Doug tries to get his parents to watch Tatum so he can take care of Mom, but literally the only thing she says on Saturday is, “Please don’t let him see me like this.”
On Sunday, Doug reluctantly drops Tatum off on his way to work, so I make French toast for Izzie and eggs for Tatum, feeding off their giggles to keep my smile in place, because the last thing they need is me moping around as well. Mom comes out of her room and eats the leftovers I was going to put in the freezer, looking like yesterday never happened. We play along, and I swear Izzie even gets a smile from her, but I don’t trust any of it. It was my bad to think things were okay and that I could have a life of my own, a mistake I won’t be repeating. I’ll just stay single until Tatum is eighteen and I can give my focus to someone else.
Peaches
Probably for the best. Would Izzie like me to watch the game with her?
I’m quick to pick up my phone when it buzzes, hoping it’s Savannah, which must mean I like torturing myself, because no good can come of it, but her words are like a knife to my heart. Both because she’s agreeing without a fight – which was what I wanted, wasn’t it? – and because she’s still there for my sister, even after everything, when I know the last place she wants to be is a crowded arena. It should make me feel better, but it just fucking hurts, like the guys predicted.
Me
Lacey is taking her. But thank you for the offer. It means a lot to Izzie.
Peaches
Of course.
The three little dots appear and disappear for a few minutes, and I watch them, thinking of all the things I could say, but won’t. Because there’s no reason to hurt her more than I already have. She seems to come to the same conclusion, because the dots disappear, and no text comes through.
It’s for the best, I remind myself, then put my phone down and see my mom coloring on the kitchen counter with Izzie. Tatum fell asleep in my arms a while ago, but if I’m holding him, I can hang back in the living room and watch them from a distance instead of participating. As Lacey would say, I’m just not ready to human right now.
* * *
I drag Izzie to the rink earlier than usual, but Mrs. Benson is there with Liv, so Lacey isn’t alone entertaining her. I was feeling angsty and needed to blow off some steam, but racing across the ice, shooting pucks into the back of the net, getting slammed against the boards…none of it makes me feel better. None of it fills the gaping void in my chest that feels suffocating, but I shake it off, look up at Izzie’s smile, and remind myself that I can do this. That Izzie needs me, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
From the ice I don’t hear any of the gossip, but I know word about Savannah’s brothers has spread, because the opposing team uses it to goad me.
“Bunny not here tonight?” Hannigan asks to distract me during the faceoff. “She figure out you were just fucking her for season tickets?”
It hits a nerve, because that’s what Savannah thought, and I try to shake it off, but he gets the puck and skates off before I can.
By the time we’re struggling to secure the puck behind his team’s net, Hannigan has figured out that while I knew who her brother was, Savannah wasn’t the one who told me, and he’s preying on my insecurities. Because what kind of relationship could we have if she never told me?
“Think she’ll be done with you in time for the Superbowl, or should I wait for baseball season to spread those legs and?—”
I’m seeing red and am ready to be thrown out as long as I get some good punches in. I easily dodge Hannigan’s gloved fist, and go to return the favor, ignoring the crowd until one voice cuts through. Most of the audience is egging us on, because college hockey doesn’t allow fighting, but while most of my teammates and the refs are yelling “Callahan” to get me off, Darren shouts, “Izzie,” and I freeze. I’ve spent my life trying to be a good example for my siblings, and I’m not going to give up on that when Iz has a front row seat to see it.
* * *
Coach benches me for the rest of the game, which we lose. He looks disappointed, which is worse than angry, so I clear the changing rooms as fast as I can, using Izzie as an excuse. She gets that I’m not in a mood to talk, so she fills the silence for the first half hour, then quietly stares out the window until we get home.
I put her to bed, then go straight to my dad’s old office, which is mostly used for storage now, but the bar is still fully stocked.
My phone buzzes from the team, from Coach, from bunnies who noticed Lacey was there instead of Sav, but I just skim the notifications and drown my feelings in whiskey. No need to make everyone else miserable.
I stop after my sixth shot and head to bed, because the whole point of being home is that I’m here if they need me, but I feel useless. Like a complete failure. And all I want to do – other than empty that bottle – is talk to Savannah.
To rip my heart open and make myself feel worse?
Or because even when I’m drunk and a mess and heartbroken, a part of me still thinks hearing her voice is the only thing that can make me feel better.
I feel like death on Monday morning, so Izzie makes her own cereal while I try to wash dry toast down with black coffee. I drive her to school on my way to class, feeling like a washed up rockstar with my stale coffee breath and shades.
“Are you sleeping over tonight too?” Iz asks, hand lingering on the handle when I stop in front of her school, but she doesn’t open it.
“I can if you want me to.” Mom was…not great this morning, but she was dressed to go to work when we left, and she thanked me for the weekend, which I hope means she crawled her way back out.
“Can I still talk to Savannah sometimes?”
