by V. L. Locey
“You fucking crazy kilt-wearing doofus,” Victor finally said, then glanced over his shoulder before leaning in real close. “While I’m all furry bunny fuzzy inside about why you nailed that ignoramus, I’m still pissed off that you’ve taken our best penalty killer, namely you, off the ice for the rest of this game and probably a few to follow.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied, at which Vic rolled his eyes.
Then Dewey barreled around the corner, his uneven gait making him look like a Humvee with a bad tire heading toward us.
“You,” the big old winger said with a finger pointed at my nose, “in my office now. Kalinski, you get in there and give the team a talk. Tell them that if anyone else thinks acting like McGarrity is acceptable, they can go play for the beer league the Purple Onion sponsors every Saturday.”
I followed our head coach, the sounds of the dressing room dimming with each heavy thud of my foot on the padded corridor floor. Into Dewey’s space we went. The small room held a desk, a filing cabinet, a couple of chairs and a tall, ferny plant in the corner. The edges of the fern’s leaves were brown and crinkled. The dirt looked parched. I dropped into a chair as Dave Dewey loosened his tie just an inch.
“Are you trying to take Kalinski’s place as team dickwad?” Dewey asked.
I shook my head.
“Well you could have fooled me. I’m not going to throw things at you or trash my office because, to be frank, you’re not worth it.”
That brought my gaze from the sickly fern to my head coach.
“Don’t look so stunned, McGarrity. I think half the reason you’ve been so scattered and disrespectful about team policy this year is because you woke up and realized you’re not that Czech down in Florida. There’s no way you’ll go more than another year or two in the game, let alone play into your forties. Your time playing hockey is coming to an end and you don’t quite know how to handle that.”
“Yeah, it might be something like that, Coach,” I confessed, and felt a tremendous weight lift off my back. I’d never admitted that to anyone before, even though I’d been feeling that way for at least a year.
Dewey leaned his flat ass against the edge of his desk. His brown suit jacket had a stain on the lapel in the shape of an acorn.
“I know the feeling, trust me. This fucking world is all most of us know. But let me assure you that there is life after hockey. Are you thinking of retiring after this year?”
“Actually, no, but I’d like to ask for a trade to Scranton.” The words were out before I could hit any sort of mental brakes. Again, as soon as they hit the air, another boulder between my shoulder blades disappeared. “If they’ll have me,” I tacked on.
Dewey didn’t look surprised. He folded his arms across his chest.
“I suspect this decision may be based on your current relationship status. I want you to think things over before you contact your agent. I’ll keep this to myself until I hear from you again.”
Dave tapped my calf with his foot. My attention flew back to him from the acorn stain.
Where did that come from, Mario?
“I mean it, Mario. Don’t leap into a trade. I don’t think that you’re unhappy here, are you?”
“No, not at all,” I replied as I thought on all my friends here in Cayuga.
“Then give it some serious thought. I know that having our loved ones far away is tough. Hell, I played nearly a full season in Denver while my wife and kids were in Pittsburgh until the school year ended. Living alone sucked. All I wanted was to be with the woman I loved at night, but hockey kept me from her.”
“The game is the other woman,” I mumbled, and Dewey grunted in agreement. “Thanks, yeah, I’ll give it some serious thought. And as for any suspension that might be —”
“Oh there’s no might, McGarrity. I’m benching you for three games. The league will probably add to that, and maybe fine you as well. You know they’re trying to cut down on fighting.”
“Okay, yeah, I know I deserve whatever I get. I let him provoke me, but man, what he said about Victor was so freaking below the belt.”
“It’s commendable to stick up for your teammates or the coaching staff – you know I like to see that,” Dewey said, then gave me a miserable little smile. “I’m a player at heart. That never goes away. But now that I’m wearing a tie instead of skates, I have to be a little less happy to see my players cold-cock some asshole.”
“I get that. Thanks, Coach, for not throwing a skate at my head.” I stood up and offered Dewey my hand.
He clapped his big honking mitt into mine and we shook. Then I went back to the dressing room and sat in front of my space, my thoughts spinning like bald tires on a smooth stretch of asphalt. The Cougars were back on the ice for the second period. My phone jangling tugged me from my confusion.
“Hey, baby,” I said into the cell. I made a mental note to fill her in on the “No cell phone usage during games” rule the Cougars had when we were home. Not that some guys didn’t sneak, but if you were caught a major ass-chewing took place.
“Seamus, are you injured?” Lila asked. I could hear the crowd surrounding her. I felt even worse now. It was her first Cougars game and she’d never even got to see me play. She had got to see me attack someone, though.
Sweet Mary Madonna, forgive me for being such a screw-up. Oh, and give my Lila the strength to deal with two immature idiots. Amen.
“Nope, I’m fine. The other guy isn’t looking too good, though.”
“Yes, that was a lot of blood. Are you coming back out to play? I am greatly worried about you.”
“Probably not, baby. I got benched for a few games.” My gaze moved over the Cougars dressing room, touching on the familiar and not-as-familiar names over the cubicles. “We have a lot to talk about, Lila, but I need to spend a little time here.”
“Seamus, what’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice, darling. What are you not telling me?” She sounded even more distressed. The crowd roared, so I had to assume the home team had scored a goal. Go, guys.
“I’m not thinking that anything’s wrong. I just need to stay here in the locker room for a bit. Meet me outside after the game like we arranged, okay? Is Langley enjoying himself?”
“Well, he was greatly impressed by your display of fisticuffs.” She sniffed and, bless her heart, a smile broke out on my face. My girl was a real lady, and didn’t that make me love her that much more? “I, on the other hand, was greatly concerned about the amount of blood on the ice and on you.”
I looked down at my hands. Huh. So yeah, there was some blood. Then I stood up and padded over to a mirror just inside the shower area. Well what do you know? Speckles of dried blood dotted my face, neck and sweater.
“It’s not mine,” I assured her as I studied my face. Shit, I did look like a stretch of bad road. Life had left all kinds of potholes and cracking seams. When had I gotten so worn-out-looking? “It’s the other guy’s.”
“Thank God for that.” She shuffled the phone around a bit as I tried to recall when the handsome, virile Mario had been replaced by this tired old swayback. “Are you sure you’re fine? You sound upset.”
“I’m good, baby. I’ll see you after the game. I love you, Lila. You know that, right?”
“Yes, Seamus, I know, and I love you as well.” I heard the concern in her voice as she ended the call.
Things slowed down a bit after that call from my gal. I showered, more to wash off the Finn’s blood than to get rid of sweat. The team returned to the dressing room in high spirits between the second and third period. I think I smiled and said the things that needed to be said, but I can’t say that when they left to play the final twenty minutes, the emptiness of the dressing room didn’t appeal. Man, did it ever appeal. I sat back, arms resting on my now-clean chest and dress shirt, and I did some deep reflecting on things.
When the game ended and the Cougars returned, pumped up and filled with sass, I greeted them all with handshakes and wide smiles. Then I mad
e a beeline for the players’ exit, my coat slung over my shoulder. A brisk wind curled around me. The hair on my legs stood up. There stood Lila, and a dour looking Langley, exactly where I’d asked them to meet me. I honestly could not get that woman into my arms quickly enough.
“Seamus, my goodness.” She coughed as I pulled her to me and held her close. Her hands slithered around me to lightly rest on my back. “Whatever is wrong?”
“Nothing, baby, not one damn thing. Let’s go. I need to stop along the way before we go home.” I spoke into her hair. It was soft, straight, and scented with her unique sexy, sinful aroma. Eyes closed and a stiff wind lifting my kilt, I pressed my lips to her mouth. Fuck the kid. Fuck the press. Fuck the fans who were just now arriving in hopes of getting an autograph from one of the Cougars.
“Me oh my,” Lila gasped when I forced myself to pull back from her lips. “You are feeling your oats this evening, Seamus.” She pressed her lips together in that way women do to refresh their lipstick.
Seeing that made me tremble and quake inside and out. And no, it wasn’t the cold wind racing over my balls. It was Lila and the way she made me feel like that young, virile Mario again.
“Let’s go.” I hustled them toward their car. “Go on back to my place. I have one quick stop to make, then I’ll be home and we’ll have us a talk.”
She gave me a suspicious look but slipped behind the wheel of her car and rolled off in the direction of home. I jumped into my Highlander, cranked up George Jones and Tammy Wynette singing “One”, and drove to Our Lady of the Blessed Light Church on High Street.
It was late, but the glow of a thousand candles lit my way to the last pew. The wooden seat was hard and cold, the dampness seeping through my kilt. The droplet of holy water on my brow was chilly. Fingering the gold cross that my mother had given me on the day of my confirmation, I stared at the stained-glass majesty from which the church took its name.
Odd as it seemed, that moment – that late September Friday so similar to fifty-some other Fridays – found me questioning. Not just my faith, because let’s face it, the day I realized I liked men and women equally, the rules of the Church I had claimed to be a part of with such pride had begun withering within my heart. No, it wasn’t just the Church and my need to cling to it that I was questioning – it was my life.
Had I really meant it when I’d asked for a trade? Did I care so deeply about Lila that I would leave my home and friends to be with her? Was that rash statement to Dewey truly what I wanted? What about Langley? Did I even want to dip my toes into that bubbling pool of hormonal teenage angst?
“Mario, it’s been some time since I last saw you here.”
My gaze left the Madonna designed so delicately from glowing bits of colored glass. Father Ashton sat down beside me with a wheezy exhalation. The smell of cigarette smoke couldn’t be hidden by the buttery scent of the devotional candles flickering along the walls.
“It’s been a while, Father.” My gaze returned to Mary welcoming all with open arms and flowing robes of deepest green and blue. “Forgive me.”
“If you’re looking for absolution, you’re a little early – confession is tomorrow – but I’d be willing to hear your transgressions now.”
Transgressions. Sins. Misdeeds or wickedness. I found myself glued to Mary’s beautiful brown eyes. They were so lovely and reminded me of Lila’s eyes. Was what we shared a sin or some sort of wickedness? Was she an abomination? Hell, was I? I looked down from the Madonna to my hands. I turned them over. They didn’t look like the hands of an abomination. They weren’t cloven or anything. They looked like the hands of a hockey player, a man who worked hard and loved his woman deeply. Why was I apologizing for not confessing sins when loving whom you loved wasn’t a sin at all but a joy?
“I guess I don’t have any sins to confess.”
“We all have sins, Mario,” he reminded me, then coughed lightly into his fist.
“A sin is something immoral, right? Something we consider wrong. Aside from busting some hateful jerk’s nose, I’m thinking that I’m doing nothing immoral or wrong.”
“Is it up to you to judge that, though, my son? He that covereth his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy.”
I shifted around a bit on the cushion, which did nothing to make my ass any less uncomfortable. Guess he had me on that one.
“I’m confused about my life, Father. About the need I have to move away to be with a woman I love. I’m considering a trade from the Cougars to Scranton to be with her all the time. But she has this kid, and I’m not sure I’m fully ready to deal with his shit. Stuff, sorry,” I whispered to Mary, and quickly crossed myself. “But then I tell my coach I want a trade. My head feels like a washing machine on the spin cycle.”
“First you must be sure that it is indeed love you feel for this woman and not just lust. For lust is indeed a sin, while perfect love casts out fear.” My sight went back to the Virgin as my thumb rubbed the smooth metal of my crucifix. “Perhaps if you brought this woman to mass I could speak with her and together we two could guide you down the road that God has chosen for you.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think she would be comfortable here. Lila and me, we aren’t exactly a traditional couple.”
I heard him grunt softly. My gaze swept over the pews and candles until it rested on Father Ashton. He was looking at me, his eyebrows riding low over his eyes.
“Is she of a different faith?” he asked, and I shook my head slowly.
It was right then that I knew this world, this place, this refuge that had given me such peace and acceptance as a child, was no longer for me. What was that old bit of scripture? Something about when I was a child I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child, but then I became a man and so I put away childish things. It came to me as I sat before the Madonna that I no longer needed the Church to give me succor or love. I got all of that from Lila, a woman who would be as ostracized in this old building, as I had felt for many years.
Did I really want to spend the rest of my life hiding my love for her from a religion that wouldn’t embrace us and love us as God wished?
“I’m not sure what faith she is, Father, because it never mattered to me,” I admitted, then pushed to my feet. “And for the record, I’m sure it’s love and not lust.”
I shook the hand of the confused man of the cloth and left the church, the last anvil of guilt now gone from my back.
The interior of my Highlander was still warm. After cranking the engine over, I sat back to study the exterior of the church and felt a sliver of sadness wiggle between my ribs. Maybe turning your back on your faith did that to people, but I had to think that I wasn’t walking away from my faith as much as I was leaving behind the guilt, and didn’t that feel fucking great?
“I hope I’ll still have your ear when I need it,” I whispered to the illuminated glass Madonna looking down on me.
Maybe it was a trick of the thousands of flickering candles, but I would swear on my life that the Lady closed her eyes in understanding for a mere skip of a second.
As soon as I walked into my apartment, her perfume met me at the door. It called me to look for her. The living room was dark, the TV off. I found Lila resting in the kitchen with a cup of what appeared to be pale tea in her hand. Her smile for me was tentative. That worried me a bit.
“Where’s Langley?” I asked as I moved around the tiny food prep area searching for a mug in the cupboards.
“He’s sleeping in your guest room,” she replied, then took a soft sip of her tea. “If you’re looking for a clean mug, you’ll find none. They were all dirty, so I put them into the dishwasher.”
“I have a dishwasher?” I asked while closing the cupboard beside the fridge. Lila pointed a finger at the extra storage drawer. I chuckled under my breath. “Oh that? I never use that to wash dishes; I store my old skates in there.”
“Yes, so I discovered,” she said with tha
t flash of sass that I loved. “You are a slovenly housekeeper, Seamus.”
I sat down across from her, anxious to look into her eyes. “Yeah, so my mother always tells me. I need a woman to pick up after me, don’t you think?”
Her expression grew wary. I reached for her hand. It was warm from holding her tea. Lifting her palm to my nose, I inhaled, and serenity filled my soul as no confessional or lighting of a candle ever could.
“Seamus, is the addition of Langley straining our relationship so badly that you’re acting out on the ice instead of telling me you no longer wish to be with me?”
Her question shocked me. I lowered her hand from my face to stare at her openly. She wet her dark-red lips and glanced down into her tea.
“I will understand if you’re pulling away. After all, you did not sign up to have an ill-tempered teenager intrude on our sweet times.”
“No, for the love of the Saints, I am not thinking of leaving you. Shit, Lila, you’re my Heaven, baby.” I pressed a kiss into her open hand. “Actually, I was wondering what you thought about me asking to be traded to Scranton.”
Her mouth went slack as her stunning brown eyes rounded. “But Seamus, why would you do that?”
“To be with you,” I told her. “I love you, Lila. I mean, I love you like nothing else in the world. When I’m away from you, all I can do is think about getting back to you. When I’m with you, all I can think about is how I can stay at your side. Oh baby, don’t cry, please,” I begged when tears formed in her eyes.
She fanned her face with her free hand and tried to smile. “They’re happy tears, honey. Oh my, such happy tears,” she said, then started crying in earnest.
I released her hand and hustled to her side, dropping to one knee on the cheap linoleum.
“I never dreamed I would ever have a man like you, one who loves me proudly,” she said.
“You are so right, baby. I am proud of you; of us.”
She gathered me to her breasts and wept silently as she clung to me.
