Page 13 of He Has Trouble (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 6
Mr. and Mrs. Rizzo took over the logistics and let me sit like a stone all day. The only way I knew I was alive was the fact that I could feel Angela next to me. Breathing in her scent, listening to her voice kept me held together, kept the excruciating pain from surfacing again. After my old man’s body was taken away and everyone who didn’t live in the house was gone, I knew it was time for me to leave.
When I stood from the couch, I found I had Angela’s hand in mine and there was no way I was letting go of it.
“Come with me?”
She nodded. She didn’t even bother bringing a toothbrush with her, just followed me to the door, still holding onto my hand as if she knew she was my lifeline. Not bothering with coats or good-nights except for Mrs. Rizzo’s quick hug at the door, I left with Angela in tow.
When we got to my house, the choking cold of the place didn’t bother me. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. The street light from the corner of the street sifting through the windows in a ghostly glow was enough to see us to the stairs. Still holding onto her hand, I led her up to my room. The same room where we’d stayed together the first time we’d made love. And the last time.
As I stepped inside, I flicked the light on and pulled her to face me, held her tight, leaned against the wall. I wanted to see her face, drink her in.
“Stay with me.”
She nodded.
“All night. Sleep with me.”
“Oh, Brady.” She buried her face in my chest, holding her arms around me.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “About him. He’s gone now. With her—with my mom. Where he wanted to be all along.”
She looked up. “He loved you, you know.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t so sure it was true. Maybe. If love was a mean thing between fathers and sons sometimes. Most of the time. Since I was eleven years old.
“I don’t want to talk about him.” I said it again with more meaning this time.
“You want to talk about us, instead?”
I checked her eyes to see if she was teasing. “You’re a bold one.”
“I’m standing in your bedroom, about tosleepwith you.” She shrugged. “I figured this might be a good time to clear the air.”
“I thought we did that. The kiss—”
“The one followed by the fight?” She was teasing now. Sort of. It was her way. I liked it.
No, Ilovedher ways.
“Shoot then. The conversational floor is all yours.” I let her go, slipping my hands from her. And stepped away from her so I could pull my sweater over my head. She stared. When I started unzipping my jeans, she stopped staring and turned away. Reaching out, I turned her back around to face me as I kicked my shoes and pants aside.
“Don’t get shy now. You’ve seen me naked before.”
“You want to have this conversation naked?” She raised one brow in challenge. This was my kind of challenge.
“It’s my experience that everything between a man and a woman goes better when they’re both naked,” I said. “Conversations, fights,making love.”
“I guess I know what your intentions are, then.” She pulled her sweater over her head to reveal a lacy red bra barely holding in her magnificent breasts. I’d always loved her breasts. I wanted to touch them, but I didn’t. Instead I pulled off my boxers to reveal my enthusiasm.
She smiled and pulled off her shoes and pants.
“I feel like we should be drinking shots or playing cards as we strip. Like we’re playing a game,” she said, standing in front of me, unself-conscious and breathtaking in her beauty.
“No games. I’m serious. I want you, Angela. I need you.”
“Tonight?”
