Page 70 of A Thousand Broken Pieces

Cillian parked, and he seemed to lose himself, just staring out of the windshield. “Cill?” I said, waving my hand in front of his face.

He blinked, shook his head, and plastered his usual happy-go-lucky smile back on his face. “Sorry, kid; spaced out there.”

I laughed as he handed me the burger and fries. “Your grades are good, yeah?” he asked. I nodded. “Your coaches happy with how you’ve been playing?”

“Yeah,” I said, taking a bite of my burger. Cillian often came home to visit, as he was only a short drive away in the grand scheme of things. But he’d been coming back more lately. Been spending more time with me. Making sure I was on track for college.

“Good.” Cillian stopped eating, then put his hand on the back of my neck, turning me to face him. He seemed lost in thought again but then said, “I just know you’re gonna make something of yourself,” he said, and I felt ten feet tall. “Something epic.”

“And you will too,” I said. Because that was the plan. We would do it all together. Cill smiled, but it didn’t feel real. Then he didn’t say anything back. I began to frown, when he said, “Did you watch the Bruins’ last game?” he laughed. “Total shutout, baby!”

And Cillian hung out with me for the next few hours, then dropped me off at home. “I’ll see you at your next game,” I said, and Cillian’s smile faltered.

“You know it,” he replied. I climbed from the car, and bent down to look through the open passenger side window. “Love ya, kid,” Cillian said. “Always remember that.”

“Love you, too,” I said and waved goodbye. I hated it when he had to go back to college. But I’d see him again in few weeks. Then in no time at all, I’d be seeing him every day. Playing beside him at Harvard. All our dreams finally coming true …

I blinked against the bright sun that was blinding me, ripping me from that memory. I’d thought of that night over and over again. Because in hindsight, I had seen signs there was something wrong with Cill then too.

I exhaled a long breath—it was stuttered. I barely felt anger when I thought of Cillian anymore. Now, there was just a deep ache in my chest that never went away. I looked to Jacob, who was still nervously playing with his hands beside me. I couldn’t believe my own ears when I found myself saying, “I had an older brother too. Cillian.” My voice was rough and strained as I spoke his name aloud. But the words were coming, and that in itself was a goddamn miracle.

I caught Jacob’s hands still in my periphery. “He was my best friend,” I said and cast my gaze to Savannah, who was tying up a young girl’s hair back into a ponytail that must have fallen out. I smiled seeing her this way. She wanted to work with kids and was worried she wasn’t good enough. She was. She was perfect. Feeling my stare, she looked up. She blushed under my attention, then awarded me with a wide smile.

Some of the aching in my chest eased a little. I turned to Jacob, who metmy stare. And this time he didn’t look away. I cleared my throat and said, “He …” I coughed again. “He died not too long ago.”

Jacob’s eyes softened a fraction. In that moment, I could tell he knew we were the same. Scarred by fraternal loss. Jacob shuffled in his seat and said, “Did your brother save you too?”

Tears stung my eyes. I clenched my jaw and blinked fast to keep them from falling. His question robbed me of breath. But when I thought back to Cillian, a movie reel of old memories cycled through my head. Showing all the laughter and fun we used to share—the hours and hours spent on the frozen pond, birthdays and holidays. Vacations in Mexico, just laughing. And all the times I’d had a bad game and he would crush me to his chest, kiss my head, and tell me it would all be okay. To shrug it off and refocus.

To move on …

“Yeah,” I said, barely audible. “He … he saved me too,” I said, because it was true. He’d saved me in all the ways that counted. Right up until the end, he was the best big brother anyone could wish for.

Jacob turned his head to the busy yard when someone shrieked in laughter. “Do you miss him too?” Jacob asked, then turned back to me. His brown eyes were wide and sorrowful as he waited for my answer.

“Every minute of every day,” I whispered.

“He was teaching me how to play football—soccer,” Jacob said. “Daniel, my brother. He had started teaching me, just before …”

I saw the sports shed off to the side of the yard. “You want to play now?”

Jacob followed my line of sight. “You play football?” he asked.

I smirked. “I’mokayat it,” I said. “Hockey is my sport.”

Jacob gave a tiny smile. “On ice?”

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

“We don’t get much ice here,” he said. But then he got to his feet and beelined for the sports shed. I got up and followed him. When he opened the door, I froze. Because staring back at me were a stack of unbranded wooden hockey sticks and a bucket of practice balls.

“We had someone come here who was from Canada. He liked ice hockey too and made these from some spare wood that wasn’t being used onthe houses,” Jacob said. He ducked his head. “He taught some people how to play a little on land. I wanted to join in, but I just …”

He couldn’t make himself join in. I understood that.

The sticks practically glowed as they sat against the wall of the shed gathering dust. My hands flexed with the need to hold one. Memory after memory barreled into my mind. Of Cillian teaching me to play. Teaching me how to hold a stick …

“One hand on the top,” he said. The stick felt huge in my hands, but Cill had recently started to play hockey and I wanted to play too. “Now put a hand down here,” he said, placing my other hand farther down the stick. “How does it feel?” he asked, coming to stand in front of me. He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. He was proud.

---