“Hey, man, how’s it going?” I say to Josh.
“Good! Me and some of the guys were thinking about heading out for a few beers. You wanna join us? I talked to Coach this morning; he thinks he can get us some ice time on Sunday.”
“That sounds great, but uh, I’ve got a family thing going on right now.”
“Oh no—is everything okay? You’ve only been in town for a few hours. You and the old man have one of your pissing matches already?”
I wish it were that simple. I fill him in on the situation with my dad.
“Fuck, Kase. I’m sorry. What a shit thing to come home to. We’ll put off ice time until you know what’s doing with your dad, yeah? And if you decide you just need to gear up and get out some frustration, you let me know.”
“Thanks for that. I’d like to be on the ice before practices start.”
“They’re not mandatory for a couple of weeks, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
“I’d like some time to get comfortable with the team, you know?”
“Yeah. I hear you. They’re good guys, though; you’ll mesh easy.”
I sure as hell hope so. It’s hard to get my head around any one thing right now. “Thanks, Josh. I’ll keep you updated.”
“Just call if you need anything.”
* * *
The next morning two nurses come to take my dad for more tests, but unfortunately DJ isn’t one of them. My dad is disoriented and a little aggressive until he realizes where he is. His speech appears to be affected by the stroke, sounds rather than words the only thing he seems to be able to manage so far. We can only hope it’s not permanent.
We follow the nurses until they wheel him into a restricted area. I’m about to suggest we get coffee before we go back to the room to wait, when DJ comes around the corner. She’s carrying a bag and a tray of coffees. Her hair is pulled back in a smooth ponytail. She looks tired but she smiles, eyes sliding over me and coming to rest on my mother. “Is Martin already in for tests?”
“They’ve just started.” My mom pulls her in for a quick hug.
“I tried to get here before he went in but there was a line at the coffee shop. I brought you breakfast so you wouldn’t have to endure the crap they try to pass off as food here.” She looks around to make sure no one has overheard her slam on the health-care system’s subpar food options.
“That was very sweet of you, Delilah—wasn’t it, Ethan?”
“Very sweet,” I agree. DJ doesn’t seem to be able to look at me for more than a second or two.
“It’s nothing really. I left your coffee black, Ethan. I wasn’t sure if you still took it with a pound of sugar and cream or if your taste buds had matured since high school.”
“Apparently my taste buds are still as immature now as they were back then,” I reply with a wry grin.
Her cheeks flush and she turns her attention to my mom. “I have to start my shift, but I’m around if you need anything. All you have to do is ask for me and someone will find me.”
“Thank you, Delilah, but I don’t want to interfere with your job.”
“It’s not interfering. I’m here to help.”
My mother hugs her again and then she’s off, ponytail swinging as she walks down the hall.
My mom and I take a seat in the waiting room and she unpacks the bag. Inside is the pie from last night, a little dark around the edges, but it smells delicious. Neither of us had dinner, and the last time I stopped for food was around noon yesterday. A small container of whipped cream and another of sharp cheddar slices accompany the pie. The cheese is for me. DJ used to make fun of me when we were younger for liking cheddar with apple pie.
My mom sniffs. “She’s such a lovely, thoughtful girl.”
I put an arm around her. “She always has been.” I hope one day she can forgive me and maybe I’ll get to know her again.
It takes more than two hours for them to complete the tests for my dad. His recovery is going to be long and challenging, but possible. My father’s stubbornness is both a blessing and a curse.
We’ll be looking at months of appointments, therapists, and assessments, and my mom is already overwhelmed, as am I. Returning to Forest Lake isn’t just going to be about a new team anymore.
Once my dad is settled in his room again, I suggest that my mother and I go back to the house, shower, and grab some lunch. She doesn’t want to leave my father alone, even though he’s asleep, so she sends me with a list of things to pick up.
As I’m on the way down the hall, my phone rings; it’s Selene. I utter a quiet curse and debate whether to answer it. I have no idea what I’m going to tell her. We’ve only been seeing each other for a month.
None of our conversations have revolved around family or the details of my personal life. Mostly it’s been fun and sex, with some nice dinners as a precursor to the fun sex. Typically, I’d assume I’m not a high enough profile player to be much of a concern for the media. My trade from Chicago won’t be announced until Tuesday, so I have some time to figure out how to approach this conversation, but I don’t know if waiting is the best idea. It might be better to rip off the Band-Aid.
Before I pussy out and the call goes to voicemail, I answer. “Hey.” I push through the front door and head for the nearest empty bench.
“Hey! I’m glad I got through! I wanted to firm up plans for dinner this week, if you’re still interested.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah, about that…I took an impromptu road trip to Minnesota.”
“Minnesota? That’s a pretty long road trip. What’s all the way out there?”
“My family.” It says a lot that I’ve never even bothered to share those trivial details with Selene.
“Oh. Wow. How didn’t I know that? Are you there for a while?”
“At least a few days.” Maybe I should’ve put this conversation off until tonight. Or never.
“Right. Is everything okay?”
Awkwardness creeps in now, hers and mine.
Mine is the kind that results from deciding how much personal information I’m willing to share. “Not really. My dad’s in the hospital.”
“Oh God! I’m so sorry, Ethan. That’s terrible. What happened?”
“He had a stroke.”
“A stroke? Isn’t he too young for that?”
“He’s in his seventies, so…”
“Oh, I didn’t realize. Is it serious? I mean, I guess a stroke is always serious.” She laughs nervously. “I’m so sorry. Will he be okay? Is there anything I can do?”
The last part seems to be reflexive—the help people offer when they run out of standard apologetic and sympathetic phrases. “That’s sweet of you, but we’re managing. It’s just about devising a treatment plan.”
“Okay. Well I’m glad he’s going to be okay.”
That’s not exactly what I said, but I don’t bother to correct her. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“So I guess it’s kind of up in the air as to when you’ll be back.”
“Yeah. I want to wait until he’s out of the hospital and settled first.”
“Of course. That makes sense. At least season training is still a ways off, right?”
She’s opened the door and I have no choice but to walk right through it. “I have something else I need to tell you.” My stomach knots. I hate this more than usual, maybe because of my recent interactions with DJ.
“It sounds like more bad news.” Another nervous laugh follows.
“I wanted to tell you this in person, but with my dad in the hospital and me here for a while…They’re going to announce it soon, and I don’t want you to hear it from anyone but me.”
“Announce what?”
“I’ve been traded.”
“Traded? You’ve only been with Chicago for a year, though.”
“My contract was up, so I’m going to a different team.”
“I didn’t realize that could happen so close to the beginning of a new season.” She sound
s shocked and then a little uncertain when she says, “Uh, I guess congratulations? Is the trade a good thing?”
“It would’ve been nice to stay in Chicago, but Minnesota wanted me, so that’s where I go.” She doesn’t need to know about the pay cut, or that if I don’t pick up my game this year, my entire NHL career is probably over. Being traded three times in as many years is bad enough, but being sent to this team is pretty much the kiss of death.
“Minnesota? That’s where you are now.”
“It is.”
“Right.” After a brief pause she says, “So that means you’ll have to move there, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” God, this is awkward, but not particularly painful, which is a good thing. “I’m sorry I had to do this over the phone. I was going to tell you when I got back to Chicago to finalize some things, but now that I’m here for a while…”
“Yeah. No. Of course. I totally understand. These things happen, right?” After another beat of silence she asks, “Should I let you go?”
“Yeah. I have to run a few errands.” It sounds lame, even if it’s true.
“Of course, Ethan. I’m sorry about your dad. I guess we’ll talk? Maybe I’ll see you around?”
“Sure. Thanks, Selene.”
We say goodbye and I end the call. Tipping my chin up I stare at the sky. I don’t know if that qualifies as ending things or not. We don’t have personal effects at each other’s places—it never got that far, but I still feel like I left things up in the air.
In all fairness, after the way I broke it off with DJ, I promised myself I’d never be that kind of asshole again—the one who breaks up with a girl over a text message or a phone call.
“Ethan?”
I look up to see DJ standing a few feet away. Scrubs are shapeless and purely functional, but somehow she still manages to look beautiful in them. “Hey.”
“Everything all right?”
I don’t have a real answer for that, so I lift a shoulder and let it fall.
“I saw the test results,” she offers. “There’s a good chance he’s going to be okay.”
“But still a chance that he won’t be.”
“There’s always a chance of that, but Martin is stubborn and healthy. Those things both work in his favor.” She nods at my phone. “Have you talked to your brothers yet?”
“Dylan called this morning—he’s catching a flight as soon as he can—and Tyler’s doing the same. At least it’s not life-threatening anymore, but it’d be good to have the extra support for Mom.”
“And you.”
“All of us, I guess.” I give her a half smile. “Thanks for the apple pie this morning. It meant a lot to my mom and me.”
“Like I said, it was nothing. Gave me an excuse to eat pie for breakfast to make sure I didn’t ruin it.” She rolls her eyes at herself. “Anyway, are you here permanently now, or are you still between here and Chicago? I can always be available when Martin’s released if Tyler or Dylan can’t stay long.”
“You have your own life, D—Lilah. I don’t want to put this on you.”
“You’re not putting anything on me. I wouldn’t make the offer, otherwise. Just…if there’s anything I can do, I will.”
“I appreciate that, and I know my mom does, too.” I give her what I hope is a grateful smile. “I’m going to the house and then I’m stopping to pick up lunch.”
“Jeannie’s not coming with you?”
“She doesn’t want to leave Dad. I could grab something for you, too.”
“I brought a lunch. I’m good.” She turns to walk away.
“Not even a Cosmo Special? Extra pickles on the side? Coleslaw?” It was her favorite back when we were in high school.
She narrows her eyes. “I ate pie for breakfast. I should probably stick to salad for lunch.”
I give her a lingering once-over. The scrubs hide her curves, but she hasn’t changed that much since high school, at least not on the outside. “Why?”
“Can’t be ruining my girlish figure, especially now that I’m pretty much divorced.” She cringes at the bitter tint to her words. “Forget I said that. It makes me sound petty and vain.”
My brain gets stuck on one word in particular. “Divorced?”
She gives me a look I’m all too familiar with. It’s her get-off-it face. “Come on, Ethan—Jeannie must’ve told you by now.”
I give my head a slow shake. “This is the first I’m hearing about it. When did this happen?”
“We’ve been separated for a while. I got the final divorce papers yesterday morning.”
“Yesterday? And I thought my day was shit.”
“They weren’t unexpected.”
“Still. I’m sorry.” I note for the first time that she’s not wearing a wedding band. “He better not have cheated on you.”
She barks out an incredulous laugh. “Fidelity wasn’t the problem. We just want very different things out of life, so it was better that we go our separate ways.” She sighs and looks at the sky. “Anyway, I have rounds, so I should go.”
Obviously there’s more to the story, but she has no reason to share it with me. I wonder why my mom never told me about the separation. Maybe because I would’ve been tempted to reach out to her. Maybe because knowing this makes me wonder if being traded to Minnesota is some kind of omen. The only problem is I’m pretty sure I’m on the short list of people DJ’s not too fond of, so I don’t know if it’s good or bad.
I can work on fixing that, though. Starting with lunch. “Why don’t I bring you back a panini?”
“I have a lunch. It’s fine.”
“So save it for tomorrow. How can you say no to Cosmo’s?”
She sighs but relents. “No raw onions, please.”
“So we can make out later?” I raise a hand in immediate apology. “Sorry. That was inappropriate. I didn’t mean— It just came out. I wasn’t thinking.”
She raises a brow and huffs a little laugh. “On second thought, lots of raw onions.” She turns and walks away, but I can see her reflection in the glass door as she pushes through it, and she’s smiling.
I don’t want to get ahead of myself, or let the superstitions rule me, but all of this—the good and the bad—seems like fate is throwing us back together again.
Chapter Four
Progress
Ethan
I’m sorry I can’t stay longer.” Tyler sits beside me on the porch swing with a beer in his hand. He has to go back to Buttfuck Nowhere, Alaska, at balls o’clock tomorrow morning. He should probably be sleeping, but instead we’re sitting outside, drinking beers and shooting the shit, since we haven’t had much time for that over the past week. Or over the past few years, really, since both of us travel a lot for our jobs. I’ve missed him.
“Don’t be. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Besides, Dad hates all the coddling, and it’s just a matter of waiting. There’s nothing we can do to speed up his recovery.”
Dylan returned to Seattle yesterday, after we got Dad settled at home. He stayed long enough to help us convert the main-floor office—which had been a storage space for all of my dad’s old files—and move the living room furniture around so it’s accessible for a crotchety man stuck in a wheelchair and resistant to using a walker.
At a week post-stroke, some of my dad’s speech has returned, but it’s slow and slurred, like he’s drunk, and his mouth is frozen as if he’s been to the dentist.
“I’m looking for a place in Forest Lake, maybe one with a pool house that can be converted or something.”
Tyler raises an eyebrow. “You want to stay here? Why not live in Saint Paul and be closer to your team?”
I shrug. Under other circumstances, Saint Paul would make sense, especially considering the sometimes tense relationship I have with my dad. He calls me the accident child, and my mom calls me the miracle baby, which says a lot about perception. “Makes sense to stay near Mom and Dad, especially with how much support they need.”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “She’s getting a divorce.”
“Yeah, Mom mentioned that. Said it was just the paperwork or whatnot left and then it was done. You were pretty much together all through high school from what I remember. You thinking about reconnecting?”
“I dunno.”
“Well, you should consider it. She’s hotter now than she was when she was in high school, that’s for sure.”
I punch him in the shoulder. “What the fuck were you doing checking her out when she was in high school, you dirty perv?”
“OW! Fuck, Eth, calm your shit. She practically lived in our house when you were kids. Besides, she’s in her twenties now. It’s totally reasonable for me to check her out.”
“She’s not for you.”
He snorts. “I’m just making an observation. You still have one hell of a boner over her, don’t you?”
“What’re you, twelve?”
“Come on—look at you and look at me. I’m a thirty-four-year-old environmental engineer. My best assets are my glasses and my beard. You’re an NHL player in your prime. I’d kill to spend a day in your shoes, banging my way through your groupies.”
It’s my turn to give him a raised brow. “I don’t have groupies, and my career is halfway in the shitter. Being me isn’t all that awesome at the moment.”
“Jesus. Since when did you become such a pessimistic shit? You’re getting more and more like Dad.”
I punch him in the shoulder again.
“Dude, seriously. What the hell? I’m a delicate flower. I bruise easily.”
“Don’t compare me to Dad.”
“You’re living the dream. I know you like to be the best at everything all the time, but you’ve had the better part of a decade in the NHL. It doesn’t matter that you’re not the number one player or the captain of a team; it’s still a big fucking deal and something to be proud of.”
“Are you done with the pep talk?”
The Good Luck Charm Page 3
