Page 5 of He Has Trouble (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Have you been talking to your mother?”
She shook her head and frowned. “Why would you ask that?”
“Never mind. Maybe you’re right.” I had no choice but to capitulate. But the words didn’t sink in, I didn’t feel the weight or depth of them.Self-pitying martyrwas a meaningless label.
But they ended up in the same place asself-destructive bastard. Didn’t they?
“Is that all you have to say for yourself? After three years?”
“I missed you,” I said. The truth I couldn’t controvert. Without thinking, I took hold of her jaw and moved my mouth to cover hers again, to claim her whether I had a right to or not because I was only human and I couldn’t resist her. Forgot why I needed to while the war of my desire and longing won out over my self-pitying martyrdom.
Somewhere in the hazy background I heard a door close, maybe heard clumsy footsteps on the steps, but I kept my mouth and hands on my Angel, holding her as close as I possibly could through the winter clothing and starting to think about how to get rid of those clothes.
