He shifts on the bed, tucking me against him, my back to his front, his arm wrapped around my middle. “They were in the news a lot…eight years ago. There was an accident with the team bus.”
An accident.
His brother and his dad died in a motor vehicle accident.
I start to turn, but he holds me in place with his strong arms, like he doesn’t want to face me. “Was that the accident you lost your brother and your dad in?”
“Yeah.” He coughs. “I was on the bus too. We were on our way to Medicine Hat for a game. It was winter and the roads were bad. A semi slid through a stop sign and T-boned us on the highway.”
My stomach churns and aches. “Oh no.” I curl my fingers around his taut forearm.
“Fourteen people died. Including Bryce and my dad. My dad was an assistant coach. Our coach also died, the bus driver died, a guy from the local radio station died, and our athletic therapist died. And nine other players.” He swallows and when he speaks again, his voice sounds like he swallowed broken glass. “Some of the other guys were hurt really bad.”
“You?”
“No.” I feel his head movement. “I mean, I had some bruises and I was sore for a while, but nothing serious.”
I close my eyes and slowly inhale. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m so sorry. That must have been a horrific experience.”
“Yes. It was.”
My insides are all knotted and twisted, my chest hot. I don’t know what to say or what to do. I knew he’d lost his dad and his brother, but not like this. And all those other people. It’s so tragic, my eyes sting with tears.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “We had such a fun night, and this is a downer.”
“It’s okay.” I squeeze his arm. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I asked about it.”
“No, it’s fine. I…I don’t like to talk about it. Or even think about it. It’s been eight years, but I still get angry about it when I think about how unfair it was, all those lives cut short. I actually don’t remember some of it, which I’m told is probably a defense mechanism. But I do remember sitting in the ditch, in the snow, in the dark, holding Bryce…he was hurt so bad and I kept trying to tell him he’d be okay. I told him Dad would find us.” His voice cracks. “I told him we’d get him to a hospital, and he’d be okay. But…he wasn’t okay. He died in the ambulance.”
“Was he older than you?”
“Yeah. He was twenty. I was eighteen. I was…going into the NHL draft that spring. Bryce never got drafted, but he was good. He loved hockey. We both did.”
“And your dad, I bet.”
“Oh yeah. He was so proud of us. And excited about me going into the draft. The rankings had me going in the first round, so he was super pumped about that.” He stops and breathes. “He never got to see it.”
“He knows.”
“Yeah. I believe he does.”
“And he’s still proud of you.”
“I wish every day they were still here.”
“Oh God. I’m sure you do.” I squeeze my eyes shut and a tear slides down my cheek.
“I lost everything that day,” he adds quietly. “I lost my mom too.”
I remember him saying that she’d had a breakdown after that. She must have been so devastated.
“I lost my team.”
“You didn’t play again?”
“No. The whole town was wrecked about what happened.”
“God.”
“And I lost my two best friends…Josh…they thought he might not make it. He did, but I…really haven’t seen him since then. He plays for the Stars now. And Hunter…he was fine, but he disappeared off the face of the earth for a year and then ended up playing college hockey. I’ve never really talked to them since.”
His voice is sad, edged with a touch of bitterness.
Another tear leaks from my eye. “I’m so sorry, Easton.”
“Yeah.” He rubs his face against my hair. “I’m sorry too.”
“Was it hard for you to play hockey? After that?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. “No. It wasn’t. I felt like that was all I had left. I would have lost my mind if I couldn’t play hockey. But I did feel…guilty, I guess. That I could play when others couldn’t. When I got drafted, I told myself I was playing for them too.”
A piercing ache fills my chest. I squeeze his arm tighter. That’s so impressive. There is so much more to this man than I ever realized. To have come through something like that…I see now why sometimes he’s a little cynical.
It takes me a long time to fall asleep, thinking about what Easton just told me. Even when he’s breathing slowly and rhythmically, sound asleep, I’m wide awake. I keep thinking about him sitting in a dark, snowy ditch, holding his brother, and my heart breaks for him. I think about his dad, and how Easton kept thinking he’d find them. More tears dampen the pillow beneath my cheek. What an incredible tragedy for that team…all those families. And for Easton.
Chapter 17
Easton
Early in December we have a long road trip, a whole week away, playing in Vegas, Santa Monica, Long Beach, and Anaheim. It’s probably a good thing to get a little distance and make sure neither Lilly nor I are getting too caught up in things.
Since I told Lilly about the bus crash, I’ve felt like things are different between us. She now knows more about me than anyone else here in New York. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s so easy being with someone who gets you, who knows all about you and likes you anyway. But it also makes me feel exposed. Like she knows my biggest weaknesses. It scares the shit out of me.
It also scares the shit out of me that I think about her all the time.
I need to take a step back. So this trip is perfect timing.
Road trips are fun, and Vegas is cool; so is California. The guys all hang out together, which is good for team building.
Of course, Lilly texts me with pictures and videos of Otis. Sounds like she’s really busy with all her new clients plus having him for a whole week, but she seems happy about that. I’m happy for her, glad that this new business is working out.
We win our first game in Vegas, which puts Coach in a good mood and things are calm. In Santa Monica, we play great, but end up losing in an overtime shoot-out. Coach isn’t happy about that, but there’s not much he can say about the quality of the game, and we get a point. So far, three out of four road trip points is pretty good.