by Jolene Perry
I lie through a CT scan to check for permanent damage to my brain and wonder why Bishop hasn’t fought his way through to see me yet. I’ve been here all night. A doctor explains that my clavicle is broken in several places, which is not his biggest concern. His concern is the huge bundle of torn ligaments, which was probably the hit I took and ignored. Because I kept playing, I shredded the torn ends. He’s scheduled surgery on my clavicle and isn’t sure yet how best to treat the rest of the damage. That’s a different kind of specialist. I’ve also got some serious bruising on my hip and thigh, which will make walking tricky for the next couple weeks. The damage sounds bad, and I wonder how long it’ll be before I can get back out on the ice because I can’t even think about the possibility of losing hockey right now.
The doctor keeps Mom from my room for my recovery. I’m angry and she’s here and I want all of this to be over. I want to be home with Gramps working on my car and giving Bishop shit for not keeping up—even though he does.
I hear long recovery. Physical therapy. Pain medication. Rest. Calm. Nothing I want to hear.
Bishop still hasn’t made his way to me. I think that hurts almost as much as losing Gramps.
…
Mom and I drive home together, and she’s sort of understanding I need her to be quiet because she’s said nothing. I feel empty. I should be worried I’ll never play hockey again or that my arm won’t work right or wonder how far behind in homework I’m going to be, but I don’t have it in me to care about any of that. Gramps and Bishop are the only things swirling in my head. As soon as we stop in the driveway I push open my door, determined to do this on my own.
“I’m going to see Bishop. I’ll be inside in a minute.” Though, I haven’t totally figured out how to walk by myself yet.
She sucks in a breath like she’s bracing herself.
“What?” But before she can answer, Mitch slides into my driveway in his truck. Driving like an ass, as usual.
Before Mitch opens his door, Mom says, “He’s gone, Pen. He and Gary left. I have a number for you.”
“He left? Why didn’t you tell me?” The hollowness grips at my insides in a feeling that’s a million times worse than my shoulder. “Give me the number.”
Mom slides out her phone and scrolls to Gary, handing it to me.
I hit send with shaky hands. It hasn’t even sunk in that he’s not here. Bishop would never just leave. Not with me hurt. Not with Gramps’s death. How crazy is it that I never even got Bishop’s number? He was just here.
“Hello?” Gary answers.
“What’s going on?” My voice has nowhere near the strength I need for it to. My body has no strength.
“Penny…” He sighs. “I’m sorry. He was really trying hard.”
“What are you talking about?” I’m blinking back tears again. Even my lips are trembling, I’m feeling so much. How could he… “Was he sick or something?”
Mitch stops next to me, his brows pulled down, and he’s leaning forward, trying to see my face.
“You know who he is, right?” Gary asks. “The drummer for—”
“I know who he is!” I yell, pain spreading through my side so sharp I gasp, and Mitch wraps an arm around me. “Where is he?”
He sighs. “He has a drug problem, Penny. Pills. Drinking. That’s why he was here. To get clean, but he couldn’t control it on his own anymore.”
It’s like someone’s just stuffed my head with cotton—something that makes it hard to think. To see. To breathe. Drug problem? He’s on drugs, and he never told me? My world tilts. I don’t get how Bishop could be on drugs. He never seemed like a junky to me. Never once acted high. And he knew, knew how I felt because of my dad. And. And he knew how I hate being lied to. In a strange way, that’s not the worst thing he did. How could he have all the faith in me—tell me I can go to school where I want and play on the men’s team—when he wasn’t even staying clean? In a way, he was another person making choices for me. Or allowing me to make choices based on a lie.
And he left. Left me the way Dad did. I know it wasn’t his choice, but I feel left all the same. Mom chose Ben over me. Mitch left me for Becca. Gramma and now Gramps… Why am I so easy to leave behind?
“Do you know my dad died?” I ask. It’s all I can think of—easier to focus on this instead of the fact that two people I care about are gone in one swoop.
Mom’s hand goes to her mouth, and she blinks as a few tears fall. I’m not sure if this makes me feel bad for her or more angry. Probably, I should feel bad.
“You mean Gramps?” Gary asks.
“No!” I snap. “My dad!”
“No,” he whispers.
“Some stupid asshole who liked to get wasted killed him. When you see Bishop—if you see Bishop—tell him to leave me the fuck alone.” I hang up the phone, hand it to Mom, and the first sob hits me, sending shocks of pain from my shoulder through my body. It’s not taped tight enough. No one could tape me tight enough.
My hip aches as I move back to my house a half step at a time. I know I should be leaning against someone, but Mitch doesn’t feel right anymore.
Bishop’s gone. Walked out on me when I needed him most.
I lost my Gramps. His happy face, his freaking pies, and his horrible country music.
I don’t have enough people to lose two at once.
There’s too much hurt. Too much cracking apart. Too much everything. Every kind of pain. Bishop’s gone. The bastard left. God. And the reason he was here. I can’t breathe. Don’t want to move. I’m stopped in my driveway wishing I could pass out again. Wishing to not feel. To escape. Anything. I’d do anything. My body shakes, spreading the shoulder pain, which is nothing compared to how my chest burns.
Mom tries to touch me, but I push her away because I’m just not ready to deal with our mess right now. Mitch tries to support me as my thoughts continue to spin.
Shit. Bishop did want to talk. Was this it? What he wanted to tell me before the game? The thing I made fun of him for? It’s just that the other thing was so big, I didn’t see this coming, and I feel stupid. I’m still pissed. Him being some kind of rock star was an okay thing to share because it didn’t make him look bad. But him being some drugged-out drummer wasn’t important enough to share. Fine. Whatever.
“Penny?” Mitch’s voice sounds panicked, but close. Too close. “Can I help you up?”
Am I down? Mom’s wiping away her tears and kneeling in front of me. I’m sitting in the snow, and Mitch’s arms are around me, pulling me to my feet.
“Penny,” Mitch whispers. “Come on.”
I let him half carry me to the door. I’ve never let anyone see me this weak. I’ve never been this weak. It just fuels my anger.
“Can I—” Mom starts.
“I got it for now,” Mitch whispers as we pass her on our way into the house.
“He left, Mitch.” More searing pain. “He just left.”
…
I’m not sure how long Mitch stays. I sob when he brings me a piece of Gramps’s apple pie. And part of me smiles because Gramps was right. He said it was a good one—renaissance man and all that. I sleep. I wake up. I sleep. My surgery is one long day of more haziness and drugs. Mitch is still around. It’s crazy how I thought he was more than a friend. This feels nothing like being next to Bishop, which sends another hit of searing pain through me.
Right now, Mitch is the best friend I have. Maybe the only real one. I’m snuggled against his warmth, with days worth of paper plates and cups strewn about my room, scrolling through everything I can find on my phone about Bishop Riley. None of it meshes with the guy I knew. Drugs. Girls. Hotness… Okay. That one came with him. There’s such a disconnect from the famous guy to the guy I know. Or…knew, I guess, since he’s not here anymore, and it would appear I didn’t know him all that well anyway. He sent me one short, pathetic message on the day he left.
I’m sorry
Anyone and everyone is sorry. It changes nothing.
What? I slowly scoot to sitting in bed and double over the pain is so intense. “You just walked into my house?” How long has it been since I took something for pain? It’s like there still isn’t enough tape to keep my bones from feeling like they’re scraping around inside me, and my surgery scar itches like crazy.
Rebecca glances between Mitch and I a few times, and then crosses her arms. “I lent you my boyfriend for nearly a week. Where he slept, with you, after finally admitting to me that he loves you.” Her whisper is harsh. “Though he claims its just friendship, I think I’m allowed to walk in.”
Just then Mitch lets out a snore, his mouth still hanging open in sleep. And we both laugh—it’s sort of a nervous, need-to-break-tension laugh, but it works.
But then the weight of losing everything at once crashes into me again.
Rebecca’s face changes. “Have you eaten?” she whispers.
I shake my head and clutch my stomach. “Not for a while.” I’ve never not been able to eat. And then I gesture to the mess in my room. “Mitch hasn’t had a problem with his appetite.”
Becca smiles as she watches him drool on my pillow. Only someone crazy in love could see anything endearing about Mitch’s drool. “Of course he hasn’t had a problem with eating. He’s Mitch. At least he’s friend enough to stick around.” She gestures with her head to my door. “Come on.”
Humiliation burns its way to the surface, and I open my mouth twice before getting it out. “I need help to stand up.”
Becca says nothing, just comes to my side of the bed and puts her arm softly around me to help me to my feet. My head pounds, my shoulder throbs, and my hip feels like it’s not only frozen stiff but aching.
“We’ll get you some medicine as soon as you get food,” she whispers.
I’m about to ask where my mom is, because I’m still not in the mood to run into her, but Becca keeps talking.
“Your mom’s at work. She’d already taken some time off and is trying to give you space, so—”
“You guys are talking about me?” I frown as I baby-step out of my room. Hurts to stand, hurts to move.
As soon as I’m in the open area downstairs, I see Gramps’s freezers and then his trailer, and the panic and loss seize my chest again, wiping my brain clear of whatever we were just talking about. Becca’s hand rubs my back a few times.
“Breathe, Penny. Come on,” she whispers.
I follow her up the stairs, one pathetic step at a time, and into the kitchen.
“This is so weird.” She shakes her head. “Never in a million years did I think I’d find myself wanting to help Penny Jones. Or that you’d even take help from anyone.”
I’m sort of amazed I’m taking help from her, too. So much has changed. “Not like I have a choice. I can barely walk.” I lean on the counter, afraid that if I sit I won’t be able to get back up again. The pain of my hip and my shoulder and my ribs is making it hard to breathe, but not like the ache in my chest.
Becca stands in front of the windows, suddenly looking a little small and lost. “I know Mitch had the same clothes on, and I feel horrible for even asking, but…”
I don’t move my head but hold up my hand. “After kissing Bishop, I totally see I don’t feel that way about Mitch. Lying next to him was nothing like lying next to Bishop. And the stupid ass thinks I should be playing on a girls’ team for college anyway.”
A corner of her mouth pulls up. “Only you, Penny, could find the drummer of a rock band in freaking Seldon, Alaska and make him fall in love with you.”
I snort. “He did not fall in love with me, or he’d be here.” The last few words come out all shaky, and tears threaten my eyes again, but there’s no way in hell I’m crying again. Flashes of pictures I’ve found of him while stalking the Internet roll through my brain even though I wish I could erase them. Way too much of his cocky smirk and way too many girls who look like Victoria’s Secret models.
Becca pushes two pieces of bread in the toaster before folding her arms. “I sat sort of near Bishop when you practiced and watched that boy when you got hurt. Whether he fully knows it or not, he’s kicked-ass, insane-crazy in love with you. Trust me.”
Her words press into the anger I’m holding on to—it’s so much easier than hurt. “And that’s how Mitch is with you, so why are you worried about him?”
She fingers the clip in her hair for a moment. “Because I know he loves you, and he swears it’s not the way I’m thinking, but it can turn so easy. That’s why. Honestly, Penny, I think if you wanted him you could have him. You’re like… You’re like the girl who can do anything. It’s a pretty big shadow to be living under.”
I shake my head, feeling both empty and weighted at the same time. “Trust me. I can’t… I don’t know what I want right now.”
“When you figure it out? Do it. You have to see that you have a knack for getting what you want because you work your butt off for it.”
So much of what she said echoes Bishop’s words. It’s too much to think about him right now, but maybe, maybe, Becca’s right on one count. Maybe I can just decide for me. Whatever I want. And make it happen. “Why did you come help me?”
She laughs as she moves to the fridge. “Two reasons. One, your mom asked, and before you get upset about that, it’s because she’s trying to be nice. Two, so I could watch you with Mitch.” She sets the OJ back in the fridge and doesn’t make eye contact. “If I’m being perfectly honest.”
I grin, feeling a little lighter since it looks like Becca and I can be straight with each other. “Fair enough. And…I think you’re good for him.” Crazy thing is that I mean it.
Becca slides the toast onto a plate, taking one for herself. “I’m scared because he wants me to follow him to Washington, but I’m staying up here. I just… I don’t want to spend the money, and I don’t want to be so far away from home. I think it’s got him nervous.”
I take a few nibbles of the toast Becca sets in front of me. “Mitch is crazy about you. You two will be fine.”
“And so will you, Penny Jones.” She gives me a knowing smile as she sits. “Mitch thinks you’re crazy for wanting to stick to Alaska, but I happen to know that the coach from Fairbanks has called like three times to ask how you are.”
I stop chewing as I think about the amazing things this could mean. “Which team?”
She pauses and takes a huge bite of her toast with a smile. “The men’s coach. He’s pulling strings right now to take you, if you want to go.”
I’m stunned and thrilled and hoping Mom won’t put up too much of a fight because, in this moment, I know I want it enough that I’m going to find a way to make it happen, injury or not. I rub a hand through my greasy hair and know I have to say it. Know it. Some words are just a lot harder to find than others. “Thanks, Becca.”
…
We climb in the car after Gramps’s funeral. It was nothing of what he would’ve wanted and everything that every single funeral is—crying people who didn’t know the deceased nearly as well as they thought they did. As soon as I figure out what I really need to do for him, I’ll do it. Until then, I’m going to do everything I can to erase this day from my memory.
Mom hits a bump in the road, and I flinch. My stupid brace isn’t much of a brace, and the pain meds just aren’t keeping up, especially on a day like today when I’m moving around so much.
Mom clears her throat and shifts in her seat. “I have things to say.”
Nervousness builds as the silence stretches, and mom re-grips the steering wheel like fifty more times. “Things to say?” I prompt.
She pulls in a long, slow breath. “I judged Bishop harshly, and I’m sorry. He tried to be next to you when you got hurt and were on the stretcher, and I lost it. I was angry because I felt like he was intruding and I was pushing you away when I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t fair to him when you got hurt, and I’m sorr
y.”
How would things be different if she hadn’t told him to stay away? Would they be? I’m so tired of being angry that I’m not sure what to do or say. If she didn’t sound so…sorry, it would be different.
“I know that I give you a lot of freedom, but the morning you walked out of his cabin… I could see you throwing away everything for him. Did you know a nurse I work with was two semesters away from being a doctor?”
“No.” I’m afraid to look at Mom, so I stare at the snow-filled trees flying by as she drives.
“Two semesters left, and she gave it up for a guy from Seldon.”
I chew on my lip, a little annoyed that she thinks I’m weak enough to push aside what I want for anyone, but I’m starting to understand that she’s paranoid because I’m her daughter.
Mom tightens her hands on the steering wheel, feeling things she wants to force me to understand. “And now, ten years later, she’s the single parent of three kids and working as a nurse instead of what she could have been.”
“Mom.” I raise my brows and finally look at her. “I’m not going to lose myself in a guy. Ever. And if you really want me to follow what I know I want, what I’ve given a lot of thought to, you’ll be okay with me going to UAF. I really want it, Mom. Really.” The words I don’t say are the ones we both know I’m thinking. I’ll go there with or without your help. Mom and I are enough alike that she’ll know.
She nods, her hands finally resting more loosely on the steering wheel—a sign that we might be moving forward. “I’ll keep thinking on it, Penny. It’s hard for me to see so many big opportunities and to reconcile myself with that not being what you want.”
