he says in my ear, his tone low.
“I’m glad you wanted me there.”
He pulls back a little and looks down at me, one hand low on my waist and the other cupping my cheek. “You belong there.”
His eyes are warm and his tone earnest as he says it, his gaze not wavering from mine. I nod, and his brow furrows with concern.
“Don’t you believe that, Mia? Are you not sure if you want to be beside me? I can tell something’s going on with you.”
I lay a palm on his chest. “I do want to be there. I just hate the stares and the judgment.”
“Fuck ‘em. All that matters is you and me.”
I exhale softly and look down. “I want to be with you, Anton. Very much. But I need to take care of myself financially. That’s important to me.”
Understanding dawns on his face. “You’re worried about money now that Uncle Dix is gone.”
“I’m not worried…yet. I’m still in shock that he’s gone. But the time will come when I have to get another bartending job.”
“We’re together, though. That should mean I can take care of you. I have more than enough, Mia.”
“I know you do. But I’ve been down a road like this before. I got swept off my feet by an NHL player who said he wanted to take care of me forever, so I quit school. That was a big mistake.”
Anton keeps his tone low since our conversation is private, but there’s aggravation in his voice now.
“You haven’t been down a road like this before. Don’t fucking compare me and Adam. I’m nothing like him.”
“I know that. But I never want to be completely dependent on a man again. Any man.”
“So you want to keep me at arm’s length because Adam was a sonofabitch?”
“No,” I say firmly. “I want to finish school and support myself financially. I didn’t feel like I was taking a handout from you when I was taking care of Dix, it was a job.”
“And now you’re off my payroll?” he says with a note of bitterness.
“So to speak.” I shrug. “I’ll never be any man’s little woman, okay? I want to do things by myself, for myself, that I’m proud of. Just like you do with hockey.”
“What if we get married and have kids?”
My heart fills with lead. I have to tell him I can’t have children, but not here and now.
“For now, I want to finish school. It’s important to me. And I want to do it on my own. Can you support me on that, emotionally?”
“Sounds like it’s the only way you’ll let me support you,” he says gruffly.
“Look, Anton. I love you. I want to be with you. But I’m never having my hopes and dreams steamrolled again.”
His expression softens and he leans his forehead down against mine. “Did you just say you love me?”
“I guess…I did, yeah.”
“Was it an accident?”
I laugh softly. “No.”
“Say it again.”
I whisper it against his lips. “I love you, Anton Petrov.”
He brushes a kiss across my lips, then plans soft ones on each of my cheeks, my nose and my forehead.
“I love you, too, Mia. So much. You’re my world. And as long as we’re together, I’ll support you in everything that matters to you. I want us to be partners, in every sense of the word.”
“I want that, too.” I close my eyes and wrap my arms around his waist.
“So I’ll make a deal with you,” he says softly. “You keep your financial independence for now. If you need anything from me, ever, it’s yours. But I won’t give you anything you don’t ask for.”
“Deal,” I say.
He hums softly. “I wasn’t done.”
“Oh.”
He continues. “And when we get married, which is happening at some point, we pool everything. I don’t want any separation at all between us then.”
Married? I’m not sure he’ll still want that once he knows I’m infertile, but for now, I go along.
“Okay.”
He kisses me tenderly, then says in a teasing tone, “See how much easier it is when you just let me make the decisions?”
“Uh huh.”
“Repeat after me: yes, Anton.”
I whisper, “Eat shit, Anton,” and he cracks a huge smile.
His expression turns serious then and he says, “I like your fire, Mia. Don’t ever be afraid to tell me what you need from me. Even if you need me to back off.”
“Thank you.”
Alexei comes back in the room and walks over to us.
“Hey, did you ever hear back from Eileen?” he asks me. “Is she coming?”
“Shit,” Anton mutters. “I meant to send a car to the airport for her, I completely forgot.”
“She’s not coming,” I tell them. “She emailed me this morning and said she was at the airport yesterday afternoon to board her flight and she just couldn’t. She said she’s too heartbroken.”
“Damn,” Anton says. “I guess I get that. She just heard from him after all these years, and now he’s gone before they even got to see each other.”
“I never even knew Uncle Dix was married,” Alexei says, shaking his head. “Did you?”
“He mentioned her to me once,” Anton says. “But he didn’t say much. He told Mia more about her than anyone in the family knew.”
Alexi nods at me, impressed. “You must be some kind of dickhead uncle whisperer.”
“Don’t talk shit about the man at his funeral.” Anton lowers his brows in judgment.
“Eh, he wouldn’t give a shit,” Alexei says, shrugging.
“Well, it’s my call, because I was his favorite.”
Alexei’s eyes widen. “Bullshit. Uncle Dix loved me.”
“Yeah, but I was his favorite. He told me.”
“You are so full of shit,” Alexi mutters. He turns to me then. “You heard Kingston’s ugly ass girlfriend make that comment about you, I saw your face. I’m gonna lay him on his ass for it next time we play the Flamers.”
Anton’s eyes narrow and his jaw tightens, but I don’t know if it’s over what Alexei said about Kingston’s girlfriend or his nickname for the Blaze.
“What did she say?” Anton asks me.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Anton answers instead. “That Kingston’s not gonna be Mia’s third.”
“Really?” Anton turns to me, obviously pissed off.
“Don’t worry about it, she’s just a bitch,” I say.
“No, I’m not having that. I’ll take care of it.”
The sense of shame I felt over the comment earlier fades away. Anton means too much for me to let stupid stuff like that affect my mood. He knows who I truly am. Any of the wives and girlfriends can assume I cheated on Adam and that he’s the victim. I don’t fucking care. If Anton’s willing to face the judgment, so am I. He’s well worth it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mia
* * *
“You’re back ‘cuz you missed me, ain’t ya, dollface?” a burly man with many chins asks from the other side of the bar.
“Yep, that’s it…what’s your name again?”
He scowls, looking hurt. “Robert.”
“You’ve got about two seconds to order, Robert, I’m cr
azy busy tonight.”
“Bud Light bottle.” He glowers. “And you ain’t getting a tip.”
I pop the top off the bottle and slide it to him. “I’ll recover. The beer’s five bucks.”
I’m back at Lucky Seven. Janice actually smiled when I came in and asked if she needed bartending help. I felt slightly bad that she fired my replacement to bring me back, but hey—circle of life. Or whatever.
I’ve been back for almost two weeks. Since it’s Anton’s off season, he brings in dinner for me every night at ten and we eat together on my break, and then he picks me up at the end of my shift.
Most nights, we go to his place. I still spend a couple nights a week at Anita’s, though, because I know she needs my share of the rent.
I didn’t come back to Lucky Seven for a couple weeks after Dix passed away. I needed time to mourn. I didn’t know Dix for a long time, but he meant a lot to me.
He’s been gone for a month. Anton’s apartment feels emptier now. I sit in his chair sometimes, working on the word search books he used to do. I brought him a stack one day and he told me they were stupid and pointless. When he started working on them, I didn’t call him on it.
The cursive notes he wrote in the margins make me smile, and occasionally tear up. They’re classic Dix, things like politicians are fucking babies and I’d give my left nut for a smoke.
My grandpa has been declining, and I ache at the thought of losing someone else I love. I got a good chunk of money in the divorce, and I also get monthly maintenance, but every penny of that goes into an account for my grandpa’s care.
In between customers, I wipe down the bar and polish already-dry, gleaming glasses. I’m really fucking nervous, because I decided when I woke up with Anton wrapped around me this morning, his dick like a steel rod, that it’s time.
Anton Page 15
