Page 18 of He Has Trouble (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 8
There would be no wake and no funeral. I didn’t see the point. Mack would be buried with his wife, my mother. That was the one thing I knew my old man would want. The Rizzos made the arrangements with the funeral home and we were all set to drive to the cemetery two days later.
Spending those two days sleepwalking all day and lovemaking all night, I was alive and unbroken. Restorative lovemaking was the balm for my soul. My Angel on earth gave me life.
“You ready, Brady?” Angela said from the doorway. She’d gone home to dress in black. She looked sexy as hell but I didn’t tell her that, knew it was the wrong thing to be thinking on the morning when my old man was to be buried.
“And what if I’m not?” I said.
Ignoring my usual smartass defiance, she reached out a hand and I took it. “Let’s go.” She snuggled against me as if we were more than temporary lovers, suspended in a bubble out of time. Maybe we were more than temporary. I’d wanted more from her from the minute I’d witnessed her with that asshole Tim. We’d need to sort that out.Soon. I ignored the shudder of fear and inadequacy that ran through me.
I still hadn’t told Angela about the trade. Boston was an hour and a half away from here. Close enough to carry on a relationship. Another reason why the trade was seemingly a stroke of outrageous luck. Thinking about it, processing the idea of having Angela, the woman literally of my dreams, and playing for the Brawlers, the team of my childhood dreams, should thrill me to my bones. But the nervous jangle that plagued me was more trepidation than excitement.
The more a person has, the more he has to lose.My father’s words. Graveside after we’d buried my mother. The day I’d buried my happiness, the day fear and anger took over for the unbearable pain.
Sure, I played pro hockey, but it didn’t make me happy. Except when I was on the ice, hitting someone, maybe scoring a goal. The only other time slivers of joy penetrated the carefully constructed shell over my heart was when I was with Angela. When we made love, then and now.
A sliver of desperate longing pierced me now, to hold onto her, keep her, and I knew I had to try, to risk the pain, the daily fear of loss. Hope it would lessen to occasional fear and then normal infrequent blips. Or so the last shrink had told me should happen if I were to let go, to take the risk.
We headed to the car. Mr. Rizzo was driving. Eddie and Angela would sit in the back with me. A few others from the neighborhood were going so there would be a small crowd at the cemetery. No one from the team would be there. They had a game. Besides, they were no longer my team. I was on the Boston Brawlers now. I got a call from my new coach this morning. Condolences and scheduling. He gave me the name of the short-term residence they’d arranged for me until I could move permanently. I didn’t tell coach I could probably commute from my dad’s house. Had no idea what the next step should be, so I went along with the plan that fed into my need to flee the scene of so much pain and haunting memories.
I hadn’t told anyone about the trade, had asked the coaches of both teams to keep it under wraps which only worked because of the holiday. They’d agreed only because of my dad’s passing, but only for a short time. Now I had less than twelve hours before the story of the trade would go public. And even as cowardly as I was, I didn’t want the Rizzos, especially didn’t want Angela, to find out about the trade on the news. I needed to tell her myself, when we were alone. A shudder went through me as I walked with Angela down my dad’s driveway to Mr. Rizzo’s car as it waited in the street.
I got in the car and zoned out. Remained that way, like a slab of stone, all through the short service at the graveside while the priest spoke as if in another language. I stared at the gravestone with my mother’s name on it. My father’s name would be added soon. We couldn’t get it done in the short timeframe I had allotted to be in town.
The day was bright and cold. I wore no coat, only my suit. One of my away game suits. Angela stood at my shoulder, keeping me warm with her furnace of love and life burning strong. When the priest stopped talking and people put roses on the coffin, I didn’t move. People murmured and filed away past me, nodding and solemn. I said nothing, acknowledging only with a flicker of my eyes. It was all I had as the cold in me kept me solid, kept me from coming apart. And Angela kept my heart from turning completely to stone.
When there was no one left and even the priest had gone, Angela tugged on me. “We should go.”
“Come with me.”
She stared at my eyes, taking a few beats to study me, figure me.
“To your house?” she asked to make sure. Since I had no idea what I’d been asking her, whether to come with me to Boston or to my dad’s house, or to run away with me to parts unknown, I couldn’t be sure. My soul had been untethered. I had no one left. Except her. And her family. The idea that I might hold onto her for the sense of belonging somewhere, to someone, caught hold of me and I tried shaking it loose. Absurd. I’d always wanted Angela, always loved her. She’d always been the best part of my life. And going away to spread my wings, to prove myself, to escape from myself in the big wide world hadn’t changed that.
Had only made the fact that she was my center move obvious.Then why was I stalling?
“Yeah. We have to talk.” That much was true. Why was I shaking with fear at telling her about the trade? Was it too close to home? Too close to my dreams? Was I too terrified of having everything good in life shattered all over again?
“When are you leaving?” Her voice was even, matter-of-fact.
“Tomorrow. Stay the night with me.” A whip of wind caught me and ran me through with icy coldness.
“I don’t know…” she said, the hair blowing in her face, obscuring it, so I couldn’t read her expression, even though I knew there’d be sadness. It was in her voice. Emotions, roiled and confused and unfocused, filled me, choked me off. Maybe it was a delayed reaction to my dad’s death, maybe it was the prospect of leaving here again. Maybe it was the prospect of having my childhood dreams come true, playing for the Boston Brawlers, that scared me shitless.
“You’ll stay with me.” When I could finally speak, I wasn’t asking, I was demanding, my mind spinning my dreams into truth.
“I want to, but—”
“No buts.”
She pulled back. “I have to take care of some things.” Not caring that her family waited in the car, probably watching us, I pulled her in for a universe-exploding kiss, letting my mind take a vacation, letting my carnal instincts take over because there was no confusion there, my dick was the most confident part of me when it came to Angela.
“I want you with me.”
She nodded. “I know. I want to be there. But I don’t know if I can handle saying good-bye in the morning—”
“I know.” I swiped my hand through my hair, pausing, unsure of what I needed to say, going blindly into a new world of possibilities and scared shitless in spite of the potential for elation. Maybe because of it. I didn’t want to lose the feeling, lose her. Ever again.
Not sure if I deserved her yet.Almostnot caring. I thought I didn’t care, thought I could claim her, but now it wasn’t so simple. Nothing but the want inside me was simple. Until the self-doubt pulled up and parked right beside it.
“We have to talk. I have… things to say.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll come over. Let me go home and change first.”
