“A hockey player? Huh.”
“He’s a good guy, really. It’s not like he did something terrible to me, don’t worry. He just…” I stop. “He has a lot of stuff he needs to deal with, and I thought he was feeling the same about me, and he wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry. That hurts.”
I nod, swallowing past the hockey puck lodged in my throat. I point at the TV. “That’s the game. But he’s not playing tonight.”
“Whoa. The Bears.” Dad looks toward the TV. “Is he injured?”
“No. His coach is punishing him for standing up to him.”
Dad frowns.
“Oh shit, I probably shouldn’t talk about it.” But then it all spills out of me, all the things that his coach has said and done, not just to Easton, but to others. “And it’s making him miserable.”
“Wow.”
“But he thinks he can’t do anything about it because it could ruin his career and…well, there’s more.” I tell him about the bus accident and what happened to Easton.
“I remember that,” he says slowly. “It was such a tragedy. Those boys’ lives were changed forever, I’m sure. And that whole community.”
I nod slowly. “Yes.”
“I guess it’s understandable that he’d be hesitant about caring too much about someone, after losing that many people so fast.”
I’m silent. I let his words sink in.
“Maybe he just needs more time.” Dad slides an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a hug.
“Maybe.” And maybe I need to think about this more.
“Are you coming home for Christmas?” Dad asks.
“I was planning to.” I peer up at him. “If that’s okay. I didn’t expect you to be there.”
“Of course it’s okay.” He frowns. “Listen, Lill. I know you feel like I let you down by taking off. But you’re an adult. You’ve managed fine on your own. And you’re stronger because of what you’ve been through. You need to know that—that you can do anything. I love you and I’m proud of you.”
“Oh, Dad.” I sit up straight. I’ve been resentful because he hasn’t been here. But he’s right. I don’t need someone to bail me out. I just need someone to love me. And he does. “I love you too.”
Easton
We play in Philadelphia on Tuesday, the day before Christmas Eve. In the morning, before we leave, JBo, Jammer, and I meet with Brad Julian, the general manager of the team. I send an email to the players’ association as well.
I end up not playing again tonight. I’m still angry about it, but after what I learned from watching the last few games, I’ve decided to turn this into an opportunity, and I’m making notes about what I’m observing from far above the ice. I’ve also been skating and working out like a maniac because I don’t want this to set me back when I start playing again. Because I will be playing again.
I’m taking a page out of Lilly’s book and believing in the best.
After the game, I fly from Philadelphia home to Regina for Christmas. Well, first to Toronto, then Regina. I stay in a hotel there, and I get in some family time with my aunt and uncle and cousins, and of course my mom. It’s a short trip—I have to be back in New York for a game December 27—but I get in a few visits with her. She’s doing pretty well and is happy to see me. I pick her up to take her to Aunt Kathy and Uncle Ron’s place for Christmas dinner, and I go back to the care home on Boxing Day for a visit with just the two of us.
The fact that she’s doing so well gives me the courage to bring up things neither of us really want to talk about. But I have to.
“Can I ask you something, Mom?” We’re sitting in the visitor lounge. She seems too healthy to be here, physically still fine, although I think she looks older than fifty-seven with her hair gone mostly gray, but she can’t look after herself.
“Okay.”
“After Dad and Bryce died…”
Her face goes blank.
But I go on. “I know it was hard for you.”
She lifts and lowers her chin in a nod.
“It was hard for me too.” I swallow.
She stares across the room at the big Christmas tree all decorated. “Yes.”
“I needed you.”
Her gaze swivels back to me. For an eternity, she says nothing. Then her eyes glisten. “I’m sorry, Easton.”
I grab her hand and squeeze it, my own eyes stinging. I didn’t want to make her cry. “It’s okay, Mom. I know you were struggling.”
“I was.” Her fingers move in mine. Her mouth tightens. “I’m sorry.”
“I just…I felt like I didn’t matter.”
She stares at me. Her chin trembles and she lowers her head. “Oh, Easton.”
“I don’t want to make you feel bad,” I say urgently. Shit. This was a bad idea. I knew I would screw it up. “I just want…” I stop. What do I want?
She lifts her head, eyes wet and red. “I love you, Easton.”
That. That was what I wanted. Needed. My eyes are wet too as I squeeze her hands. “I love you too, Mom.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.” She pulls her hand free of mine to swipe away tears with her knuckles. “I’m so sorry.”
And it hits me…“Maybe I should have been there for you.”
“Oh no. No. You were a child.”
“I was eighteen.”
A smile flickers on her lips. “A child. You went through an incredible trauma, being on the bus, seeing your teammates die. And your brother.” She lifts a hand to her throat, tips her head back, and closes her eyes. “And your father. Other people injured. You were so lucky. And yet…”
“Not lucky.”
“You shouldn’t dwell on that. You survived. You have what you always wanted—you’re playing in the NHL.”
That was what I always wanted. But now…maybe there’s more.
“That was all I wanted after that.” I suck in air, inflating my chest, then exhaling. “I should have been more focused on you and on being grateful. Instead…I’ve been bitter.”