I decided that was in my top favorite sounds. But I wasn’t going to fucking tell her that. We pushed through the doors, and I took a deep breath of the chilly fall air, hating that we had to say goodbye. Heading to my place alone sounded as fun as a root canal, but I knew how important it was for her to hang with her dad. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
She nodded and had that same, hesitant look in her eyes. I bent down to whisper in her ear. “I wish I could kiss that fucking mouth, Naomi. Tomorrow can’t get here fast enough.”
She hummed in response and shoved my chest playfully. “Be good, Reiner.”
“Don’t trip, Fletcher.”
The hesitant look left her eyes, thankfully, and she waved before walking toward the locker room. That meant I was by myself until Coach texted me when to meet in the morning.
I scanned the crowd and saw parents everywhere. It was obvious with their clothes and graying hair. Sure, a couple of moms were hot, but it was the laughter and joy radiating from all of them that snuffed out the fire Naomi lit inside me. Even Freddie was out with his folks.
Fuck it.
I was going to a bar.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and let my grief consume me. Each step took twice the effort as the familiar emptiness spread through my body. My stomach ached the same way it did all those years ago when I was at the funeral. Why did this happen to us? How were we supposed to go on through life like this? Parentless? I took a deep breath of the cold air and fisted my hands at my sides.
I needed a drink to take the edge off. The urge to punch a wall threatened to take over, just to feel something besides grief.
What would my parents think of me now? Would they be proud or annoyed? Ashamed that I never made it to the pros?
No, they wouldn’t. I ignored that thought immediately. They always encouraged me to be a good teammate, the best leader, and they had no crazy ambitions for me to go to the NHL. They wanted me to be happy. End of story.
Was I happy though?
I smiled a lot and woke up ready to go, but happy? Like Ryann happy? I wasn’t sure. My sister found joy in every moment while I avoided feelings like it was professional sport.
My mind wasn’t in any better shape by the time I got to the local bar right next to where I lived. Coop’s Stoop was the perfect grunge bar with cheap specials. That way, I could have a few drinks and only had to walk a block. Not bad at all.
Plus, this place didn’t have a ton of the parents visiting. This was off the path more, which was what I wanted. I ordered a whiskey and got comfortable at the bar, focusing on the basketball game on the TV. The NBA wasn’t my thing, but it was distracting enough to not think about all the feelings.
The fucking Bermuda Triangle again, hitting me hard.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” a hard voice jolted me from a haze. I followed it to see Cal Holt propped up on the stool next to me, his eyes cold and his jaw tight.
I blinked, unsure of why he was in a bar. He was eighteen. And why he was right next to me. “There are ten other places to sit. Move.”
“This is my place. You move.”
“You’re not even of age, nice try,” I said, taking another long swig of my drink. “You could get deep shit for this.”
“My cousin owns this place, alright? It’s fine. Unless you fucking narc on me,” he said, his neck flexing as he glared at me.
Glare away kid. I can beat your pompous ass. I said no such thing and kept to myself. This wouldn’t end well for either of us. It wasn’t my business what the kid did in his own time, and I drank underage when I was eighteen too. That wasn’t news. It was just his attitude and entitlement I despised.
“Cally, my dude,” a large man with a huge beard walked out from a bar door and held out his knuckles. He had graying hair and had to be in his forties. “You played okay tonight.”
“Okay? I did better than okay.”
“I swear, if I wasn’t your pseudo parent, I’d smack you in the mouth.” The man slapped Cal’s hand as he tried to reach for a bottle of vodka. “Not now.”
“What?” Cal snapped, the icy tone I heard all the time escaping him. “Why not?”
“I know this shit is hard for you, but dude, there are cops everywhere. My job is more important than your pity drunk party.”
Keep to yourself. Don’t listen. Finish the whiskey. Go home.
“I need a fucking drink, Dan.”
