Page 150 of Breakneck Hockey

“Declarations are important. They solidify all the shit between you. That’s how I did it with my man—surprise moved myself into his place. We had an epic movie kiss in the rain.”

“Moving into someone’s house without permission is unhinged behavior.” Not that I’m opposed, but it shouldn’t be used as the example. I look to Rhett for help.

He shrugs. “I married my man after a hockey game, on the ice, in front of thousands of people, and then I dragged out the divorce process, hoping to fuck he’d choose to stay married to me. We couldn’t be happier.”

Right. They’re both hopeless. “Mine and Casey’s, uh, union was just fine. We’re fine. Now get the fuck out. Both of you!” I’m the one shouting now, but if they don’t get out of here, I’m going to hurt them. I don’t care how big they are.

“Jeez. Fine, bro. We’re out, but remember what I said,” Jack says pointing at my face.

Rhett laughs, patting me on the shoulder. “Jack’s annoying, but he’s right.” I lunge forward, they run out the door, laughing at my damn plight.

Fuck my life.

My phone rings again, but this time it’s Lane. Joy.

“Didja lose somethin’, bud?” Lane says.

“Charles is with you?”

“Yep. He’s fine. Mostly.”

“Put him on. He’s in so much shit for taking off.”

“Sure, you’re not a dad? You’re giving major dad energy.”

“Still not a dad.” Big brothers can chew out their siblings too. Hell, so can little sisters. Ask me how I know.

“What?” Charles says.

“You little shit. Get your ass home right now.”

“I don’t have a home, not that you fucking care.”

“Of course, I care.” When I’m not playing hockey, or fighting and fucking with Alderchuck, I’m up late worrying about Charles and Stevie. “They found your dad. What do you think about that?”

“He’s not my dad. I don’t have a dad.”

“Don’t know about that.”

“Fuck you, Mitch. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna make me live with him. I hate you. I wish I’d never called you.”

Ouch, but I’m not too offended. I was just like him when I was his age. Probably worse. I was busy acting out because of pain, and I know it’s the same for him.

“You don’t know shit about what I’m gonna do.” Unfortunately, neither do I. Haven’t had the chance to come up with a plan or process anything. How do you navigate finding out you have a dad—one that might be a perfectly good one—after fifteen years? And that’s on top of everything else. Poor kid must be ready to explode. It makes sense why he’d run to Lane. Lane’s permissive. Lane’s probably feeding him booze to relax him as we speak. “How would you like to come to a hockey game, kid?”

“But … isn’t the game in Boston?”

“Guess you’ll have to come to Boston with me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Which means you have to get your ass back here because we have to be on a plane. Soon.” Gina’s gonna love me for this.

“Lane can do it. He can get me back in time.”

“Has Lane been drinking?”

“No …” He trails off.

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