Page 49 of Puck You
Bryce’s booming laugh filled the car.“You and Grace are like different sides of the same coin.She might get under your skin, but that’s what you like about her.And I’m pretty sure that’s what she likes about you ...among other things.”
“She didn’t have to push me into the lake,” I muttered.“All she had to do was pull away.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.That she hates my guts and wanted to see me drown?”
“It could be that,” he said, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel, “or maybe she’s just as scared as you are about how she feels.”
That was not a possibility I was ready to consider.Thankfully, the exit for Clearwater appeared in the distance, a reminder thatwe were meeting my mom and stepdad for a late lunch.Seeing my family would be a welcome distraction.They were visiting for my birthday, even though the drive from Illinois was well over four hours.When I’d told my mom that Bryce and I would be heading back from the lake house together, she’d insisted he join.
Bryce took the Clearwater exit and turned left toward the Belle Bistro.We pulled into an almost empty parking lot a few minutes later.Bill’s Cadillac was parked in a spot at the front.
“Happy birthday, my love!”
My mother was upon me the moment we entered the establishment.The bell on the door was still ringing as she pulled me into her arms and crushed me against her with the strength of a person three times her size.
“How was the drive?”I asked, pulling away to inspect her.She was wearing a blue and green Dallard hockey sweatshirt that brought out the color in her eyes.
“Long as always, but we stopped at this really good cheese place on the way.And Bryce, it’s so good to see you!”As she descended on him, I turned my attention to Bill.
My stepfather was wearing a sweatshirt to match my mom’s, though he’d paired it with a long-sleeved turtleneck and a nice pair of slacks.Bill wasn’t the best at doing casual, but I appreciated the effort.
“Good to see you, Sebastian,” he said, clapping a hand over my shoulder in greeting.
“You too, Bill.”
The hostess ushered us to a table in front of a large window that overlooked the parking lot.She went to get a round of water before taking our orders.
“Are you guys staying at the lake house?”I asked.
Mom nodded.“We’ll get to see just how well you cleaned up.”
“Hopefully nothing is damaged beyond recognition,” Bill teased.
We fell into an easy chatter, jumping from one topic to the next until my mom mentioned the upcoming holiday.“Bryce, will you be joining us for Thanksgiving this year?”
It was hard for Bryce to get home on short breaks given the distance to Miami.For the last few years, he’d spent Thanksgiving with our family in Illinois.
“We can’t come this year, Mom.Our scheduled is packed, so the coaches are hosting a team Thanksgiving.”
“That’s too bad,” she said with a frown.“Maybe I can send you a pie in the mail.”
Bryce and I met each other’s eyes from across the table with a smirk.That would be a new one.My mom had a history of sending us care packages throughout the year.Sometimes, we’d come home to find a massive box packed full of non-perishables, toilet paper, and other essential items.I couldn’t remember the last time any of us had bought toothpaste.
“Anyway, this is for you.”Mom placed a birthday bag on the table in front of me.
She nodded at me as if to say,Go ahead and open it, and I pulled the tissue paper.There was a flash of faded blue material, and I sucked in a sharp breath.Slowly, I reached inside and dragged my fingers across the familiar pilled fabric.My dad had worn his Toronto Maple Leafs crew neck religiously.Sometimes, he’d go five days in a row without taking the damn thing off.Slowly, I lifted the relic to my nose, desperate to find if it stillsmelled of him.An infinitesimal trace of his scent clung to the material.I clutched the crew neck to my chest and breathed in a hint of cedar.For just a moment, he was here in the restaurant, wishing me a happy birthday in person.
“He would have wanted you to have it,” Mom said, her eyes shining with tears.“You always begged him to let you wear that ratty old thing.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, voice strained, blinking back tears I refused to shed.
The sweatshirt was stained, a relic from the past, one that had seen better days.But it was a reminder of why I was here and what I was doing all of this for.Hockey was how I honored his memory.It was all I had left of him.
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Grace
