Breakneck Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #3)

23. Patsy Cline

Chapter 23

Patsy Cline

Sutter

T he large engine rumbles into my bones, and the smoky diesel permeates the vehicle. Its power fortifies my own, fueling whatever reserve I’ve got for this kind of shit. I know some people avoid their triggers. Others avoid them until they’re ready. I’ve learned to face them when they arise. When life wants me to. Or at least I fucking try. Is it scary? Yes. Does it feel good? No. But whatever the outcome, I’ll emerge at least a little better than before.

I won’t hide ever again.

Because I’ve learned a little secret about triggers. They’ll pound at your life like a repetitive hammer swing if you don’t face them. The hammer begins as a regular toolbox hammer. A hammer’s easy enough to deal with. Sure, it can be deadly if it gets you in the eye, or something, but the swing of its momentum is less than a mallet. The mallet comes for you next. And on and on it goes until that hammer morphs into a sledgehammer.

How do I know? Alderchuck’s my sledgehammer. The thing I spent my life avoiding. That’s one of the reasons I brought him with me, because fuck it. I’ve got metaphorical hammers swinging at me left and right, might as well have them all in the same room at the same time. Bring it the fuck on. And isn’t it fucking curious that the same thing that brings me peace is the most chaotic thing in my life?

As soon as I pull onto the Aldergrove turn off, my tires crunch the snow. It’s not the worst it’s ever been, but terrible motorcycle-driving weather. No wonder Lane can’t get around. He needs a truck. My city car wouldn’t have made it up this hill either. It’s dark, too, but my truck’s got big headlights to guide our path. It doesn’t have any trouble over the ice-slick roads either. I have to go slow, but the wide rubber tires bite wherever they find friction.

“Is it weird that I find all of this hot?” Alderchuck says.

“Not really. Men in big trucks are sexy.”

“Yeah, that and coming to somebody’s rescue. That’s what we’re doing, right?”

I haven’t told him anything. I literally abducted him. Thankfully, he’s into that shit. “Kind of. Maybe kicking a little ass, too.” Charles hasn’t stuck to our bargain. I’m gonna have to deal with that. No idea how, but that will have to wait.

Their lawn’s covered in snow, with no walk shoveled. We trudge our way to the front door, cutting a path across the untouched blanket of white. I have a key, but with how many locks there are on the inside—that should be locked this time of night if Charles followed my instructions—I’ll have to be let in.

The door opens before I can ring the bell. “Before you tell me off, I knew it was you. Was waitin’ for you. Oh, you brought company.”

He makes way so I can barrel in the door. “That’s Casey. Casey, this is Charles.”

Casey stomps the snow off his feet before stepping in the door and waving a hello.

“Where’s Stevie?” I ask. Charles can’t meet my eyes. “ Charles. ”

“He’s in Langley, with Lane. I … this has been happening for a little bit.”

I see. No one’s been telling me shit. Guess I’m not that surprised after telling Lane I was on the brink of taking action. “Show me.”

He nods, leading the way to one of the rooms on the main floor. There’s a new chain lock on the door. One I know we didn’t put there.

Wham! A heavy thud slams against the door, straining the wood. It’s a thin door and if it’s taken a bunch of slams like that it’s not gonna last much longer. It’s brighter in here than it was in the foyer. Bruises splatter the way up and down Charles’s arms.

“What the fuck?”

“It’s hard to get her in there. That’s all. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, Mitch. I swear. She suddenly goes wild. I was … I was afraid she’d accidentally hurt Stevie. She’s been having these episodes and then it’s as if nothing happened. I’m talking, goes back to baking cookies and shit.”

“I thought you said she was fine?”

“And she was. The medication was working. The therapy, too.”

“What does the therapist say about these episodes?”

“He, uh, he doesn’t know about them. They didn’t start all that long ago. She hasn’t had one when he’s been due to visit.”

“And you didn’t think to tell him? Jesus, Charles.”

“I hoped that it would come up in therapy,” he shouts. “Isn’t that how therapy works?”

“You should have told me. You broke our deal.”

“Because you’ll take her away. You’ll take us away from her.” His pained voice twists my guts. “What the fuck do you care? You’re off being a hockey hero. We’re just a couple of kids you’d like to be done with.”

“Not fucking true, kid. I want what’s best?—”

“Being with Mom’s what’s best.” His lip trembles and with his eyes as round as they are, they make him look smaller.

Casey creeps forward while I argue with Charles. He puts his ear to the door, while we freeze.

“What is it?” I say.

“Muttering and mumbling. Huh. Can I try something, Charles?”

“Like what?”

“What’s, like, a song she’d know?”

“Dunno. She doesn’t seem to know anything when she’s like this.”

“Something older. Maybe something from her youth. Know anything like that?”

“She loves Patsy Cline.”

“Oh, God. I’m real sorry about this.”

“Alderchuck.”

Casey belts off what I think is Patsy Cline. I wouldn’t know, I’m not a Stan, but apparently he is. He knows the words and the tune. He’s not half bad, but he’s not good either. Some notes he nails, but others do a good impression of a dying cat.

He stops, his ear to the door. We freeze. My heart fucking beats, and for some reason I’m under that damn bed again. Waiting for it to stop. Waiting for my heart to stop beating.

Soft, melodic Patsy Cline wafts from under the door.

“What’s her name?” Casey whispers.

“Shelly West,” Charles says.

“Mama West? That’s good. I’m gonna come in, okay?”

“What? No, you’re fucking not,” I tell him.

“I think I can take someone half the size of me, Sutter,” he says.

Right. Right. It’s hard not to put myself in Charles’s shoes, feeling smaller and near-to-helpless when my brain goes here. It feels so big. I nod.

We open the door. She lunges. Alderchuck catches her in his strong hockey arms. He sings some more, swaying her back and forth. I don’t know why the fuck he knows so much Patsy Cline, but he does. Thank fuck he does.

She wiggles, she struggles. Casey gets an elbow to the face.

“I’m fine, Sutter,” he says because I growled. And flinched.

A small voice melds with Alderchuck’s overbearing one. Her limbs relax and she sways with him. Casey takes her hand to spin her. Mama West laughs.

“You’re good at that,” she says.

“Get over here, Charles,” Casey says. “Switch places with me.”

Charles steps in, and Mama West’s expression lights up with recognition. “I know your face,” she says.

“Hi, Mom.”

“You like this song?” she says

“Um, yeah.”

“Introduce us,” Casey murmurs.

“But she knows Mitch?—”

“Do it anyway,” he says.

“This is Mitchell and Casey, Mom. Friends of mine.”

“Can I make you a cup of tea, Mama West?” Casey says.

She frowns. “I think that would be alright…?” She checks in with Charles.

“Yeah, Mom. It’s fine. They’re here to help, okay?”

“Okay, sweetheart.”

W e get her tea. Somehow, Casey knows exactly how to maneuver a conversation with her. He’s doing something. What, I have no idea, but Charles and I follow his lead. We have a great visit with Mama West, and if it weren’t for what I witnessed when we arrived, I’d think all was well here.

Like the therapist probably does when he’s not given the full story.

Eventually, we’re able to tuck Mama West into bed.

Casey ushers us back to the kitchen and pours us more tea. “Has your mom ever been checked for a minor stroke?” he asks. “The medical term is transient ischemic attack or TIA in case you’ve heard that thrown around.”

“A stroke? Wouldn’t we know if she’s had a stroke?”

“Not if it was a small one. You can have several mini-strokes and not know it, but they still cause brain damage that can lead to depression, dementia, or both. They can be missed and misdiagnosed.”

“You think my mom’s depression is related to a stroke?”

“I mean, I’m not a doctor, but the confusion I just saw? That’s beyond depression, dude.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell the therapist?”

“She might not realize what’s happening to her. Hell, often the symptoms are so regular you can chalk them up to tiredness.”

“And the therapist wouldn’t see it?”

“Not if she’s mostly lucid when the therapist sees her. It’s often in the evening when these kinds of symptoms show, if they’re present at all.”

Charles nods. “What do we do?”

“Over Christmas? Not much since doctors’ offices are closed for the holiday. But we call to get her into your family physician as soon as they can take her, and get the process started.”

“B-But what happens to us?”

Charles visibly crumbles. He knows what happens if there’s no one to take care of him and Stevie.

“I … have an idea,” Casey says.

He does?

“You do?” Charles says.

Casey nods. “I can’t promise it’ll work. But I know some people, okay?” I raise a brow. He knows people? “Shut the fuck up, Sutter.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face said it for you.”

I remove his shirt and push him onto the bed. “Aren’t you full of fucking surprises?”

Charles convinced us to take the master bedroom. “It’s better that Mom stays downstairs,” he’d said. “I’ll use the pullout. I’ll call if I need help.”

I knew I’d sleep like a guard dog anyway, so I allowed it.

Casey props himself onto his elbows, watching me pull off my shirt. The chill air hits my bare skin. I can’t wait to be against him, being against him always burns so good.

“It’s what happened to my mom, Sutter,” he says. I pause my descent on top of him, switching course and taking my place beside him. I get under the covers. “The doctors aren’t exactly sure when the strokes happened, but they went unnoticed for years. Her symptoms weren’t as noticeable as they are with Mama West. In a way, it’s better they are. We can get her help. Maybe. It was too late for Mom by the time we realized what was going on. One day she had a big stroke, and that was it.”

His eyes gloss over. He bites his lip to stop it trembling.

My heart squeezes. I can’t stand his fucking pain. I pull him into my arms, but I don’t know what to fucking say. I picture it, though, what it must have been like for him, even though I don’t have the faintest clue.

“I’m fine, Sutter. I mean, yeah, it was the worst. The Goddamn worst. Watching my beautiful mother wilt and die. But it happened years ago, and Mom made it fucking clear that we’d better remember her during the good times or she’d haunt our asses like a fucking poltergeist.”

The more he says the worse I feel, but it’s not even my pain, it’s his.

“Sorry, babe. There’s nothing you can punch to make this one go away,” he says.

I kiss the crest of his forehead. No. But I can make him laugh like he does for me. “I was thinking that I wonder if your mom knows she drove you to get I Love Poutine inked onto your body.”

His laughter rumbles against my chest. “Who do you think came up with the idea?”

“At least I finally know who to blame for your insanity.” I inhale a gust of him. He’s so fucking brave—braver than I am. “I’m sorry I put you in this position. I didn’t know?—”

“Stop. Apologizing for things you couldn’t have possibly predicted is fucking stupid. It’s what creates anxiety—ask me how I know.”

“But this must have been triggering for you.”

“A little, but something I’ll never shy away from is facing demons head-on whenever they appear. And Sutter? Demons always appear when they’re least expected.”

“Agreed,” I say, a little shocked to death that we agree on something so big.

“Don’t like the part where I teared up in front of you so much, but if you dare bust my balls over it, I’ll … dammit. That’s not gonna work.”

“You were gonna say withhold sex, weren’t you? But then you realized that would be more of a punishment for you. Especially now that my dick is the only dick you get.” I comb my large fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know whether to be scared or happy that you’re beginning to know me so well.”

I lace my hand with his. “Thank you. You were fucking amazing tonight.”

“Is that a compliment? I’ve lost it. I’m hallucinating. I’m making myself an appointment alongside Mama West.”

I laugh some more and it’s a relief after all the heavy stuff. I get why it’s an Alderchuck family motto to make light of everything now. It would have been way too long with heaviness for them if not.

I need to take a page from his book. I know he said that I don’t have to tell him, but now I need to tell him as if it’s some dirty secret between us. I circle my arms around him and take in a gust of his scent for strength.

“I had to watch my dad die, too. I don’t know how they didn’t find me under the bed. Mom thinks they didn’t know to look for me…” I trail off and freeze up. “It was a break-in, a simple break-in. Nothing more. Just some guys trying to rob us. Guess they thought no one was home. They panicked and flipped out once they discovered my dad. If only we’d had more locks on the doors, maybe it would have given us a chance to call the police.”

Casey finds my forearm, the one with the date it happened. His energy seeps into me, nulling the ever-present ache.

“I heard every crunch of bone, every splat of his damn organs. He was trying not to scream for my sake, but a few times he couldn’t help it. Those screams still ring through my insides sometimes. I hate that I did nothing. I’ll hate it forever. I get that I was just a little boy, and I’d tell anyone else the same thing they tell me—that I don’t need to regret staying under that bed. The only way I can make it right is to protect everyone else.”

I already know I have survivor’s guilt, especially because I did nothing. Adult me understands that Dad would have rather kept me safe, but I’m tired of people saying it. I wait for Casey’s response, praying he doesn’t hit me with some kind of bullshit like that.

“Tell me, Sutter. How long did Teenage Sutter spend hellbent on a revenge vendetta? Or wait, are you still there? Have I joined a quest?”

I laugh. I laugh into his hair. I laugh while I squeeze him. I laugh so hard it hurts my guts. He’s Goddamn perfect.

I fucking love you, Alderchuck.

Nothing’s ever gonna make that night okay for me. Not revenge, not platitudes, not even the best therapy money can buy. The real key is good-feeling thoughts, bounding from one to the next. Casey’s full of them. My ultimate source of good-feeling thoughts.

“A long time. I was always a big fan of Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride.”

“You are Inigo Montoya, babe.”

I kiss his crown and let my lips rest there. I built it up to being a huge thing but, now that I’ve told him, peace steeps my soul. Those imaginary locks on my heart burst open and my heart yanks him inside, immediately resealing them, maybe tighter than ever before. My heart’s keeping him with me forever, and with him inside, it becomes the Granite Mountain Vault.

“Are you going to share your idea with me?” I ask.

“It starts with talking to Trish. Remember her from yoga, and the Boys and Girls Club? She has a degree in social work. She doesn’t work with kids—she has some gig working with the elderly—but she’ll know of some resources.”

“Dad practices family law. He might be persuaded to help us, too. It’s how he met Mom.” I’ve been hesitant to involve my parents, but it might be time.

“Dipping his pen in the company ink, eh? Francisco, you dog.”

“He fell in love because my mom’s the best human on the planet.” I pinch his ass. He squawks.

“Your mom’s pretty fucking awesome, Sutter. Which is why you come as such a shock.”

“That’s it.” I turn him so I can smack his bare ass. I have to cover his mouth when he squawks some more, but we devolve into laughter, the heaviness in the room effectively lifted.

“Sounds like we’ve got everything covered then,” Casey says. “It’s … look, this isn’t going to have a perfectly happy ending for them, just gonna be real about that, but it will be the best ending that can be hoped for in a situation like this.”