“They’re mostly about him.”
“That’s why he’d hate them. They’re like a perpetual reminder that you stopped living at seventeen.”
I clear my throat and wash down my scone with milk. Well, this visit is off to a good start. “I’ve lived to twenty-eight just fine.”
“‘The man who gets the most out of life is not the one who has lived it longest, but the one who has felt life most deeply.’ That’s—”
“Rousseau. I know.” I roll my eyes. Dad’s favorite. “He also said God made me and broke the mold. Which I prefer to live by.”
Simone swats at me with her towel, and I avoid the assault with a tiny giggle, reverting back to the ten-year-old who swore his oldest sister hung the moon.
“Okay, Smart Ass. But seriously, Jack, I’m worried about you. It’s like you’ve repressed all the goodness that was stuffed inside you—and just stopped feeling. That’s not a life. That’s a…a vessel.”
“A vessel?” I quirk a brow. I don’t remember that quote.
“Yes, and that’s a Simone Finnigan original, buddy.” Her shoulders deflate as she lowers herself onto a kitchen chair nestled nearby. Her hand rakes through her floured hair, leaving a few more white streaks in its wake. “I just don’t know what you’re trying to prove with this image you have. You could do so much more with your position and your money than you’re doing now. He’d want so much more for you.”
Isthiswhat she wanted to talk to me about? I mean, the scones are good and all, but… “He’d want me to win the Cup.”
“That’s complete bull. Dad was so much more than just hockey. You know that. You lived that. Mom and Dad had already had two children at your age. I had Luce. And you’re pulling punk-ass, tripping-guys-into-sideboards stuff, falling on your drunken ass in public, and running around with a different woman every night.”
I could throw it in Simone’s face that I’ve volunteered to work at Aulie’s fair for a few days. The fair benefits the local museum and the town, and that’s benevolent and shit. But telling her would require extending this conversation, and it’s too early in the morning to deal with any of this.
“Thanks for the scone.” I push off the counter.
A firm hand wraps around my wrist before I can exit the kitchen. “I didn’t mean to mom you the minute you got here. I’m just worried about you, half-pint.”
The harsh lines on my face soften. “I appreciate your concern and that you cushioned this conversation with scones, but I’m fine. I promise.”
“Yeah…that’s not why I baked the scones.” Simone flashes me a weak smile. “Do you know what tomorrow is?”
Since my suspension came down three days ago, the only thing keeping me somewhat aware of the concept of time is the text message I get from Grady every morning with a countdown to when I can play again.
Grady
Forty-three days until your suspension is over.
“I thought that’d be your answer.” Simone presses her lips into a thin line. “It’s Dad’s birthday.”
My stomach drops. That means it’s also Stand Up to Cancer night for the Badgers. A game where I’m usually made the honorary captain. A game where a camera stays on me while the stadium watches a video montage of my dad kicking ass on the ice and hoisting a miniature version of myself in the air after he won his first cup. A game where I spend more time in the penalty box than on the ice, and none of my teammates question it.
And a day where my family spends time together, going to his grave and having family dinner. I’ve been all too happy to have an excuse for why I couldn’t join them over the past ten years.
Until now.
“And I think—” Simone hedges her words, handing me another plate piled high with scones and homemade jam. “No,I knowit would mean the world to Mom if you joined us for everything. Including going to the cemetery to see him.”
“I—ugh—” My hand holding the plate shakes. I’ve never been to his gravesite. Without seeing that marker, I can pretend like he’s on a broadcast trip or just not great with phones. But that marker—it’s a final reminder of where he is now.
That’s not him.
“Uncle Jack!” My niece, Lucy, miraculously saves me as she enters the kitchen and lunges at me. I catch her, but the scones fall to the floor.
“Hey, there’s my favorite girl.” I clear my throat and paste a grin on my face. Lucy has been running into my arms like this forever, but now that she’s nine, her launch comes with a little more force behind it.
“Mom says you’ll be in town for the entire month.” Her finger traces a small shiner on my face from the scrum after I tripped Alex.
“If you’ll let me.” I press a kiss to her cheek.
