Dad’s tone shifted to one of concern. “I thought you said you liked it there.”
“No, no, I do. It’s…” I sighed and looked at him again. “The guys are great. The city is great. But… I mean, you remember what happened before the season started, right?”
“Ooh. Yeah.” He exhaled. “Those boys must be having a hell of a time with that.”
“They are. Especially Avery Caldwell.”
Dad cocked his head. “He’s your linemate, isn’t he?”
“Mmhmm. And the thing is, Erlandsson was his best friend. They were tight. And he’s…” I hesitated. “He’s not taking it well.”
“I don’t know if there’s a way to take something like that well. Someone that young…” He trailed off.
“I know. What worries me, though…” I swallowed as I tried to put my thoughts into words. “Well, I mean, I think he’s trying to bottle it up. Like,literallybottle it up.”
Dad grimaced. “So he’s drinking it away.”
“I think so? I mean, a lot of the guys drink, you know? And I have no idea how much he drank before.”
“Do your other teammates notice it?”
“I… maybe? Like I’ve seen them giving him looks sometimes, and they seem kind of worried about it, but no one says anything.” I scratched the back of my head. “Maybe I’m just hyperaware of it.”
“That’s possible,” Dad admitted. “Something like that—you’re always going to notice it, even when it’s not out of control.”
I met his gaze. “Does that happen to you, too?”
Sighing, he nodded. “It does. I know not everyone has the same problem your mother does, but—well, I guess it’s like someone who’s had a housefire getting jumpy whenever they see a lit candle. It probably won’t fall over and catch the place on fire, but you’re sure gonna keep an eye on it in case is does.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what it feels like.” I drummed my nails on the armrest. “And then there was what happened to Richards, and…”
Dad gave a soft, sympathetic laugh. “Between him and your mother, I don’t blame you for being jumpy about people drinking.”
“Especially someone who’s going through something like Avery is. But, I mean, how would I even know if there’s a problem? For all I know, he’s coping with his grief and just has some tough moments here and there, but the drinking isn’t an issue.”
“It’s possible. But the cracks will show eventually. If he’s got a problem, he’ll try to hide it, but he can’t hide it forever. No one can.”
I studied him. “How long did it take for the cracks to show with Mom?”
Dad sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I really don’t. Mostly because I couldn’t tell you how long they’d been showing before I finally started making myselfnotice them.” He sat back, his gaze turning distant. “I still tell myself all the time things would’ve been a whole lot different if I’d stepped up sooner.”
My stomach wound itself into an uncomfortable ball. “You didn’t know how to handle it. You’d never done it before.”
“No, but I knew something was wrong. I shouldn’t have let it hurt you kids and our marriage for as long as I did before I stepped up.”
My chest tightened. I always hated when he blamed himself for all the damage Mom’s alcoholism had done, but it was even harder to stomach now. I didn’t want to have that regret with my teammate. At the same time, though, I didn’t want to jump the gun and see something that wasn’t there.
“What do I do?” I asked.
Dad looked me in the eyes. “Right now, the best thing you can do is keep an eye on him. Look for those cracks. If they start showing… Well, you’re a smart man. You do what you think is best, whether that’s talking to him or going to your coaching staff.” He reached across and gripped my wrist. “And remember, he won’t like you. He won’t be happy about it, and if shit starts falling apart, he might just blame you.” Squeezing my wrist, he added, “Hold the line. You got it?”
Swallowing hard, I nodded. I remembered all too well the fights my parents had had in the wake of Dad finally putting his foot down. I remembered how much she’d blamed him, threatened to leave him, screamed at him.
Eventually, she’d begged his forgiveness. Then ours. She’d gone through rehab and come back to us, and though she’d had a couple of relapses, they’d been brief andrelatively minor. As far as I knew, she’d been sober for at least the last four or five years.
There’d been history there, though. All the years married to my dad. All those years as our mom. I didn’t have that history with Avery. A years-old crush and a few months as teammates didn’t make for any kind of sturdy foundation. If I intervened and he didn’t take it well, there was no guarantee he and I could salvage anything because there wasn’t much to salvage.
Still, I was haunted by the darker years of my childhood and by watching a substance abuse problem destroy a teammate back in Detroit. If it became clear that Avery truly did have a problem, I’d take him hating me over the alternative.
