Tacker

by Sawyer Bennett

  Helen didn’t have an extended or close family. She had a wayward brother back East that I met twice in my lifetime, who wasn’t overly interested in an adopted niece. Her parents had both died, and the few aunts, uncles, and cousins I had I really didn’t know. Helen had been a traveler and a pioneer, preferring to spend much of her life in war-torn countries helping victims of violence.

  So it was just me and her. Her death left an immense hole within me. Luckily, my work here helped to refill the well.

  The ranch itself fills it. It’s why after I’d finished chores, I saddled up Starlight and headed out for a ride. The sun feels amazing, the birds are making music, and the desert landscape always soothes me.

  Arizona is truly my home, and Drenica is far behind me. My life here is full and complete.

  Starlight and I don’t stay out long. I head back after about half an hour, stopping briefly to dismount and study a long snakeskin left behind by a rattler on the side of the trail. I love nature… even the scary parts of it. I consider bringing it back to show Tacker next time he comes for counseling, but then think better of it. If he knows I found it near the horse trail, I’ll never get him in the saddle for a ride.

  The ride back is smooth. I consider detouring off into one of the pastures to let Starlight have a bit of a run, but as the gray barn comes into view, my heart skips a beat when I notice Tacker’s truck parked beside it. I can see him and Raul near the rear, both their forearms resting on the truck bed as they talk.

  I have no clue why Tacker’s here. We don’t have a counseling session. After the full day of work he and the team gave me yesterday, he simply can’t be here to do more work. That would just be way too much on his part.

  Their heads swivel when they hear Starlight’s hooves crunching behind them, Tacker’s eyes coming straight to mine. His smile is easy, and he probably doesn’t even understand what an accomplishment that is.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask with a return smile. After I dismount, I hand the reins to Raul, who’d moved over to take Starlight from me.

  As he leads the horse away, Tacker points to the back of his truck. I take a few steps over to peer in.

  The entire bed is filled with bags of chicken feed.

  Questioningly, I raise an eyebrow.

  He shrugs. “I stopped by the tractor supply store on the way in. And, what do you know, chicken feed was on sale. Knew you couldn’t ever have enough.”

  “Oh my God,” I say, my hand coming near my neck to flutter there a moment. Donations are always welcome, but they are so few and far between. Every little bit helps. “Thank you, Tacker.”

  “Not a big deal,” he says, his cheeks flushing. Because he’s embarrassed, I don’t make a big deal of it.

  Except it is a big deal.

  A mere three weeks ago, Tacker probably wouldn’t have gone out of his way to pee on someone who was on fire. And now he’s giving of himself selflessly. This is important because, as I told him before, generosity toward others is actually a healing act.

  “I have something else for you,” he says, his tone slightly unsure and guarded.

  I don’t know the source of his anxiety right now, but I give him a reassuring smile. “What is it?”

  “Well,” he drawls as he steps around me to move to the passenger door of his truck. “I have no clue if this is any good or not. I made it myself, so most likely not. Actually, I had help making it. If it’s bad, I’ll blame it on Blue, but…”

  I move in behind him, shamelessly standing on tiptoes to see what he has as he leans into his truck. He pulls out a plastic cake plate with a frosted domed hood, which makes it impossible to see what’s inside.

  Tacker turns toward me, flips a latch on one side, and opens the top to reveal the contents.

  When I see what’s there, my jaw drops open. “Shendetlie,” I whisper.

  I hadn’t seen one in years and only had a handful in my youth, yet I’d never forget it.

  Leaning forward, I inhale the smell of honey and walnuts. I remember watching Besjana make the simple flour cake that is filled with nuts and sweetened with honey. When it’s baked, it resembles a dry biscuit of sorts, but then it’s soaked in a simple syrup that gives it a cake-like texture.

  Tacker clears his throat. “Like I said, no clue if it tastes good or not, but well…”

  My gaze rises from the cake to him.

  His face turns red and he glances over to the barn, perhaps seeking some type of assistance from Raul because he seems totally lost.

  When his attention comes back to me, he says, “I don’t know if this is appropriate. I know it’s your birthday, and that this day represents the worst day of your life, too. I’m not a counselor, so I don’t know if this is helpful or harmful, but I just felt like you should have something meaningful today. If this is wrong, tell me now. I’ll go dump this in the trash.”

  I immediately put my hand on Tacker’s arm, feeling my heart soften. Hopefully, my expression conveys just how perfect this is. There’s a hard lump in my throat, but I talk past it. “It’s the most wonderful thing ever. Truly.”

  Tacker lets out a huge sigh of relief, then mutters, “Thank fuck. I doubted myself a million times before I came out here this morning. I think I stopped for the chicken feed because at least I’d have something I knew you’d love if I’d fucked up the cake thing.”

  I tip my head back and laugh, loving the fact he can admit his doubts. While Tacker may be a man mired in anger, guilt, and grief, he’s always had a healthy ego. It’s nice to see that he keeps it in check with some admitted insecurities.

  “Want to join me in a piece of cake?” I ask.

  He flips the lid down, then latches it. “Sure.”

  In my kitchen, I take the holder from Tacker. “Want some coffee?”

  “Nah… I’m good.”

  “Grab some bottles of water out of the fridge then,” I say as I pull two plates out of a cupboard.

  Using the task of cutting the cake, I try to gather my thoughts. I’d spent so many years avoiding acknowledgment of my birthday that this cake seems like an enormously life-changing event.

  Not a bad thing, but one I wasn’t prepared for today.

  “Be honest,” Tacker says just as I pick up both plates to carry them over to the table. He meets me there, taking one out of my hand. “Was this okay? Making something from your past that might potentially bring up bad memories?”

  I nod at the chair Tacker should sit in. To my surprised delight, he pulls mine out first. I sit and wait for him to do the same… the two pieces of cake momentarily forgotten.

  “I never want to avoid memories, even if painful,” I say. “And there is absolutely nothing wrong with you doing something like this. I’d just gotten so used to ignoring my birthday and focusing on my adoption day with Helen instead. I’d honestly forgotten what it felt like to be joyful for my birth. So thank you.”

  “No, thank you,” he replies solemnly. “I just wanted to do something to show you how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

  I shake my head, pulling my cake plate toward me. “I haven’t done anything but my job.”

  “Not true,” he replies as he picks up his fork. “You shared your history with me, and you didn’t have to do that. I know that’s not part of regular therapy, but I want you to know… had you not done that, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now having this discussion. It helped more than you could possibly realize.”

  I smile, taking my fork in hand. “Then I’m very glad I did.”

  “Does it get easier?” he asks. “Talking about it, I mean?”

  “Yeah,” I say confidently. “It does get easier. I remember every time I told my story to someone—a counselor, a teacher, or a new friend—it came out a little smoother. Each time, I felt a bit more empowered that I could handle it.”

  Tacker appears troubled. “Is it a secret?”

  “A secret? You mean what happened to my family?”

  He nods,
regarding me intently.

  “God, no,” I exclaim with a light laugh. “I mean… it’s part of who I am, and I’d never think to hide a part of me. Why?”

  His gaze drops a moment before sliding up, a tinge of guilt there. “Because I told a few people about it yesterday. It came up inadvertently because Dax’s sister is actually in Kosovo now. She’s a photojournalist doing a follow-up story to the war. They were loudly talking about it. I asked them to hold it down so you wouldn’t hear, and, well… a discussion ensued. I told them about it—not in any detail or anything—but just that you were there and had lost family.”

  Without thought, I reach across the table and take Tacker’s hand. It jerks in mine, but I grip him tightly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind anyone knowing the details. It’s not something I’m ashamed of, and it doesn’t hurt me to talk about it anymore. I promise.”

  A gust of relieved air pushes out of his mouth. “Thank fuck.”

  Laughing, I slide my hand free of his. With a pointed look at my plate, I ask, “Shall we try this?”

  “You first,” he says with a grin, nodding at my plate. “In case it sucks.”

  Ruefully, I shake my head and plunge my fork in. I scoop up a piece and bring it right to my mouth, letting it sit on my tongue for just a moment so I can relish the flavors of my youth.

  I give a tiny moan, closing my eyes as I start to chew.

  “Oh my God,” I say with my mouth full of honey, nuts, and heaven. “That’s amazing, Tacker.”

  Seeming pleased with my reaction, he doesn’t wait, sliding his utensil in to grab a bite. He chews, swallows, and nods in appreciation. “Damn, that’s really sweet, but I like it.”

  We eat in companionable silence and when we’re finished, we carry our plates to the sink where Tacker makes to wash them, but I wave him off. “I’ll get those later.”

  “Okay, well… I’m going to unload that chicken feed and head out,” he says.

  “Thank you again,” I say softly, and without thought, I move into him with my arms raised for a hug.

  He bends, accepting my embrace, and I give him a tight squeeze. After a second of hesitation, his arms go around my waist. We stay just like that for a moment more.

  When we pull back, we do so slowly. I don’t know if he feels the same, but, weirdly, I regret the loss of contact. His cheek scrapes along mine as we start to disengage from the hug. Neither one of us makes eye contact as we complete the final break.

  Tacker pushes his hands down into the front pockets of his jeans, and I take a slight step back.

  “You know,” I start since I think it needs to be said. “I’m really proud of the efforts you’ve made. You’ve done things that have been really difficult and outside your comfort zone.”

  “All because of you,” he reminds me.

  “No, all because of you,” I insist.

  He smiles awkwardly. “Actually going to be a little weird not to see you this upcoming week because of the away games.”

  “You have my cell number,” I say. “Feel free to call me if you need to talk.”

  His eyes are inscrutable, but then he nods with a slight smile. “Okay… thanks.”

  “Come on,” I say, throwing my thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll help you unload the feed.”

  We head out to the barn, Raul nowhere in sight. Tacker and I make short work of stacking the burlap bags in an empty stall.

  I walk with him back out to his truck.

  As he opens the door, he gives me a last look. “Week after next… we’re back on, right?”

  “Yup,” I assure him, knowing deep in my gut that I’ll be looking forward to seeing him again. “Whatever works best with your practice and game schedule. I’ll move some things around if I have to.”

  Okay, that sounds a little too exuberant.

  “And you and Raul are coming to the home game that week, right?”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” I assure him, which is the truth. I’m excited about checking out a live hockey game while watching Tacker out on the ice. I just know it’s going to be something special to see.

  “All right then,” he says, but he makes no move to get in his truck. Just stands there and fidgets.

  If I don’t say something to help him on his way, I’ll probably be lulled into just staring right back at him.

  So I hold my hand up in a farewell as I take a few steps back. “Safe travels. Play your ass off.”

  Grinning, Tacker climbs into his truck. I turn my back on him to head into the barn, listening to the rumble of his engine as he starts it. Long after the sound recedes down the drive, thoughts of Tacker swirl through my mind.

  CHAPTER 16

  Tacker

  I wasn’t prepared for the rush of emotion that hit me when I stepped out onto the ice for warmups half an hour ago. Now with the game about to start, my place secured back on the first line at center ice, I’m actually worried my legs might give way. They went a little jiggly as it hit me all at once.

  I was back in the game.

  What was my sole reason for living after the crash… and the one thing that had kept me going until I metaphorically crashed again.

  Nora had texted a few hours ago as we were on our way from the team hotel to the arena. We’re playing the Seattle Storm, who happen to be sitting near the bottom of the standings. While players can never take any game for granted, it does help my nerves that we’re playing one of the lower-ranked teams for my return debut.

  Nora’s text helped. It simply said, Enjoy the moment.

  She’s talking about right now—with my nerves buzzing and my adrenaline surging. The scream of fans and the energy pouring off my teammates.

  My legs strengthen, and my backbone locks.

  I’m ready, and I fucking love it.

  The ref moves into the circle, right up to where Bishop faces off against his opponent for the face-off. His eyes cut to me briefly, and he winks.

  Not a facial muscle of mine moves in response. I’m fucking ready to play.

  For a man wearing a cast on a wrist that was fractured five weeks ago and who had only been back at practice for two weeks, I played a damn good game. My biggest accomplishment is in not getting in a fight.

  As a center, I’m a shooter, not a fighter. That means I’m relied on to score, not to play defense or get tough with other players. My body is too valuable to mess it up in a slugfest, so I’m rarely enticed into a fight.

  But that didn’t stop the Storm players from trying to bait me. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up, me… the man with a cast.

  While league regulations allow players to wear casts in a game, we are absolutely forbidden from fighting with one. As such, I stepped out onto the ice tonight expecting players to push me to my limits. Most opposing players would not be sad to see me suspended again.

  I kept my cool all night.

  I played well, even if not stellar, and that met everyone’s expectations for the evening. I had one assist and a severely aching wrist as the final moments of the game tick down.

  There’s thirty-seven seconds left on the clock, and the Storm is down 2-0. They have nothing to lose, so they pull their goalie once they gain possession of the puck. My line just stepped out, and our legs are fresh as we defend.

  Back and forth, they pass the puck, looking for the long shot or a quick dump inside for a goal. My back is to Legend as I keep myself facing the action, letting my stick play loose.

  They make their move as the crowd’s screams escalate in tune to the clock ticking closer to zero. With a sharp flick of the wrist, the puck makes it past Dax to the inside. Players crash the net, Aaron poke checks, and the biscuit shoots out toward me.

  Bishop has broken loose and I tap it to him, just as he crosses into the neutral zone. I follow, my eyes darting up to the clock to note seven seconds left.

  Bishop carries the puck across the blue line, the empty net right in front of him.

  “Tacker,” he calls. To my surprise, he
shoots it over to me.

  It’s an easy flick of my wrist, a snap of my stick blade, and the puck easily glides in for a goal. The fucker didn’t need to give me that point, but I’m not surprised he did. My team as a whole has gone way out of their way to make sure my return has been the stuff dreams are made of.

  They all surround me… Bishop, Dax, Aaron, Erik, and Legend. Pats of their gloved hands on my helmet, stick blades gently against my calves.

  Win, lose, or draw, I’m grateful for this moment. I’m back where I need to be, and there’s no way I’m ever fucking this up again.

  Oddly, I wonder if Nora’s watching on TV and I don’t even chastise myself for letting my thoughts go there.

  I hope she is.

  Watching.

  Knowing that part of me being here is because of what she’s done.

  The team continues to celebrate our win in the locker room. Shouts, loud jokes, slaps of towels on asses. Something I had not participated in since coming to the Vengeance, and I actually don’t participate in it now. It’s a bit overwhelming and while it felt natural on the ice to be back on the team, I’m not sure of my place here. I’ve caused a lot of hardship on this team because of my attitude and behavior that this feels just a little too strange.

  Shower complete, I stand at my locker and work on getting dressed. We’ll be taking the team bus back to the hotel. Because our next game isn’t until day after tomorrow in Los Angeles, we’ll stay overnight here.

  A hand comes down on my shoulder and I twist my neck to see Rafe standing there. “Awesome game, man. God help our opponents once that cast comes off.”

  My smile comes easy in response to the genuine nature of his praise. He’s not bitter in the slightest that he’s been bumped back to second line. “Thanks, Rafe. Appreciate it.”

  He nods and drifts away.

  “So… truth… how’d it feel?” Aaron asks as he comes up to my side, a towel wrapped around his waist. Flipping a leg over the bench, he sits with legs splayed. “Great to be back on the ice?”