by Vivian Lux
She'd moved to Tucson with the last one, but when that relationship went down the toilet, she seemed honestly relieved to move back to Chicago - both to escape him and the heat - and be part of my life again.
My father, the serial monogamist that he was, had long since moved away, leaving me only my last name and my ability to spend hours in the sun without getting burned as his legacy. She and I were both fine with that. Neither of us needed him in any real sense. Neither of us needed men at all.
We'd spent the last three visits in my mother's brand new, and scrupulously clean, condo overlooking Lakeshore Drive. And I was getting quite used to that arrangement. I had totally forgotten that today was my turn to play hostess.
What could I say? Lying to my mother was completely useless. She knew all of my tricks because she was the one that taught them to me.
"Yup. I completely forgot, Mom. Sorry. But come on in anyway." I stepped aside and welcomed her into my filthy apartment with a grand sweep of my arm.
My mother shot me an irritated look, which dissolved the second Romeo came bounding up to greet her. "Oh my goodness, there's my grand-dog! Who's a good boy? You're a good boy, yes you are!"
"Coffee? I can start another pot," I offered.
"Is that even a question?" My mother backed herself into the living room, still bent over and cooing at Romeo. He executed a series of half-jumps, knowing he wasn't allowed to knock her over but too happy not to try.
"Sorry. Of course you want a cup. I'm not fully awake yet. I know better," I yawned. My mother drank black coffee the whole day long and never seemed to get jittery. I think her entire personality was based on a steady stream of caffeine because the woman was tireless. I brewed another pot on autopilot and poured out a fresh cup into my one, unchipped mug. It was, ironically enough, one she had given me herself.
My mother nearly lunged off the couch to take it from me. "Thank you, honey," she said, and we both took a sip at the same time. It was moments like these, watching the way that her long fingers nested around the mug, that I saw just how alike we were. Of course there were the obvious similarities, with our long, nearly-black hair and mossy green eyes. But it was also in the way we sat, flinging our bodies into the couch like it had caught us mid-collapse. The unabashed and unembarrassed way we slurped our coffee. The slight little moan my mother let out once the caffeine hit her bloodstream. "Ah, that's good," she breathed. "You brought out the good stuff."
"I only drink the good stuff."
"I thought you were showing off, bringing me the nice stuff you save for guests."
"Mom, besides you and Candace, I don't have guests and Candace swore off caffeine until the baby comes. Thinks it'll give her kid a second head or something."
My mother cocked her head at me. "Oh come on now. You expect me to believe, that in the past week, you haven't had any guests besides me?"
I heaved a sigh. She had me there. "He didn't drink coffee, though," I explained.
"Didn't?" My mother caught the past tense.
"Didn't," I repeated, firmly.
"Ah, So you dumped him because he was clearly a crazy person?"
I loved the shit out of my mother. We could talk about literally everything. There were no secrets between us, even if sometimes I wished I had a normal mother. One who wasn't quite so curious about my sex life. One who was a little more easily shocked and didn't press me for details about penis-size. "No, I didn't dump him over coffee, Mom," I sighed. "I'm shallow, but not that shallow."
"Hey, you know I don't judge," she said, leaning back and tucking her feet underneath her. "I'm just living vicariously through my daughter. As for me, I'm thinking of giving up men altogether."
I snorted. "Bullshit."
"No, it's true. I've been out there in the dating world... God, how long now?"
"Dad left when I was seven."
"Shit, really?" My mother looked appalled. "Has it really been..." she counted on her fingers, "seventeen years?"
"Almost eighteen."
"Jesus," my mother wrinkled her nose, and then brightened, "Hey, I heard from him, did I tell you?"
I put down my mug to keep from spilling it across my lap. "No. You did not. What the hell did he want?"
"Oh, he was just letting me know about number five."
"Five!" I blurted. "He found someone else willing to marry him?"
My mother nodded. "Some young thing down in Texas. Probably close to your age, though I didn't really pry for too many mathematical details. He left Ginny with three kids because he knocked up this new one. Sasha's her name, I guess. I kind of feel bad for her."
I counted on my fingers. "So I'm up to...how many half brothers and sisters now?"
My mother quickly ticked off on her fingers. "Mike and Fifi, they were from the first marriage..."
"Yeah, I've met them. They're no fun whatsoever. I can't believe we're even related, no matter how distantly."
My mom grinned. "Then it was my turn to fall under Giles Bryant's spell. Luckily he gave me you. The best trade-off I ever made."
"Aw shucks, Ma."
My mom laughed. "Then came that woman in Ohio, Bitchface, I never did bother to learn her name. He stayed with her the longest and she ended up with four...maybe five brats? I don't even know."
"So that's six or seven," I counted.
My mom nodded. "Then Ginny waggled her ass in his direction at the conference in Houston and that was the end of Bitchface. Ginny actually turned out to be pretty sweet, you know. We exchanged Christmas cards last year."
"And she had three kids. So nine. Or maybe ten. With a baby on the way." I clapped my hand to my forehead. "Jesus Christ, Dad," I complained. "My family tree looks like something out of Game of Thrones, I'm going to end up fucking my half-brother someday and not even know it."
My mother laughed, spilling a droplet of coffee in her lap. "Hey now, at least Giles has the good sense to spread out his whoring all over this great country of ours. You're unlikely to be a brotherfucker unless you move out of state."
"Ew, mom. Too much."
"Sorry, I found the line and went right over it, didn't I?"
"Like mother, like daughter," I agreed. "Anyway, why the fuck were we talking about Dad in the first place?"
"Because I'm done with men," my mother repeated. "Really and truly. You know, lots of women my age discover they're actually late in life lesbians."
I raised an eyebrow. "Mom."
"Well, it's at least worth a shot."
"Knock yourself out," I grumped. "Just don't be disappointed when women are just as unreliable. Everyone sucks." I poked my dog in the ribs. "Except you, Romeo."
My mother peered at me from over the rim of her mug. "Well, aren't you a happy little ray of sunshine this morning. Are you sure you're the one who did the dumping? Do I need to go slap some sense into Mr. No-Coffee?"
I felt a strange sense of protectiveness about Brad. "No, no slapping necessary. It's just...weird."
My mother leaned back. "Tell me."
I sighed. "I don't even know. We were just having sex. Really great sex, mind you," my mother raised her coffee mug in salute, "but that's all it was. And the timing was all wrong so last Sunday we mutually agreed to be done."
"Timing? Is the timing really ever good for anything in life?"
I laughed. "True. But this was legit. He's a hockey player and the season is starting."
"A Blackhawk? Very nice! I'd give you a high five for good taste but that would mean I'd have to get up." She nestled more deeply into the couch instead.
"I accept the mental high five then." I sipped my coffee, found that it was now gone and frowned. "I'll be fine. He'll be fine." I poked Romeo with my toe again. "He's like, this big dumb Lab. Or a Golden Retriever."
"You're comparing the man you slept with to a dog?"
"Men and dogs are exactly the same. All you have to do is feed them, pet them and give them treats and they love you forever. Brad loved my treats, that's it."
/> "Brad? You mean Bradley Scott?"
"Oh please don't tell me you know who he is."
"I know the entire roster this year." I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What?! They were in the Cup finals last year, I got interested." She tapped her long fingers against her mug. "Bradley Scott's a wildcard. I was watching the preseason interviews with Coach Randall and he was saying there's going to be some shuffling of positions this year."
"Really?" Brad hadn't mentioned a word about that prospect. Come to think of it, he had barely mentioned his job at all.
My mom nodded. "It's a rebuilding year with Ian Carter's injury and all."
"Of course." I had been there when Ian got hurt. It was awful. But up until now, I really hadn't made the connection between what I had witnessed and the effect it'd have on the team.
"So Mr. No-Coffee probably had a lot on his mind, huh?"
"I... don't really know." I squirmed a little, suddenly uncomfortable with this line of questioning. This was the first time I had ever really thought of him existing in any context outside of my bedroom. I'd broken things off with him because of the upcoming hockey season... without really knowing anything about the upcoming hockey season. "Why is he a wildcard?"
"Well," my mother said, smoothing her hands down her too-warm-for-this-weather twill pants. "Scott's one of the team veterans, but he's never really been put through his paces. There's talk of a new team captain this year...."
"Really?" I could not believe I was having this conversation with my mother. One, because she had never shown an interest in hockey since I'd known her. And two, because I was finding out all these things about Brad from her.
Instead of...oh I don't know...from Brad himself.
"Well," my mother soothed, sensing my mood, "It's not like it matters any more anyway, right? You guys are through."
"Yeah. I mean, pretty much."
"Oh?" My mother's eyebrows nearly zoomed off her forehead.
I stood up and stalked to the kitchen. The jitters were already setting in, but I brewed another pot anyway. I needed the time to think.
"I'm going to be seeing him again, for sure," I called to my mom.
She appeared in the doorway to my tiny kitchen and leaned against the frame. "Why's that?"
"He's Ian's best friend," I sighed. "Candace's Ian. Candace's fiancé?"
"Ooh."
"Yeah."
"The wedding?"
"He'll most likely be best man."
"That's awkward."
I laughed. "Yeah well, not as awkward as it's going to be when I ask him why the hell he never talked to me about his job." I poured another cup of coffee and then looked down at my hand and wondered why it was shaking. "We totally talked all the time. I mean, sort of. I may be a self-absorbed bitch sometimes, but I certainly didn't ignore him when we talked."
My mother's silence spoke volumes. "Well," she exhaled after a long beat, "I can start making some eggs if you have them. Want me to scramble them the way you like?"
"Sure," I answered glumly. I was still stuck on the fact that my mother seemed to know more about Bradley Scott than I did. We were too busy having wild, incredible sex to pay attention to such a trifling matter as what he did all day long. Apparently.
Of course, I could remember babbling nearly ninety miles an hour about my job, and my coworkers, and how I spent my days. And he had listened to every single word.
Why the hell that he never told me anything about himself?
And why the hell did it bother me so much?
Chapter 4
Brad
Our first away game was in Pittsburgh in two days. We were leaving tomorrow morning after a quick practice. I had to pack still and check in with the equipment manager about the rough edge on my right skate.
A ton of little shit to take care of, but I couldn't concentrate on any of it.
Because at eight o'clock tomorrow morning, I had to collect Marcus.
It had to be me. There was no one else who would willingly give up part of his or her day to do my asshole brother a favor. My mother up in Glencoe was too busy praying for his soul to worry about taking care of his body. And Marc had burned through the little goodwill he had left with his friends when he'd gotten his ass thrown into prison three years ago.
So it was on me. His shit was my shit. Just like always.
The blazing heat of a full-on Indian summer made my morning run pretty miserable. But that was fine. It matched my mood. The summer heat still shimmered in the air, but the air inside Johnny's IceHouse West was ice cold, raising goose bumps on my superheated skin. I was already exhausted and this long, stupid day had barely begun.
Ian was already changing into his practice uniform when I arrived, sweating, in the locker room.
He took a dramatic step backward and waved his hand in front of his nose. "You smell like something that died in a vat of vinegar."
"And good morning to you too, asshole," I grumbled.
"Always the ray of sunshine," Ian joked. Then he paused. "You doin' okay today?"
I shot him a quizzical look, confused at his uncharacteristic concern. I hadn't told him Marcus was getting out. Ian thought my brother was a piece of shit. And he wasn't exactly wrong. But it really made no difference either. Marc was my brother. We looked out for each other. That was that.
He couldn't be talking about Marcus so he must be...
Oh.
Of course. Candace must have told him about Olivia. And he was checking in to see if I wanted to chat about my feelings and emotions or some shit.
Awesome.
"Yeah. Of course I'm okay," I said, dismissing the idea that I missed Olivia with a grunt.
"You want to, I dunno, talk about it or some shit?" Ian looked supremely uncomfortable.
I waved my hand. "Nah," I said, in a voice I didn't recognize. "It's cool. It's a good idea, really. We had a shitload of fun, but that's all it really was."
"Olivia's a ballbuster," Ian declared, in the understatement of the year. "She'll realize her mistake, dude. Don't sweat it. You guys will figure it out."
But he didn't sound convinced, and I, even though I was a dumbfuck most of the time, was too smart to be fooled by his lies.
I slammed my locker closed, shutting the door on my shit and on this line of conversation. "Let's go play some fucking hockey. It'll help distract me."
The rink felt like a refrigerator and helped cool me down. I looked around at the new faces; fresh-scrubbed recruits still sporting baby fat along their jaws. Was I so young when I started? These kids looked practically fetal.
But Coach Randall was still the constant. Out there on the ice, looking utterly pissed at everything. His normal expression, basically. The man was always either purple with indignation or red with rage. I barely recognized him the first time I saw him off the ice and his face was a normal color.
He shouted over the sound of the new guys' chatter. "Listen up! Carter's got an announcement."
We all looked over to Ian, who in turn looked at the ground. "I'm not a speech guy," he said, clearing his throat. "New guys, ask one of us old fucks to catch you up. Or I dunno, check Wikipedia or some shit. Whatever you need to do to figure out why I'm telling you that I can't act as captain this year."
I felt my stomach drop. I knew this was coming...but I didn't know it would be today.
There was a murmur. He held up his hand. "My knee is fucked. The docs say they can get me on the ice, and you can bet your ass I’m going to be working like hell to be out there with you. But until you can count on me to be at every game, I’m not the right choice for captain. You all need to pick a new one."
Coach Randall cleared his throat. "I told Ian it wasn't a choice, but then he sicced his mom on me and I had to let him do it."
There was an appreciative chuckle. Coach Randall was Ian's stepdad and what shit he didn't get from Ian on the rink he caught from his mother at home. Poor guy probably never had a peaceful moment. No wonder he usually looked furi
ous. "So I had to give in," he continued. "We've got a new team this year. More recruits than seasoned players. I'm going to let the vote be up to you. Take a week, see how it shakes out for you."
The rest of the team nodded as one, and I spotted one or two of the new guys starting to puff up. Little shits thought they could fill Ian's skates. The notion pissed me off more than the surprise did. "You could have fucking told me," I snarled to Ian.
"If I did," Ian said evenly, "You would have tried to change my mind."
I exhaled, trying to let go of some of this weird, free-floating anxiety. "Yeah, you're right. Who the fuck is going to be captain now? Oswald?" I asked, naming our veteran goalie.
"Did you hear he and his wife are reconciling?" Ian said, nimbly avoiding the fucking question.
"Yeah, good for them," I growled. This was fucked. A team full of raw newbies and our enforcer, our fucking captain, was stepping aside. And I couldn't even deal with this now. I snuck a look at the clock overhead. In less than twenty-four hours, my brother would be walking out of MCC, and back into my life again. I jammed my helmet onto my head. "Let's play."
Chapter 5
Olivia
"What do you think of this one?" I asked Candace, eye fucking the banking type who was blatantly staring in our direction. "'That suit is pretty becoming on you. Then again, if I were on you, I'd be cumming too.'"
Candace snorted into her Shirley Temple and I grinned in triumph. "That’s pretty fucking terrible," she observed. But she was still smiling so I didn’t believe her at all.
The closer we got to Candace's due date, the more freaked out she was about going out. "This might be the last time we can do this!" she'd screech into the phone, practically every evening, completely panicked. There was no begging off that I was tired, or, god forbid, not in the mood to drink on a Tuesday evening.
It didn't matter if my heart wasn't really into it. If my Candy Cane wanted to go out, well then I had a moral duty to join her and perform my role as her best friend.
