Page 40 of The Breaking Point

God, I was a fucking mess tonight. It didn’t help that Grace’s leggings left little to the imagination or that her messy hair made me wonder what she looked like after having sex.

She doesn’t know, does she? Because she’s still a virgin.

She returned to the couch and touched my knee. “I love that you still have it.”

I didn’t want to talk about the reasons I still had that wind chime. I didn’t want to talk about my mom, either.

So I leaned forward and tried to kiss Grace.

But being drunk, I wasn’t smooth about it. Grace ducked before my lips touched hers.

“What are you—” she stammered. She got up; I fell over onto my face on the couch.

“Grace,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

She was wringing her hands, and she wouldn’t look at me. “You should go to bed,” she was saying.

I rolled over until I was lying on the couch. Grace grabbed a pillow for my head and then tucked a blanket around me.

“Good night,” she said hurriedly.

I grabbed her hand. “Thank you, again.”

She just shook her head and nearly ran out the door.

GRACE

It was the first year none of us cried going to Ben’s grave.

I expected Mom to cry, but she was dry-eyed. She even laughed a little. Maybe it helped that Dad couldn’t attend our annual memorial because of work.

“I know your dad is upset he couldn’t come today,” Mom remarked as she set flowers in front of the gravestone.

“I could tell,” I said.

Dad had been grumbling all morning before he left for work. He hadn’t said outright that he was upset, but everybody knew when he was pissed. He was never subtle about it.

Ben had died six years ago now in a car accident. My older brother, who had seemed all-powerful when we’d been kids, had been felled by something that seemed almost mundane.

Ben probably hated that he’d died in a car accident. He would’ve preferred something more interesting, like dying while skydiving. Or heroic, like running into a burning building to save a bunch of kids.

“It’s always surprised me that Dad didn’t quit coaching hockey after Ben died,” I said.

Mom blinked. “Your dad? Quit hockey? No way. It was all he had, especially after Ben died.”

I kneeled and touched the flowers that Mom had gotten for today. “Ben and hockey were all Dad cared about,” I said.

“What? Your dad loves you just as much as he loved Ben.” Mom looked stricken.

I shook my head. “I mean, I know that. But he and Ben had that special bond. I always knew it was something we’d never have because I didn’t care about hockey.”

Mom sighed. “I think your dad threw himself into coaching because it was easier than letting himself feel things. I was just grateful it wasn’t something worse, like drugs or alcohol.”

I winced inwardly because I thought of poor Brady and his mom. I hadn’t talked to him since I’d taken him back to his apartment.

What did a girl say to a guy who’d tried to drunkenly kiss her? Nothing came to mind. Worse, I was still embarrassed about him saving me that night I’d gotten drunk.

We were quite a pair, I could say that.

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