The joy over our win doesn’t take away from what’s going on off the ice, though.
“I should be happy,” Liam tells me as we head into the locker room together. “And I fucking am. But I’m also numb.”
“Same,” I say back as we head for the showers.
Because all the goals in the world won’t bring our father back.
As the hot water runs over my aching muscles and sore as fuck shoulder where I got slammed into the boards twice tonight, the memory that I’ve pushed away for years returns unbidden.
The night my father was murdered, all four of us brothers were away at a hockey game. Liam was eighteen and a senior in high school, Jared and Max seventeen, and I was fifteen.
This being New Orleans, we had to travel quite a bit at the time just to find ice.
Dad came to watch us often. But not this time. This time, he had to work.
He was working the graveyard shift at the convenience store he’d been managing for years. We often stopped by to say hi to him when we drove home from a practice or a game.
That night, I remember we won our game handily. All four of us were pumped as we drove back to New Orleans, and we couldn’t wait to tell Dad. He lived for our hockey games. And he worked double shifts to be able to send us out of state where we could practice our skills, compete against the top players in the country, and learn from the best.
We pulled up to the convenience store. An ambulance and three cop cars, lights flashing, were in the parking lot.
My gut turned over, and I knew something was wrong.
Before Liam had even fully stopped the car, I had the back door open and was jumping out.
Liam, Jared, and Max were right behind me.
As we ran toward the building, a guy, dressed all in black and wearing a wool hat, came out of the shadows.
All four of us looked right at him.
He was of average height and build. The only distinct feature I noticed was a clear, brownish-red mark on his right cheek.
As I went to look at him more closely, he averted his gaze before I could see his eyes.
Something about him wasn’t right. He was jittery and seemed high. And that bulge in his jacket pocket—was that a weapon?
He pushed past us and ran into the woods behind the convenience store.
“What the—” Jared made a move to chase after him, but Max grabbed his arm.
“Dad,” is all he said. “We have to check on him.”
I sprinted for the door, but as I reached it, Liam shoved me out of the way so he could enter first. At the time, I remember being pissed off that he, like always, had to be first. In hindsight, I realize he was doing it to protect me.
The second we got inside the store, a cop came over to us before we could round the corner.
“This is a crime scene, boys. You’ve got to get out of here.”
“Our father works here,” Liam said.
The officer’s eyes flashed. Pity. I saw it before he shut it down.
“There’s been a shooting,” the cop said, speaking mainly to Liam.
“We just saw a guy run off,” I said, pointing to the door.
The officer immediately sent another cop out to look. He also said he’d take our statements.
