Page 81 of Fair Play
“You act like I’m this innocent little angel, and I’m not. I’ve had a lot of fun in college and plan to continue in life. You think you’re the only one who gets to go out on dates, hook upwith people, and get drunk? Is it because you’re a guy, a hockey player, or something else?” I fold my arms across my chest.
“It’s because I want you to do better than me!” he snaps.
“Better how? You’re smart, hard-working, and a professional athlete. Not to mention a really incredible older brother. How much better than you do I need to be? And why is the bar so high? Is there some sort of sin attached to enjoying life?”
“I don’t know!” His voice rises and he shakes his head in obvious frustration. “I don’t want to fight with you. Not here anyway.”
“I don’t want to fight with you anywhere. And if it’s going to be like this, I’m going to move out as soon as I graduate.”
His face hardens. “Didn’t you already try that?”
“I did and I screwed up! You know what that’s called? Learning from your mistakes. Growing up. Maturing. And you know what it’s called when your big brother comes to the rescue? Family… love… does any of that resonate with you?”
He doesn’t respond. “I don’t know what you want from me, Billie.”
“I want us to be equals. I mean, I know I can’t match you financially, but can’t we just hang out sometimes? Go get a beer and watch a baseball game? When was the last time we had fun together, Bodi?”
“It’s not my job to be your friend.”
I frown. “You’re not myfather. You’re my brother.”
“In our case, it’s the same thing.” With that, he turns and skates away, leaving me feeling both hurt and angry.
So much for making headway.
Chapter 30
Rome
“Welcome back, Rome!”
Marty is the first person to shake my hand when I get to the locker room on my first official day back. I got the go-ahead from my doctor last week and started skating with the team, and today I get to participate in a full practice. Depending on how I feel once I’m playing full contact, I should be ready for the first playoff game.
It’s not my first playoff game but this series might be my last so I’m trying to be present, both physically and mentally.
“Hey, man.” I nod in his direction.
“Good to see you!” Gabe calls out. “How’s the leg?”
“Feeling better,” I respond. “And anxious to get back at it.”
A few other guys say hello and it’s good to be in the thick of things. I didn’t realize how much I would miss hockey until I was away from it for nearly two months. Having Billie in my life made up for a lot, but the injury left me with a slightly different set of goals. Instead of looking toward retirement, now I’mgeared up to prove myself so I can play another year. I always wanted that but deep down I’d convinced myself it wasn’t going to happen.
Now it feels like there’s a chance.
I’m not sure what’s changed but I know it has at least a little to do with the beautiful woman I don’t get to spend nearly enough time with. Ever since my conversation with my mother, I’ve done my best to stay open-minded. Not just about Billie, but about everything in my life. Hockey. The possibility of staying in Los Angeles for a while. Making friends. Even the idea of building something long-term with Billie.
Once we’re out in the open it’ll be easier to work on those things. But for now, my focus is the playoffs. I don’t know these guys that well, but they’re a talented group. And the vibe in the locker room is one of the most chill I’ve ever experienced. For the most part, they like each other. Hang out on days off. Their families spend time together. They don’t do it because they have to—they genuinely want to.
And now I do too, if they’ll let me into their inner circle.
The cookout at Marty’s was a lot of fun, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t piss anyone off. Billie was there too, even though we weren’t together, and everyone seemed to like her. If there’s a chance that Billie and I are going to try this for real, as a couple—no sneaking around, no stolen kisses in the kitchen at two in the morning—then she’s going to be as much a part of this organization as I am.
“Hey, a bunch of us are getting tickets to a Dodgers game,” Connor yells out. “If you want to go, let me know how many tickets and I’ll take care of it.”
“I want to go,” I say, the words feeling a little foreign in my mouth but I force them out anyway.
“One ticket or two?”
