“That’s boring,” he teases. “This is your chance to sleep your way through the roster.”
I snort. “Yes, because I do that.”
He scoffs. “You should. It’d be so easy.”
“Says the guy who is in a very committed relationship.”
“Hey, I sowed my oats.”
He did, but not in the way he portrays. He had fun, but he has always wanted to be in a relationship. When you see your parents so in love, it’s hard not to want the same thing. For me, I want more than sex. I want the support and love I see my parents give each other. “Maybe, but I’m going to learn a lot more with the gymnastics team. Apparently they’re really good. I was told to have a lot of tape on hand at all times. Lots of busted ankles.”
“Wow, that sounds like fun,” he says dryly. “I don’t know… I miss you. I want more for you.”
“I know, but this is going to be good. I’m pumped for the distraction, and maybe it’ll be fun to live out my last year as a young adult,” I say, not only for him, but for myself. It’s hard walking away from all I know. I’m completely changing up the game, and while the fear of the unknown weighs on me, I have to stay positive. If not, I’ll fall back into my depressive state, and I can’t do that. I’ve worked hard these last several months to dig myself out, and I’ve got to keep pushing.
“Without me,” Owen grumbles.
“Shut it. I’m a phone call away.”
“I know, but it sucks,” he admits. “I miss you.”
“I know. Same, O. Same.” Emotionally driven silence stretches between us, and I need to break it. “Have you two decided on a date?”
He laughs. “No, not yet. We’re not rushing, but I did tell Mom I want to have a bigger and better wedding to piss Shelli off.”
I chuckle loudly. My sister’s wedding was a circus, and I don’t care that she gets mad when we say that. It was. Being a Broadway singer, my sister decided to sing to her husband with practically an entire orchestra during the vows, with doves and butterflies and a whole lot of over-the-top shit. She’s currently pregnant, and I don’t even know what to expect with her having a child. He’ll probably be brought home by a real live stork. “You’re an ass.”
“Dude, come on. She’s so bougie and outdoes us all.”
I laugh. “It’s not a competition, Owen. She’s our sister.”
“I know, but still. I want to one-up her.”
“I’m sure Angie is on board,” I joke, and he laughs.
“Not at all, but I can bribe her with plants.”
“Smart man,” I say as I turn onto my mom’s street. “All right, I need to pack, and I’m about to pull in to the house.”
“All right, text me.”
“I will. Oh, are you coming down to see the baby?”
“I think so. When is our newest nephew coming?”
“I think in the next week.”
“Wow. Do we have a name yet?”
“Not yet. I think they’re going to wait until he’s born and then announce it in the clouds by jet.”
We share a laugh. “Or take out a billboard.”
“Or a TV ad.” More laughter, and man, I miss this dude.
“Probably all the above,” he chuckles, and he’s probably right. “But yeah, Angie is trying to get time off. She’s planning an autism awareness hockey day with Merryweather, so she’s trying to find the best weekend to leave.”
“That’s so cool. How is Nico?” I ask, speaking of the IceCats’ goalie. I always knew he had quirks, but I didn’t realize it was autism. I’m so proud of him and Angie for all the awesome things they’re doing for the autism community.
“He’s good. We had dinner with them last night. Angie and Aviva are becoming close, though he doesn’t talk to me much.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. The girls run the conversations.”
“Hm, weird. Anyway, tell them I’m thinking of them and I say hi.” I pull in behind my mom’s car and turn off mine.
“Sure.”
“Cool. Well, I’m home.”
“All right. Love you.”
“Love you.”
I hang up and grab my paperwork from the school. I don’t get out yet; I take a deep breath and stare at my childhood home. I’ve been living here for almost seven months, and I still get such anxiety going inside. I’m overly embarrassed by how things played out, that even though my parents welcomed me home with open arms, I hardly speak to my dad. He tells me over and over again that he isn’t disappointed, but he has to be. He was the proud parent of two first-round draft picks who went straight into the NHL, and while Owen is killing it, I couldn’t handle the life.
I’m starting to accept my decision and know it was the right one for me, but how could the person who gave me the gift of hockey do the same?
He can’t.
I know he can’t.
Shit, if I’m honest, I don’t think I can either.
It’s hard to love someone who is a failure.
three
Evan
I somehow make it to my room without seeing anyone. I think they’re out back. Just as I reach the room that I used to share with Owen, I get a text from my mom.
Mom: We’re out back. Come join us.
I make a face because I know the us is my mom, the newest golden child, Benny, the golden baby, Quinn, and my dad.
Pass.
Me: I’m gonna pack and then load up my car. I want to be at the house tonight since I have a meeting with the coaches for both teams tomorrow.
I had already told my mom my plans. And when I was given my assignments, I sent her the paperwork about it before I called Owen to tell him. I wait for her text, but I don’t know why. I know my mom. I’m actually an idiot for assuming she’d just say okay or even cool. Instead, within seconds, she’s in my doorway.
“I didn’t think you’d leave so quickly.”
I start to pack my bag. I haven’t unpacked any of my boxes from when I was in South Carolina playing for the IceCats. I figured if I didn’t go back to college, I’d get my own place. I actually considered moving to Canada to run away from my family’s disappointment. Mom got wind of it, and I’m pretty sure she hid my passport.
I still don’t know where it is.
“Yeah, I’ve got a meeting with the head of the Bullies’ house and Coach Moore. Then the gymnastics manager.”
She makes a face at that. I think my mom looks the same as she always has. I guess there are a few wrinkles around her eyes, but she’s still young-looking. Not old enough to have all adult children and be a grandma, that’s for sure. Her blazing green eyes are still sharp, and her wild auburn hair doesn’t have a lick of gray in it. Shelli says that’s because she stays on top of her hair coloring, but I don’t know. To me, my mom’s still the same woman who would bandage my boo-boos. Hell, she’s still bandaging my wounds.
They’re just mental boo-boos now.
“I wonder why with River Moore?” she says, and now I mirror her look.