The Mistake: Chapter 17

July

Garrett surprises me by showing up at the garage on a Thursday night with pizza and a six-pack. I don’t see much of him during the summer, what with me living at home and him working sixty-hour weeks at a construction company in Boston. We text here and there, usually about the NHL playoffs. We get together to watch the Stanley Cup game every year, which we did last month. But for the most part, our friendship goes on hiatus until I head back to Hastings in September.

I’m happy to see him, though. I’d probably be happier if he hadn’t brought beer, but hey, how is Garrett supposed to know that my father whipped a beer can at my head this morning?

Yup, shit got real today. Dad threw a can and a tantrum, which resulted in me nearly taking a swing at him. Jeff, of course, broke it up and played peacekeeper, before dragging Dad’s drunken ass home. When I popped in for lunch, the old man was drinking Bud Lights in the living room and watching infomercials, greeting me with a smile that told me he’d already forgotten what had happened.

“Hey.” Garrett strides up to the Hyundai whose brake pads I just replaced and gives me a macho man-hug that involves many a back slap. Then he glances across the room at my brother. “Jeff, my man. Long time.”

“G!” Jeff sets down his socket wrench and wanders over to shake Garrett’s hand. “Where the hell have you been hiding this summer?”

“Boston. I’ve spent the past two weeks slaving away on a roof with the sun beating down on my head.”

I grin when I notice the sunburn on his nose, neck and shoulders. And because I’m an ass, I lean in and flick the red patch of his skin on his left shoulder.

He winces. “Fuck you. That hurt.”

“Poor baby. You should ask Wellsy to rub aloe on your booboos.”

He gives a wolfish smile. “Oh, trust me, she has. Which already makes her a way better roommate than you.”

Roommate? Oh, right. I totally forgot that Hannah’s been staying at our place for the summer. Which reminds me that the guys and I should probably talk about what’s going to happen in the fall. If Hannah’s planning on moving in officially. I’m totally over her, and yeah, I love her company, but I also love the dynamic we have going, just us guys. Injecting a dose of estrogen into the system might short-circuit it or something.

“Can you take a break?” Garrett asks. “You too, Jeff. There’s enough pizza for three.”

I hesitate, picturing my dad’s reaction if he wanders outside and sees me chilling with my buddy instead of working. Fuck. I’m not in the mood to throw down with him again.

Jeff, however, answers before I can. “Don’t worry. John’s done for the night.”

I look over in surprise.

“Seriously, I’ve got this,” my brother tells me. “I’ll finish up here. You take G around back and relax.”

“You sure?”

Jeff repeats himself, his tone firm. “I’ve got this.”

I nod in thanks, then strip off my coveralls and leave the garage with Garrett on my tail. We walk down the path leading to the house, but right before we reach the sprawling bungalow, I veer off toward the grassy clearing at the far edge of the property. Years ago, Jeff and I had set up a fire pit out there and surrounded it with a semi-circle of Adirondack chairs. And in the woods beyond the clearing, there’s a tree house we built when we were kids, which any housing inspector worth his salt would condemn thanks to its shoddy workmanship and unstable facade.

Garrett sets the pizza box on the rickety wood table between two of the chairs, then picks up the six-pack, tugs a can off the plastic ring, and tosses it at me.

I catch it, but don’t open it.

“Right, I forgot,” Garrett says dryly. “Beer is for pussies.” He rolls his eyes. “There are no chicks around, man. You don’t have to pretend to be all sophisticated.”

Sophisticated? Ha. My friends know I don’t drink beer unless it’s the only option available, but I’ve always claimed my dislike for it stems from the fact that beer is weak and tastes like shit.

The truth? The smell serves as a depressing reminder of my childhood. So does the taste of bourbon, Dad’s backup beverage once he runs out of beer.

“Just don’t feel like drinking right now.” I place the can on the dirt and accept the bacon-loaded pizza slice he hands me. “Thanks.”

Garrett flops in the chair and reaches for a slice. “So how crazy is it about Connor? First round pick—that’s gotta be good for his ego.”

A bittersweet feeling washes over me. The NHL entry draft took place a couple of weeks ago, and I was thrilled to hear that two Briar players made the cut. The Kings snapped up Connor Trayner in the first round, while the Blackhawks drafted one of our D-men, Joe Rogers, in the fourth. I’m damn proud of my guys. They’re both sophomores, both talented players who deserve to be in the league.

But at the same time, it’s yet another reminder that I won’t be in the league.

“Connor earned that first-round pick. The kid is faster than lightning.”

Garrett chews slowly, a thoughtful glimmer in his eyes. “What about Rogers? Think he’ll make the Hawks roster? Or get sent down to the farm team?”

I mull it over. “Farm team,” I answer, albeit reluctantly. “I think they’ll want to develop him more before they set him loose on the world.”

“Yeah, me too. He’s not the best stick handler. And too many of his passes don’t connect.”

We continue talking hockey as we devour the entire pizza, and eventually I crank open the beer, though I only take a sip or two. I’m not looking for a buzz tonight. Actually, I haven’t felt like partying at all lately. If I’m being honest, my mood’s been in the dumpster since that night with Tori last month.

“So what’s Wellsy planning to do in the fall?” I ask him. “Is she moving in or what?”

Garrett is quick to shake his head. “Nope. First off, I would’ve asked you guys if it was cool before making that kind of decision. But she doesn’t want to, anyway. It made sense for the summer because our place is so close to her work, but she and Allie are definitely rooming together again when the semester starts.”

“Does she know yet what she wants to do after graduation?”

“No clue. She’s got a whole year to figure it out, though.” Garrett goes quiet for a beat. “Hey, you know Wellsy’s friend Meg?”

I nod, picturing the pretty drama major, who, last I remember, has a boyfriend who’s kind of a douche. “Yeah. She’s going out with that Jimmy guy, right?”

“Jeremy. And they broke up.” Garrett hesitates again. “Hannah asked if maybe you wanted her to set you two up. Meg’s fun. You might like her.”

I shift in my chair, uncomfortable. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested in a set-up.”

He brightens. “Does that mean the freshman you’ve been obsessing over finally decided to forgive you?”

After the Stanley Cup game, I had confessed to Garrett about the whole Grace situation, the whiskey I’d consumed loosening my tongue and causing me to give him a sordid play-by-play of V-Night, which is what I’m calling that final hook-up. Now I regret telling him, because talking about her brings an ache to my chest.

“She still won’t talk to me,” I admit. “It’s over, man.”

“Shit. That sucks. So I assume you’re back to drilling anything in a skirt?”

“No.” My turn to pause. “I almost slept with this older chick a few weeks ago.”

He grins. “How much older?”

“She’s…twenty-seven, I think? She’s a teacher here in town. Smoking hot.”

“Nice. Are you—wait, what do you mean, almost?”

I awkwardly sip my beer. “Couldn’t go through with it.”

He looks startled. “Why not?”

“Because…it was…” I struggle to find the right adjective to describe that disastrous night with Tori. “I don’t know. I went back to her place, fully intending to fuck her brains out, but when she tried to kiss me, I just bailed. It felt…empty, I guess.”

“Empty,” he echoes, sounding bewildered. “What does that mean?”

Fuck if I can explain it. Since I started college, I haven’t passed up many opportunities to get laid. The way I saw it, I might as well live in the moment and take all the pleasure I can get, because tomorrow I’m going to be a goddamn mechanic, living a hollow existence in the shithole that is Munsen. But the night I went to Tori’s was…equally hollow.

I raise the beer to my lips again, but this time I down half the can. Christ, everything about my life depresses the shit out of me.

Garrett watches me, deep concern etched into his face. “What’s going on, man?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You look like your dog just died.” He abruptly glances around the clearing. “Oh shit, did your dog die? Do you have a dog? I suddenly realized I know nothing about your life here.”

He’s right. This is only the second time he’s been here in the three years I’ve known him. I’ve always made sure to keep my home life separate from my school one.

Not that Garrett wouldn’t be able to relate. I mean, his father isn’t exactly a prince, either. A part of me is still shocked that Garrett’s father used to hit him. Phil Graham is hockey royalty around these parts, and I used to idolize him when I was growing up, but ever since Garrett told me about the abuse, I can’t even hear the man’s name without wanting to shove a skate in his chest and twist. Hard.

So yeah, I guess I could have shared my own crappy upbringing when Garrett shared his. I could have told him about my father’s drinking. But I hadn’t, because it’s not something I like to talk about.

But right now? I’m tired of keeping it all inside.

“You want to know about my life here?” I say flatly. “Two words—it sucks.”

Garrett rests his beer on his knee and meets my eyes. “How so?”

“My dad’s a raging alcoholic, G.”

He hisses out a breath. “Are you serious?”

I nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” He shakes his head, looking upset.

“Because it’s not a big deal.” I shrug. “It’s the way things are. He falls on and off the wagon. He makes messes and we clean them up.”

“Is that why you and Jeff are practically running his business for him?”

“Yup.” I take a breath. Screw it. If it’s confession time, then there’s no point half-assing it. “I’ll be working here full-time next year.”

“What do you mean?” Garrett’s mouth puckers in a frown. “Wait, because of the draft? I already told you—”

I interrupt him. “I didn’t make myself eligible.”

Shock and hurt mingle in his eyes to create a dark cloud. “Are you fucking serious?”

I nod.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want you trying to change my mind. I knew the day I accepted the scholarship to Briar that I wouldn’t be going pro.”

“But…” He’s sputtering now. “What about all that talk about you and me in Bruins jerseys?”

“Just talk, G.” My tone is as miserable as my future. “Jeff and I made a deal. He works here while I’m at school, and then we switch off.”

“That’s bullshit,” Garrett says again. Vehemently this time.

“No, it’s life. Jeff did his time, now it’s my turn. Someone has to, or else my dad will lose his business, and the house, and—”

“And that’s his problem,” Garrett interjects, his gray eyes blazing. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but it’s true. It’s not your responsibility to take care of him.”

“Yes, it is. He’s my dad.” Regret seizes my throat. “He might be a drunk, and a total asshole sometimes, but he’s sick, G. And he got in a car accident a few years back and fucked up his legs pretty bad, so now he has chronic pain and can barely walk.” I swallow, trying to tamp down the sorrow. “Maybe we’ll be able to get him back to rehab one day. Maybe not. Either way, I need to step up and take care of him. It won’t be forever.”

“How long then?”

“Until Jeff gets the travel bug out of his system,” I say weakly. “He and his girlfriend are going to spend a few years trekking through Europe, and then they’re coming back and settling in Hastings. Jeff will run the garage again, and I’ll be free.”

Disbelief drips from Garrett’s voice. “So you’re putting your life on hold? For years?”

“Yes.”

The silence that follows only heightens my discomfort. I know Garrett disapproves of my plans, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Jeff and I had a deal, and I have no choice but to stick to it.

“You never had any intention of calling that agent.”

“No,” I confess.

His jaw tightens. Then he lets out a heavy breath that has him sagging forward. He rakes one hand over his scalp. “I wish you told me all this before. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have harassed you about the pros all year.”

“Tell you that my future is as bleak as a prison sentence? No, that it pretty much is a prison sentence? I don’t even like to think about it, G.”

I stare straight ahead at nothing in particular. The sun has already set, but there’s still some light in the sky, giving me a perfect view of the property. The outdated bungalow and dandelion-riddled lawn.

The backdrop to the life I’m going to lead after I graduate.

“Is this why you’ve been partying like there’s no tomorrow?” Garrett demands. “Because you believe there literally isn’t a tomorrow?”

“Look around, man.” I gesture to the sun-browned grass and old tires strewn on the dirt. “This is my tomorrow.”

He sighs. “So, what, you knew you weren’t going to have the NHL experience so you figured, hey, might as well take advantage of the minor celebrity college status and enjoy this constant stream of easy pussy?” Garrett looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been playing hockey since you could walk for the sole purpose of getting laid.”

I scowl at him. “Of course not. That’s just a perk.”

“A perk, huh? Then what are you doing lusting over a relationship?” He arches a brow. “Yeah, she told me.”

“What exactly are we discussing here, G? My sex life? Because I thought we were talking about my future. Which, by the way, is a fucking joke, okay? I don’t have a damn thing to look forward to. No hockey, no girls, no choices.”

“That’s not true.” He pauses. “You’ve got a year.”

A crease digs into my forehead. “What?”

“You’ve got a whole year, John. Your senior year. For one more year, you do have choices. You have hockey, and your friends, and if you want a girlfriend, you can have that too.” He snorts. “But that means keeping your dick out of party girls who have the IQ of a hockey stick.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“You want my advice?” Sincerity shines in his eyes. “If I knew I had one year left before I—I was about to say had to, but I maintain that you don’t have to do anything. You choose to, but whatever, you’ve made your choice. But if I knew I had to put my life on hold starting next year, I’d make the most of the time I had left. Stop doing things that make you feel empty. Have fun. Make things right with that girl, if that’s what’ll make you happy. Quit sulking and make the most of your senior year.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not doing anything productive, either.”

I chew on my cheek until I’ve drawn blood, but I barely notice the coppery flavor that fills my mouth. I’ve been treating this upcoming year like a death sentence, but maybe Garrett’s right. Maybe I need to start viewing it as an opportunity. One more year to enjoy my freedom. To play the game I love. To hang out with friends I’m lucky to have and probably don’t deserve.

Freedom, hockey, and friends. Yup, all those things make the list.

But the number one slot? That’s a no-brainer.

I need to make things right with Grace.