Page 1 of He Has Trouble (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 1
Pulling into the driveway of my childhood home, I took a long shuddering breath. Slap shots coming at my face at a hundred miles an hour didn’t cause a blink of my eyes, but the prospect of facing my dad had trepidation freezing my soul. I let out a breath and watched the small fog of air in the cold as I sat in the rental car. Maybe it was the New Hampshire winter freezing me in place.
Shaking myself free from dread, if momentarily, I couldn’t help trailing my eyes to the house next door. It was all lit up while my dad’s house was dark. Cars were parked up and down the suburban street, clustered around that house. It had to be the Rizzo’s’ annual Christmas Eve party in full swing. A half smile forced its way through the trouble on my face.
Still sitting in the car, I took in another long cold breath. My eyes traced up the dark drive to the undecorated front door of dad’s house, then turned back to the bright lights of the Rizzo’s’ house. I’d been welcomed there, felt at home there since I’d moved into the neighborhood when I was five years old.
Fuck. It was a no brainer. It had been three years since I’d seen my dad. What was another few hours? He was probably already asleep—or passed out. Dad had seemed surprised when I’d called to let him know I was coming home, as if he hadn’t heard about the two-game suspension for shoving a ref—the only reason I had time off to come home for Christmas in the middle of a crowded NHL schedule. I didn’t know whether to feel hurt that my father hadn’t followed the team’s news or relieved that the old man wouldn’t know enough to berate me for screwing up. At least not about this.
I pushed open the door of the rental car, letting in the cold crispy air of the New Hampshire night, drinking in that distinctive pine scent. Unfolding myself from the car, I sauntered over to the Rizzo’s’ house where I could hear the music and laughing. A zip of nervous tension ignited in my gut and I stopped.
The anticipation thudding in my veins had nothing to do with coming home after so long, nothing to do with dread. The spark I felt had everything to do with seeing my girl next door, Angela Rizzo. The ultimate tom-boy transformed into a sensual siren sometime in seventh grade--around the time I started needing cold showers every time I looked at her. Same time I knew I’d never look at anyone else the same way, with the same longing. Heart thudding, I swallowed down the familiar instant lust.
It had been too long since I’d seen her for me to get all excited, hadn’t it? Maybe I had no right. But there it was. My insides were all knotted up the same way they’d been that night eight years ago when I’d walked over to her house for our first official date. We’d been sixteen and simple.
And now things couldn’t be more complicated.
After three years of absence, everything had changed. For one, no way could I walk in the front door of that party unnoticed. Unlike at my father’s home, I knew what kind of reception I’d get at the Rizzo’s’ house. Mrs. Rizzo had practically adopted me when my mother died. She was the only one I’d kept in touch with, although I was a bad son, even if unofficially adopted, spotty with my communications.
Even so, I knew for certain the whole family would make a big deal about me, the prodigal son returning home. Mrs. Rizzo had kept a scrapbook of my high school and UNH college hockey accomplishments. TheBrady Mackenzie Big Shot Bookshe’d called it. She’d kept in touch with me more than I did with her since I left for the NHL, the big time. Hell, she’d been theonlyone to keep in touch. Relentlessly, in spite of my sparse replies.
After a few exchanged calls in the beginning, I hadn’t heard much from Eddie, Angela’s brother and my former best friend. I hadn’t bothered reaching out after he turned down the tickets to a game I’d sent him. Maybe sending him the airfare had been too much, but hell, I knew he couldn’t afford it.
But the scrapbook was ancient history and, if truth be told, I was embarrassed about my suspension. Hated that the troublemaker tag that had dogged me since my first fight in junior high. It was high time I got myself under control. I was no angry kid anymore. And I sure as hell didn’t want to be an angry man.Was that what I’d become?
Bypassing the brick path to the Rizzo’s front door, I went up the driveway and along the cement walkway that ran between their garage and house. It would be best if I eased into the party through the back door. Maybe grab a beer from the keg they’d inevitably have out on the deck.
A nice buzz would be very helpful before I faced Angela after all this time. I wondered how she looked now, though I had no right to wonder. Had no right to feel the flip in my gut as I pictured her the last time I’d seen her. She’d been my first love. My last love too, if I was keeping track.
I’d known her all my life. First as the skinny little girl who watched me shoot pucks in my driveway as a kid. Until she grew up and I realized she was hot, that how I felt was not fraternal at all, so I dated her. And then I left her.
When I got to the back corner of the house, I stopped again, my heart pounding. There was no sense trying to kid myself. She was the real reason I’d come home. Not to see my dad. Forcing myself to move forward, I only got a few more steps before I heard voices. One of them was Angela’s.
