by Emma Tharp
I can’t help but roll my eyes. I love my mother dearly, but the intensity with which she feels the need to marry me off always grates my nerves. “Nope. Nobody today,” I say this as sweetly as possible, but it’s difficult for me.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says. Her thigh jolts in a jerking movement and she nearly jumps off the couch. “Oh, damn.” Tears form at the corner of her eyes.
Immediately I rub her leg, digging my thumbs into the weakened muscles that are taut in spasm and she slowly begins to calm. “Have you taken your evening pills?”
“Good Lord, no, I didn’t. When I was watching TV earlier, I must’ve fallen asleep before I had the chance.” The lines around her eyes turn down.
Damn MS.
It keeps getting worse.
“It’s okay. Let me get you some fresh water.” Standing, I grab her dinner plate off the coffee table and take it with me to the kitchen. It’s important she doesn’t see how upset I am. This disease is taking a damaging toll on my once active and vibrant mother and it guts me a little more each day that she has to suffer.
There’s still half of the chicken breast and sweet potato on her plate I left for her for dinner. She needs to eat more. I take a few steadying breaths before filling her glass.
“Here you go.” I hand her the pills from her evening pack along with the water.
She takes them from me and swallows them one by one.
“You’d tell me if things are getting worse, wouldn’t you, Mom?”
Shaking her head, she says, “Everything is fine. Don’t worry about me. You’re doing a great job taking care of me. Your father would be so proud.”
A metallic taste coats my mouth when I bite my tongue. She’s so disillusioned about my father. Still. It’s been five years since the hard-ass bastard died and she’s still in denial about the relationship we shared. But I don’t want to fight with my mother. Instead, I smirk at her and say, “Thanks. But please tell me if your symptoms get worse. We see the doctor next week and if we need to adjust your dosages or get a nurse to come in while I’m gone, we’ll do it.”
“How will we pay for that? No nurses and no nursing homes. The insurance doesn’t pay for that. I’m fine.” She crosses her thin arms across her chest.
A sick feeling churns around my stomach thinking about how much money we don’t have. It’s sad how little her insurance does pay. Most of her meds we pay for out of pocket, as well as her extra rehab and physical therapy visits, not to mention the modifications we’ve done to the house so she can still get around. I cringe to think where she’d be if I didn’t have the jobs I do. How else would I pay for everything?
“Can I get you a snack or anything? You didn’t eat much dinner.”
Her hand comes to mine and she gives it a little pat. “I’d like to go to bed. I’m exhausted.”
“Of course.” I get up and pull her walker toward her and lean down. She puts her arms around my neck and I give her a boost. She can do this herself, but it’s late and when her body is fatigued, it’s best I help her.
We move in the direction of her room, and I’m close behind her if she needs me. We go through her nightly routine. She brushes her teeth and I brush her hair. I tuck her in and kiss her forehead, the same as she did for me when I was a kid.
“Goodnight,” I tell her as I turn off her lights.
“I love you, Cora.”
“Love you, too.”
“THAT SHIRT IS SEXY; I wish we were the same size. I’d borrow it,” my best friend and co-worker, Brianne, says.
“Just wear three push-up bras instead of two and it’ll work for you,” I say.
Brianne swats my arm and groans. “Quit rubbing in that your boobs are huge and mine look like a twelve-year-old boy’s chest.”
“Ouch.” She had some oomph behind that hit, even though she meant it to be playful. I rub the skin of my shoulder and she tilts her head back in laughter. “I wasn’t rubbing in that my boobs are nicer. Bigger doesn’t mean better.”
“Ha! Tell that to the guys at Lolita’s when I’m delivering them drinks. Even with the push-up bras, they’d all still say yours are superior.”
I finish the last swallow of my cosmo and set the glass in front of me. It feels good to have the night off and have drinks with my girlfriend. It’s good for my soul to laugh and be silly and not stress about work or my mother for an evening. It doesn’t come without a healthy dose of guilt, but my mother has been hounding me to get out of the house and Brianne hasn’t let up either about going out with her. I caved to both of them, and I’m so glad I did.
“Your body is beautiful and I don’t care what anyone says. Steve never would’ve hired you if it wasn’t,” I tell her and mean it. She’s tall, thin, with legs for miles. Sure, her bra size is a few smaller than mine, but she’s still smoking hot.
“Jeez. Thanks. Now, enough about Lolita’s. We’re off tonight, so let’s not talk about it. What else has been going on?” She crosses her smooth legs in front of her and flags down the bartender and signals for two more drinks. He nods and she flashes him her million dollar smile.
“A few nights ago, I had a gig at The Preston. A bachelor party.”
Brianne’s eyebrows couldn’t get any closer to her hairline. “Holy shit. Must’ve been rich guys.”
“Yeah. You could say that. It was the Nashville Wolverines hockey team.”
At this exact moment, the bartender sets down our two martini glasses. Brianne’s hand flies up and knocks them both over, sending pink liquid across the bar top.
“Are you kidding me? You lucky bitch. You danced for an NHL team?” she yells, completely oblivious to the fact that she just made a huge mess.
The bartender gives Brianne a dirty look and mops the mess up with a towel. I throw him an apologetic glance. “It wasn’t as exciting as it sounds. It unnerved me and I didn’t like it. Now tell the bartender you’re sorry for spilling our drinks.”
For the first time, she glances over her shoulder and sees the bar rag saturated in pink liquid. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” She shrugs at the bartender and points her eyes back at me as if they were spotlights and she’s interrogating me. “Spill. What had you so anxious?”
“It wasn’t so much the team, but one of the players. Derek Parker. We went to high school together. I tutored him in math.”
Bouncing up out of her chair, Brianne hurls her arms up to grab me by the shoulders at the same moment the bartender almost sets our drinks down again. Just in time he pulls them off the bar. “Hey, if you spill these, I’m going to have to charge you double.” All the customer service niceties are gone.
“Oh, I’m really sorry,” Brianne says in her sweetest voice, batting her eyelashes at him.
“It’s okay. Be careful.” He makes a show of setting the glasses down as gently as possible. Rolling his eyes, he walks away.
“We’re going to have to leave him a good tip,” Brianne says. “But enough about the drinks. Tell me what you know about the new superstar left wing for the Wolverines, Derek Parker.”
I take several swallows of the smooth liquid before answering. “First of all, how do you know that? I didn’t know that you were a hockey fan. And second, there isn’t much to tell, other than the fact that I tutored him. He needed to get good grades to get into prep school. I helped him sophomore year and he got in and moved away our junior year. I never saw him again until last night.” My insides heat up and not from the alcohol.
“Well, my ex-asshole loved to watch hockey and he was a Wolverines fan. Even though we aren’t together anymore, I still love the game. But you need to explain why your cheeks are pink. Did you guys ever date?” she asks.
I touch my cheeks. Yup, they’re warm. “No way. He was a player and I was a bookworm. We had nothing in common.”
“Then what has you so flustered?” She runs her finger along the rim of her glass, but her eyes haven’t left mine.
“Maybe it was the way he was watc
hing me. I didn’t recognize him at first and when I did a lap dance for him is when I finally made the connection.” I turn my gaze from hers and look off in the distance, remembering how my body felt supercharged by electricity dancing for Derek.
“Hello.” She snaps her fingers at me. “Where did you go? This guy got under your skin, didn’t he?”
I shake my head, clearing myself out of the hot NHL player fog. “Sorry. I don’t want to admit it, but I think he did. And he’s the last thing I need to be thinking about,” I say in a huff.
“Girl, what would be so wrong with thinking about a hot, available guy?”
“How do you know he’s available?” I get that she watches hockey, but how does she know Derek’s relationship status?
Brianne pushes her wavy brown locks over her shoulder and gives me her signature eye wink. “Yes, recently divorced. He’s been playing more aggressively since the split. The commentators have been loving the story.”
My nerve endings stand in readiness and start giving each other high-fives. I shiver and sit up taller. Why the hell should I be happy to hear that Derek got a divorce? Divorce is devastating and terrible. I remember firsthand how wrecked Brianne was when she was going through it. Yet here I am feeling like a kid on Christmas morning. “Wow. I didn’t realize that hockey sportscasters were like that.”
“They sure are. And you have a gleam in your eyes. Why don’t you reach out to him? Get coffee or something? Wouldn’t you like to catch up with him?”
“And say what? Yeah, my life went to shit? I dropped out of college and now I use my body to earn money?” My tone comes out whiny and pathetic and I’d like to slap myself for it.
“Seriously, you’re kidding, right? You’re so much more than that. Any man would be lucky to have a woman like you, who steps up to the plate when someone in her family needs help. I know it sucks that you didn’t get a chance to finish college, but it’ll always be there and you can finish someday.” She lays a cool hand on mine, her long fingers covering it before she squeezes.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I hate when I get this way. Feeling sorry for myself gets me absolutely nowhere. But I won’t be reaching out to Derek. I know how he was in high school. A total player who could have anyone he wanted. I’m sure not much has changed.” I pick up my drink and let the alcohol warm my throat and dull some of the truth’s sting. As attracted to Derek as I am, falling for him would get me nowhere and only serve as a distraction that I don’t have time for.
Brianne raises her arm and tries to get the attention of the bartender, who walks right by us. “What a jerk. You spill your drink and then you get ignored. You almost ready to head out and go somewhere else?”
“Sure.”
“Good, but before you we go, can I remind you that we aren’t our pasts, okay? Even if it isn’t Derek. Anyone and everyone out there has made mistakes; you shouldn’t hold it against them. And I haven’t seen you react this way in forever about a guy. He might be worth a phone call.”
“Thank you for the reminder, but even if I wanted to call him, I don’t have his number. But I do have tickets to see them play. Teddy gave me two tickets before I left the bachelor party. You want to go with me?”
She lets out squeal and exclaims without hesitation, “Umm, is that even a question?”
THREE
Derek
THE SQUAWKING, shrill sound coming from Coach’s whistle signals it’s time to get off the ice.
I’m not ready yet.
Wes must see it in my expression as I whack my stick on the ice, signaling to him to pass me the puck. Even though the play is over and so is practice, Teddy is still standing in the net. Wes sends the puck gliding over the ice right to my stick. Winding back, I channel all my aggression and energy into the shot and send it straight to the back of the net. Wes cheers and Teddy puts his gloved hand over his heart and sinks to his knees. “Practice is over, man. Let’s get the hell out of here!” Teddy shouts.
“Give me the puck. One more shot,” I tell him.
“Zamboni is waiting. Time to go, boys,” Coach Stevens calls from somewhere behind me.
Fuck. I’d like at least another hour on the ice. It’s the only time I’m not restless. No thoughts about Carrie. No what-ifs or could-have-beens.
I’m impatient. None of the guys are passing me a puck. “One more!” I shout to no one in particular.
“Fuck it, man. Let’s get out of here,” Slick calls from the bench. “Rose is having a girls’ night. Let’s do something.”
“Just because your fiancée is busy doesn’t mean that we have to do something. Now give me the puck. One more, then I’ll leave.” There’ll never be enough ice time. I give it one hundred and ten percent every time I’m out here. No way am I going to take this for granted. I’ve seen it happen to too many guys. Some younger, better player is always waiting in the wings to take your place. I’ve been in the league for five years. I’m grateful for every practice and every game.
Slick must see something in my eyes because he throws a puck in my direction, and like clockwork, Teddy stands in the ready position. Gliding to my right and cutting left, I wind up and fake Teddy out. He goes down onto his knees in a perfect butterfly and I chip one up over his head, and it goes bar down behind him.
“Damn you, Rick! Why’d you have to give him another damn puck?” Teddy calls out as he skates off toward the bench. “I’m done for tonight.”
Slick, Wes, and I, the only guys left on the ice, laugh at Teddy as we head toward the locker room.
“Let’s go out. I need to get a drink and find myself a nice young lady,” Teddy says as he pulls his goalie mask off his head, leaving his red hair standing straight up in a short wet Mohawk.
Wes plops himself on a bench and unties his skates. “Yeah, I’m game. Lydia is out of town at a gig. You going, Derek?” His dark eyes shoot me a “don’t say no” look.
“I’m tired. Think I’ll just go home,” I say, without looking at any of the guys.
Slick throws a wadded-up ball of tape at me that hits the side of my head. “What the hell, man? You haven’t gone out with us in forever.”
He’s right. I haven’t because I’m over the going out scene. When Carrie and I got married, I settled into that life. If I was in town, we would stay home, just watch a movie, or cook dinner together. I loved it and was relieved that I wouldn’t have to hang out in the over-crowded bars with women who barely know me, throwing themselves at me just because I play professional hockey. “I’m good. You guys go ahead.”
“Don’t you want to meet a nice lady, too?” Teddy asks, his pale green eyes and wicked grin urging me on.
The ink is barely dry on the divorce papers. I’m hardly ready to move on, yet it seems like the guys are ready for me to get right back on the horse. Funny how that is. Slick is getting married soon, Teddy is single, and Wes is dating Lydia Crow, a country music singer. Not one of them is qualified to give me advice or has any idea what I’m going through. “Nope, I’m in no damn hurry to find a random hook-up.”
“Dude, don’t you think that would ease some of the tension?” Slick asks as he takes off the last of his pads and wraps a towel around his waist.
“I think what Rick is trying to say is that we can tell you’ve been stressed out lately, on and off the ice, and we’d like to help you out. Even if it’s just a couple of beers tonight to let loose.” Wes swallows and runs his hand through his wavy brown unruly hair.
I exhale through my nose and focus on my feet. My friends are trying to help me out, and I appreciate that. The truth is that I have been stressed lately and tense as fuck. I never wanted to get a divorce, yet here I am still trying to pick up the pieces of the life I thought Carrie and I were living. It all blew up in my face before I’d even had a chance to try and fix it. “Why not? Let’s go out for a few.”
“Yes,” Teddy says, hanging his giant leg pads up on the hook as he starts walking, bare-assed to the showers. “Let’s go party.”<
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THE CLUB IS a sea of bodies from one end to the other.
It’s noisy and the reek of someone’s cheap perfume hits my nose and turns my stomach. I move to the other side of Wes for some more breathable air.
I’m going to need a drink and fast.
Raising my hand up, I get the attention of the bartender and she stops in front of me, giving me a flirty smile. “Hey, handsome. What can I get you?”
“A round of tequila shots.” I point toward the four of us.
She gives me a wink and walks away to get the bottle of Patron. She’s cute in a pixie kind of way, but she’s not my type. What exactly is my type? At this point, I’m not too sure. Maybe someone who brings out the best in me and can hang in there and work through problems instead of running when shit gets tough.
The bartender pours our shots and sets them in front of us. I hand her my credit card and tell her to start a tab.
We clink our glasses together and Teddy says, “Cheers to me getting laid tonight.”
“We’ll see, buddy.” Slick slaps Teddy on the back before he tips his shot back.
Teddy’s eyes turn down and he looks like Rick just ran over his puppy. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
We all laugh and I take my shot, welcoming the heat and sting.
“I’m just ripping on you, buddy. Let’s find you a pretty lady.” Slick throws his arm around Teddy’s shoulders and they turn out toward the dance floor.
“Well, hello, hottie,” a tall blonde woman says, walking in my direction. Her fake tan shows up before she does. Her long hair is tied back in a ponytail and she’s wearing a royal blue form-fitting dress. A large diamond pendant sits in her cleavage. Or is it a cubic zirconia? Fuck if I know. Her eyes are half-lidded and her manicured nail draws circles on my chest.
Taking a step back, I remove her hand and say, “Hi.” My tone is tight and oozing impatience.
She eases closer, clearly ignoring my body cues, and takes my left hand in hers. “No ring. You looking for company?” Her breath smells of red wine, matching the blue tint on her teeth when she smiles.
