Page 17 of He Has Trouble (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Let’s have one. To the old man,” I said. Eddie nodded and I poured some rot gut into two possibly clean short glasses. No ice. Not that there was any ice. I handed one to Eddie and joined him at the filthy table. We sat across from each other, glasses in hand, eying each other from across three years of absence and our friendship was still there, like furniture in an old house that had been hidden under sheets and kept in place for someday.
Raising my glass, I said, “To Mack, his long horrible life is over and may he rest in peace with my mom.” Finally. Sorrow stung my eyes, maybe jealousy that they were together again, leaving me alone to bear the loss.To go on and make something of the life I had that was better. Those sounded like Angela’s words in my head, or maybe her mother’s.
Eddie said nothing and we both threw the vile liquid down the back of our throats in one quick motion.
“God damn that stuff is bad,” he said. “I always liked your father. He was a tough man. Dealt a tough blow in life.”
“Losing his wife in her prime,” I said absently, mimicking the words of others, words I’d heard often enough from the adults around me as a kid, meaningless words.
“Hell, I meant that he was left with you—that was the toughest blow.” He grinned, his eyes lit up from the one drink as if he were out of practice. Probably was. Working in Boston as an accountant probably didn’t carry the same kind of social life with it as a pro-hockey player had.
Letting his grin infect me as it was meant to do, I tossed the glass into the sink.
“And he scores,” Eddie mocked an announcer’s voice then tossed his behind his back toward the sink, but it missed and hit the counter with a thud, not breaking.
“You always were the showboat, you SOB,” I said, falling into my old role of best friend as if by an inevitable gravitational pull. “I bet if you stuck to basics you’d have made it— “
“Don’t start that again,” he said. Shaking his head. “I was never going to get anywhere in hockey—I’m no Brady Mackenzie.” He mocked, but there was unmistakable fondness in his voice. “I’m fine where I am. Making decent money. I have a lady friend. Might even pop the question on Valentine’s Day.” He winked at me. I felt a jolt of pleasure, so out of left field and familiar that my mouth opened and nothing came out.
He laughed at me. “I’ll take that as a congratulations. But seriously, if you’re going to be in the Boston area— “
“Yes, absolutely, man. We’ll hang out.” I said the words automatically, but they felt right, held the weight of longing behind them, trepidation too, but I wanted to soldier through that, to get back what I’d lost with my best friend, my childhood brother in arms.
He stood. I stood. He made the first move, clapping his arms around me and I put my arms around him, let his strength and decency seep into me, strengthen me, vowing to hold onto our friendship this time, not fuck up again.
He was at the door, ready to leave and I said, “Hey man, don’t tell anyone. About the trade. It’s under wraps for a couple of days.” I wanted to tell Angela myself, but I was afraid to admit to it, to show all my cards.
“I’ll let you tell the family.” He gave me a serious nod and I knew he’d read my mind. Then he grinned. “No one else cares anyway.” He ducked out the door on a laugh and I found a smile on my face, out of place and odd, but real.
Eddie helped brace me to reality, gave me that sense of the familiar no matter that we’d reached back three years to find it.
