Page 27 of Tainted Love

The city bus stop was four blocks away, but it felt like miles as I sprinted towards it. My legs and arms shook with adrenaline and emotion, tears streaming down my face. When the bus finally pulled up, I stumbled onto it, trying to catch my breath.

The ride to that side of town was excruciatingly slow. Every second felt like an eternity as I prayed for it to end. When we arrived at the hospital, I practically flew off the bus and into the emergency room where she was being treated. My heart sank at the sight of her hooked up to multiple IVs, her body weak and frail.

Despite my desperate pleas for information, no one would tell me anything because I was just a kid. But they didn’t understand—I was her only family, the only one who truly cared.

It wasn’t until she opened her eyes and saw me there by her side that reality hit. The dam broke as tears streamed down my face, and my body heaved with sobs. She looked so small and fragile lying there in that hospital bed—and deep down, I knew our lives would never be the same.

I wish I had been wrong, but I wasn’t. Gram had her hip surgery and went to stay at a rehabilitation center for a few weeks to get stronger and go home. She was never able to return home after that day.

My dad was able to get his shit together enough to help move the things she wanted to keep into our garage. Everything else was sold in a garage sale over the course of a long, hot Saturday afternoon. Gratefully, Farrah was already gone, so Gram didn’t have to say goodbye to her the same day she said goodbye to her home.

The money from everything was put into my grandmother’s account, with no access given to my dad. Even though I never told her about the state of things at home, I think she knew. The long hours I was home alone and the fact that she could never get my dad on the phone was difficult signs to ignore. So, she did a smart thing by not giving him access to her money. That’s one thing I’ve always been grateful for.

I pull into the small building’s parking lot. The facility is home to about 30 residents. From the outside, it looks like a cottage, with light blue paint and a white picket fence surrounding it. The fence serves two purposes: It’s aesthetically appealing and helps to keep people who like to wander from venturing beyond the safety of the grounds.

Thankfully, Gram isn’t one of those people. She still maintains her mental faculties, for the most part. She’s a little forgetful, which is kind of expected at her age.

I visit multiple times a week. Denise, the friendly receptionist, greets me with a warm smile as I sign in on the provided visitor form. Looking around, I see no one else has visited Gram today. It’s always like this—just me. If I dwell on it for too long, a pang of sadness hits me.

“Hello, Michael,” Denise says, walking me toward room eight—the cramped four hundred-square-foot space my grandmother calls home. “Did you have a game earlier?”

“I did,” I reply with a sly grin. “We won again, as usual.” My eyes wander to the door of room eight, and I ask, “How’s Gram doing today?”

“She’s doing well,” Denise replies kindly. “She ate all of her lunch and even took a nap. She may still be sleeping.”

I nod and knock softly before opening the door. “Come in.” I hear my grandmother’s familiar voice beckon from inside.

I offer Denise a genuine smile of gratitude before stepping into Gram’s cozy living space. The air is filled with the soft strains of the radio and the rhythmic click-clack of knitting needles. Gram has taken to knitting in her retirement, and I have a vibrant knitted blanket on my bed that she made in the colors of the Mavericks. Her face lights up as soon as she spots me, and she greets me with her usual endearing nickname.

“My darling boy,” she says. Just being in her presence fills me with warmth and unconditional love.

“Hi, Gram.” I bend down to kiss her forehead, feeling the delicate grip of her bony fingers around my arms.

We spend the afternoon catching up on each other’s lives from the past few days. She asks about hockey, school, and whether or not I’ve found a girlfriend yet.

My grandmother has always had strong opinions about my love life, and I can’t help but smile at her playful teasing. Whenever I mention my desire to be a ladies’ man, she scoffs and rolls her eyes in mock disapproval. Part of me knows she only wants me to be happy and settled down, especially as she ages. But I assure her that I have my friends and my passion for hockey to keep me company.

The clock strikes midnight, and I let out an exhausted sigh. Two more hours left in this mind-numbing shift at The Rogue Inn. It’s not the worst motel in town, but it’s certainly not a luxury destination either. It’s the kind of place you stay when you’re desperate for a roof over your head and don’t care about amenities like continental breakfast or soft bath towels.

The owner, Dwight, arrives around 2 am to start his day. I man the front desk from 10 pm to 2 am, a few nights per week to earn some extra cash. It’s a grueling schedule that leaves me drained and probably affects my hockey game, but I don’t have a choice. My dad pays for our house, but not much else. I cover my own expenses—food, hockey equipment, and the maintenance of my beat-up truck. Insurance is out of the question for me. I know it’s risky and could come back to bite me in the ass, but I simply can’t afford it.

With every spare penny I make, I tuck it away in a Folgers coffee can hidden in the back of my closet for Gram. She deserves so much better than her current living situation, which is why my first order of business when I sign an NHL contract will be finding her a nicer place closer to me. Despite the challenges and sacrifices, making money at The Rogue Inn allows me to save for that future dream.

I make my way into the back office, craving a caffeine fix to keep me going. I pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot I brewed a few hours ago and take a sip. It’s as thick and dark as motor oil, with a bitter aftertaste that lingers on my tongue. But I know it’ll give me the boost I need to tackle this English assignment.

As I sit down at my desk, I try to focus on the book in front of me, though my thoughts keep straying. Memories of hockey games, school stress, hanging out with friends, my loving grandmother, and my dysfunctional family all jumble together in my mind. But one thought keeps resurfacing: Sascha Bell. I kept her at a distance for years, an old friend and part of my life I was desperate to forget. But ever since she became friends with Ivy and came back into my life wearing tight black sweaters and a shitty attitude, I can’t stop thinking about her.

Even now, as I try to concentrate on the book, images of her invade my mind. Is she sleeping right now? What does she wear to bed? My imagination runs wild as I picture her in a black band t-shirt and lacy black panties. Shaking my head to clear the distracting thoughts, I adjust the slight bulge in my jeans and turn my baseball cap backward in an attempt to focus on the task at hand. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to push Sascha out of my mind.

Chapter 13

“Rock ‘n’ Roll High School”

Sascha - Age 18, 1988

Anoticeable sense of suspicion has been creeping up on me lately. I’m not blind. I can’t ignore the obvious connection between my new friend and the captain of the hockey team. Today, I watched him walk her to class and tenderly brush his fingers against her cheek. My heart skipped a beat at the intimate gesture that no “friend” of mine had ever shown me.

As I sneak a glance at Landry, who’s calmly lounging in his seat as always, I can’t help but wonder how I would react if he were to touch my cheek like that. A burst of laughter unexpectedly erupts from my chest.