Page 12 of He Has Trouble (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“You know it’s a two-game suspension. Then I go back.”
Eddie nodded. “You should have kicked Tim’s butt, knocked him out cold.”
“Fine way to talk about your sister’s almost-fiancé.” I couldn’t resist chiding Eddie.
“You coming back? For the summer?”
“I don’t know, Eddie. Maybe.” I meant it. For the first time, I truly considered it a good thing, and I knew it was all about Angela. Depended on how much we could reconnect, if I could really do it, commit to her this time. My gut knotted thinking about it, so I wiped the possibility from my mind.
Eddie snorted. “I don’t see why not. Beautiful downtown Manchester, New Hampshire. Best place in the world, isn’t it? I mean compared to Toronto and LA and wherever the hell else you’ve been for the last three years.”
“Hawaii. I went surfing at Waikiki last summer.” I kept a straight face.
Eddie smacked my shoulder as I knew he would and he laughed.
“Let me get us some beers. I don’t care if it’s only eleven in the morning. It’s Brady Mack’s homecoming and that calls for a celebration.” Eddie stood and gave me the kind of serious look of affection that I hadn’t seen or felt since I’d said goodbye to my friend. I nodded.
What kind of fool had I been? Humility flooded me, choking my throat. I looked over at my old man sitting in the chair. He’d nodded off. He looked comfortable and peaceful.
Kind of like I felt right now. The kind of feeling I hadn’t felt in far too long. The kind of feeling I’d been looking for, as the song went, in all the wrong places.
Two beers and one period of hockey later, Mrs. Rizzo announced, “Dinner is served.” The assorted guests, Angela’s three other siblings besides Eddie, and aunts, uncles and cousins, stormed the dining room. I knew them all. The Rizzo’s were a tight-knit family and you couldn’t know one of them without knowing them all.
I went to my old man, who was still dozing in his chair, and nudged his shoulder. Nothing. Fuck. He couldn’t be passed out already. I put a hand on one shoulder and shook it with more determination. No way would I let him do this, ruin the Rizzo’s Christmas dinner. “Dad, wake up.” There was no response, not even a flinch or a whimper.Or a breath.
I went still.Fuck, fuck, fuck. Taking a shaky breath, I touched his face.Cold. Pressed my fingers to his neck, to the place where his carotid artery should be pulsing.It wasn’t.
The excruciating pain of realization shot through my chest and into my gut, nearly buckling me in two. My father was dead. Gone.
“God no,” I growled like an animal. “Dad!” Shaking the old man, knowing it was useless, anger boiled through me bubbling to the surface, rescuing me from the pain, from the emotions stinging my eyes.
“What is it?” Angela said from the doorway. When I turned to look at her, I didn’t hide a thing, let the seething pain pound back to the surface, twisting and wringing everything in me. Angela rushed to my side and took my old man’s wrist to feel for a pulse, patting his face softly. “Mack? Mack?”
She looked up at me. I sunk down, hunched over the dead body of my father. My old man was gone.
