Page 126 of Breaking Away

I know what you’re thinking. Get over it, right? When I was a shit teenager, I screamed the same thing to him. Get fucking over it. But he didn’t. He couldn’t hold down a proper job, and he hated… He hated being a regular person, I think. To him it meant being forgotten or something.

It got worse when his old team won the Cup without him. I think I was ten. We were in a house with no heat on. We barely had any money left. He was a wreck. Drunk. Sobbing.

I thought he was going to die on me. He was a walking zombie. Sometimes—fuck—I don’t want to admit this, but I wished… I wished he would get up and leave. It had to be easier than cleaning up after him.

(A long pause.)

I’m going to break a record for the longest audio, Kavi, but I want to get this out. You deserve to know I’m not… I don’t know how to fix him. He eventually drinks again, even though there are tricks to keep it from happening too often. I can make him slow down or stop for a long while. I learned that as a teenager. He enjoys talking about the good days, going over his best plays, talking about how the recruiters picked him because they saw his potential to be a star.

What he likes more is building up my career. He bought me a net, even when we didn’t have money, so he could watch me hit the puck for hours. And I did. Even if I was hungry or tired or—-at least, he wasn’t drinking.

I think the only reason I got as good as I am is because of him. Because eventually a recruiter noticed me. It happened.

My dad gave me his dream to carry on.

There are days I wonder if that peace I get on the rink… if it’s in my genes or because it gives me back the control I craved growing up. It gave me a way to fix him. It’s my safety. Where I go to stop thinking. Is that happiness? Fuck if I know, but I had to keep playing, no matter the cost. I?—

(Clears throat.)

I—Yeah—Okay.

(A rough chuckle.)

This was a lot. Don’t feel like you have to answer. Can you tell me you’re okay in Seattle? Better yet, tell me what I can do to help. How did your interview go, Princess?

I’m waiting for you…your answer… you… to answer.

A whispered:Fuck.

And then the audio ends.

50

KAVI

I’m in Vancouver.I got the first ticket I could find, and I’ve come to the building that I lived in for weeks, my desperation growing less and less containable.

The doorman knows me by name, and I’ve still got direct access to the penthouse elevator, and the front door is unlocked.

Before pushing it open, my forehead rests against the frame.

The wordhomeflashes through my mind instead ofDmitri’s place.I suck in such a deep breath. My face is a mini-furnace. How strange. I lived here for weeks. Why am I suddenly so nervous?

It’s a cumulation of the attraction, flirting, and supporting each other—but made worse recently. The audio he sent me about his dad was completely raw. All I want to do is hold him. My heart is shaking in my throat.

I push the door open and let myself in. My bag drops quietly to the floor. I move into the living room, wondering if he’s home.

He is.

Looking at the scene before me, I stagger. My heart… my ovaries…I can’t… This is more than anyone should be asked to handle.

Dmitri is sleeping on the couch and curled onto his chest is Mayo.

I must make some noise sensitive to dog ears, because Mayo immediately scrambles off Dmitri and comes towards me.

My arms open. I’m down on my knees.

Oomph.

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