When he was sober, he was a really good dad, and that just makes this whole situation so much fucking worse. Because I can’t hate him. I don’t hate him.
“Listen, I’ve been thinking…” I trail off, too afraid of Jeff’s reaction. Coughing, I fish another cigarette out of the pack and head for the door. “Let’s talk outside for a sec.”
A moment later, I take a deep drag of my smoke, hoping the nicotine will bring me a much-needed dose of confidence. Jeff eyes me in disapproval before releasing a defeated sigh.
“Give me one of those.”
As he lights up, I exhale a cloud of smoke and force myself to continue. “I’ve had some interest from an agent in New York. This really big sports agent.” I hesitate. “He thinks I’ll have no trouble signing with a team if I test out free agency.”
Jeff’s features instantly harden.
“That could mean a decent signing bonus. And a contract. Money, Jeff.” Desperation tightens my throat. “We could hire someone else to run the garage, a full-time nurse for Dad. Maybe even pay off the house if the contract is big enough.”
My brother barks out a derisive laugh. “How big of a contract do you think you’ll actually land, John? Let’s be serious here.” He shakes his head. “Look, we talked about this. If you wanted to go pro, you should’ve gone the Major Junior route. But you wanted the college degree. You can’t have it both ways.”
Yeah, I did choose the degree. Because I knew damn well that if I picked the alternative, I’d never leave the league, and that would mean screwing over my brother. They would’ve had to pry that hockey stick out of my cold dead hands to stop me from playing.
But now that the time for Jeff and me to trade places is drawing near, I’m terrified.
“It could be a lot of money,” I mumble, but my feeble attempt to convince him doesn’t work—Jeff is already shaking his head.
“No way, Johnny. We had a deal. Even if you signed with a team, you wouldn’t get all that money up front, and it would take time to get everything here in order. I don’t have time, okay? The second they slap that diploma in your hand, I’m out of here.”
“Oh, come on. You expect me to believe you’re just going to skip town at the drop of a hat?”
“Kylie and I are leaving for Europe next May,” Jeff says quietly. “We’ll be gone the day after your graduation.”
Surprise slams into me. “Since when?”
“We’ve been planning this for a long time. I already told you—we want to travel for a couple of years before we get married. And then we want to spend some time in Boston before we look for a place in Hastings.”
My panic intensifies. “But that’s still your plan, right? Living in Hastings and working here?”
That was the deal we’d struck after I graduated high school. Jeff mans the fort while I’m in college, and then I take over for a few years before he and his fiancée settle down in this area, at which point he’ll run the shop again and I’ll be free.
Granted, I’ll also be twenty-five by then, and the odds of playing professional hockey won’t be as favorable. Yeah, I might land in the AHL somewhere, but I don’t know how many NHL teams would be interested in taking me on at that point.
“It’s still the plan,” he assures me. “Kylie wants to live in a small town and raise our kids here. And I like being a mechanic.”
Well, that makes one of us.
“I don’t mind taking care of Dad, either. I…” He breathes heavily. “I just need a break, okay?”
My throat has clamped shut, so I settle for a nod. Then I put out my smoke and force a smile, finally finding my voice. “I still need to change that headlight. Better get back to it.”
We walk inside, Jeff heading for the office while I wander back to the Buick.
Fifteen minutes later, I hang up my coveralls on one of the hooks on the wall, call out a hasty goodbye, and practically sprint to my pickup.
Hoping like hell my brother doesn’t realize I didn’t say hello to our father.
9
Logan
All I want to do tonight is sprawl on the couch and watch the first playoffs game of the season. I don’t even care that Boston isn’t playing—I’ll watch any game you put in front of me during the post-season. Nothing gets your blood going and heart racing more than playoffs hockey.
Dean, however, has other plans. He waits for me in the hall when I leave the bathroom after my shower, his green eyes narrowed in impatience. “Jesus Christ, bro, what the hell were you doing in there? Shaving your legs? Thirteen-year-old girls take shorter showers than that!”
“I was literally in there for five minutes.”
I brush past him and duck into my bedroom, but he follows me in. No sense of boundaries, this one.
“Hurry up and get dressed. We’re going to a movie and I don’t want to miss the previews.”
I stare at him. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
That gets me a middle finger. “You wish.”
“No, you wish¸ apparently.” I grab a pair of boxers from the top drawer and shoot him a pointed look. “Do you mind?”
“Seriously? I’ve seen your cock hundreds of times in the locker room. Get dressed already.” He folds his arms over his chest and taps his foot.
“Go away. I’m watching the Red Wings game tonight.”