Breakneck Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #3)

31. Magic Pennies

Chapter 31

Magic Pennies

Sutter

C asey and I fought some more the next morning. I thought he should get a lawyer, but he thought he should call his agent. Milton’s way out of line with the way he violated our privacy. Casey’s so fucking hung up on what he’s done to ruin “their” shot at the NHL—as in him and his brother—he can’t see that he hasn’t done anything at all. It’s nothing but a self-fulfilling prophecy at this point.

He’s certain that the hockey club owners are going to slam the hammer down on him, but I doubt that. I can’t say I know for sure what’s going on, but it just doesn’t add up. Will he chill the fuck out at all? No. I made him eat breakfast with me. He pouted like a child the whole time and then he left in a huff with the excuse that he had to make the team plane.

Casey knew damn well we’d planned to fuck off and head back to Boston together. I didn’t mention it, though. If it makes him feel better, makes him feel like he’s following rules we’ve long broken, then fine.

I could use a break from him anyway. But not too long a break.

As if he can hear my thoughts, Alderchuck sends me a text. It better be him telling me what a tolerant boyfriend I am. What a fuck-awesome boyfriend I am. How sorry he is because he’s realized that I’m right and Milton’s a lying sack of shit.

Shoving the last of my freshly washed crap into my carry-on, I grab my phone, already thinking about what my response to his groveling will be.

I’ve been punched in the gut so many times that I’m almost immune to it, but I’m not prepared for the sucker punch Alderchuck lands.

Kitten

Good news. The Arovinis are leaving this till after the playoffs. Let’s take the win and lie low for a bit. We’ll still get to grind each other into the ice. And we’ll go from there, okay?

Lie low? And what does “we’ll go from there” fucking mean?

I don’t know what Casey means, but I know how the words feel. They give “he’s reevaluating us” vibes and they turn my world on its axis.

I can’t believe him. How fucking dare he? That means there’s still part of him that blames me for this shit and another part of him that still thinks if he does what Milton says, he’s safe. He’s only safe from someone like Milton until the next round of bullshit.

My phone rings, lifting my heart because it’s such a fucking idiot, hoping it’s Casey calling to tell me he loves me.

I still haven’t told him how much I fucking love him. I’ve chickened out every time. The words have been there, ready to fall off my tongue, but they don’t come out. If I can’t even tell him that, maybe we should “go from there” after the playoffs. Whatever the fuck that means.

It’s not Casey. It’s Trish. That means something about the kids. Because of course. Things don’t fall apart one at a time, they fall apart the way an avalanche does, a tumble of cold shit that buries you alive. What are the chances it’s good news?

“Sutter? Thank fuck I’ve caught you. Have you left yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. We have a situation. I didn’t find the uncle you mentioned, but I kinda sorta found Charles’s dad. I was going to wait to tell them till you were done with hockey, but Charles found out.”

“It wasn’t good news? You found their dad—I’d think they’d be happy. Unless he sucks?”

“No. I found Charles’s dad. Still nothing on Stevie’s. Turns out, they’re half-brothers, which is just one of the many things Charles is pissed about. Charles’s dad didn’t know about Charles. Charles didn’t know that he and Stevie are half-brothers.”

From the careful way she’s talking, I get the impression she may have done some things she’s not supposed to do to get that information. But she found Charles’s dad, so I’m not gonna ask questions.

“But how does all that work? He seems to think someone else is his dad. He was old enough to remember.” He said his dad left after Stevie came along. Charles would have been nine or ten.

“No idea, but Charles’s dad lives up North in Prince George. He mentioned taking Charles, but not Stevie.”

Ah, got it. He’s worried he’ll be separated from his brother. That’s also kinda far. He wouldn’t be able to see his mom all that often if he went to live with him. “Okay, put him on. I’ll talk to him.”

“Remember I said many problems? Charles left. I think he assumed we’d simply ship him off there, even though I told him we weren’t doing anything until you were home from hockey.”

What is up with people assuming shit and taking off? I’ve had about enough of it for a lifetime.

“Do you have any idea where he might go?” she asks.

“To see his mom?”

“Checked there already.”

Fuck. “Okay, lemme just think this through. I’ll call you right back.”

Hanging up the phone doesn’t bring me any peace. There’s frantic banging on the door. Since you can’t get into my building without a fob, I know it’s either robbers, the police, Rhett, or my mom—I confiscated Lane’s fob after the shit he pulled last time.

I hope it’s robbers right now.

“Open the fucking door, Mitchell,” a baritone voice says. Should have known it would be Rhett.

He needs to keep his voice down or we can go ahead and add “kicked out of my building” to the long list of shit piling up today. I open each of the six inside locks and swing the door open. Rhett and Jack fall into my apartment.

“What the fuck?”

“What happened with Casey last night?” Jack says, making himself at home. He looks around. “Nice place you got here, bud.”

“I’d give you the tour, but I’m a little busy. Charles is missing.”

“Oh, shit. That’s probably why my phone’s been popping off in my pocket.” He pulls it out. “Yep, Meyer family group chat’s going nuts. But we’ll deal with that in a second. What happened between you and Casey last night?”

Jack doesn’t know? Casey tells him everything. If Jack doesn’t know, he doesn’t want Jack to know.

“The usual,” I say. “A stupid fight. No, scratch that, a bunch of stupid fights. It’s us. It’s not new.” That part’s not a lie.

“That’s what he said, but I know there’s more.”

“Even if there was, you won’t be getting it from me. Besides not wanting to air our dirty laundry all over the place, if I tell you something he doesn’t want me to, I’ll be the one in shit. Not happening.”

He exhales a heavy gust of air. “Fair.”

“You two couldn’t have called instead of banging down my door?”

“Don’t look at me,” Rhett says. “I’m just the driver.”

“Phone calls aren’t nearly as effective as in-person lectures,” Jack says, crossing his big arms.

Rhett shrugs. “He’s good at them. He helped me with Logan.”

“Where is your husband right now? I have a bone to pick with him,” I say.

“Lo and Mercy run a mechanic shop during the summer. It’s a long story. He’s doing that for another few hours.”

“Logan’s a mechanic? But he’s so … pretty.”

“Pretty as he is, you should see him with a wrench in his hand, sporting a pair of coveralls … grease on his face.” Rhett goes away in his mind, probably thinking about what he wants to do to the hot mechanic version of his husband.

I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Sorry, I asked. Wait, where’s the baby?” I know there’s a baby in the mix somehow.

“Don’t worry, I left him with the cats.” Jack rolls his eyes. “I like how everyone believes that as if I don’t know how to look after my own son. Stanley’s with Rachel. He’s fine. Stop taking the heat off you. You’re not getting out of this. I don’t know what happened between you two, but something did. I also know that my best friend can be a stubborn shithead sometimes. I love him to death, but he is. Please don’t give up on him. He just wants someone to fight for him, that’s all.”

Know what? I don’t think Jack’s too far off the mark. He might not know exactly what’s going on, but it tracks. He likes to push me away to see how far he can, and if I’ll break. He wants to see if there’s a “too far” to push me where I won’t come back.

“Who said I was giving up on him?”

“I know you two were supposed to travel to Boston together. Now he’s flying with his team.”

Part of me wants to take another shot at badgering Jack for the answers to the mystery that is Casey, but Jack was right before, I’d rather figure him out myself. On the surface, Casey’s a fun-loving guy who uses humor to keep things light. But there’s so much more to him. He’s got deep thoughts. He lost his mom too soon and it’s given him wisdom you can’t begin to see until you get up close.

“And? You’re better off getting used to the way we do things, Jack.” Casey and I fight, we make up and or come to a mild truce, and then we fuck it out. We’re happy for five minutes until the next cage match.

Even I’ll admit this is a little more than a bickering match, but it’s not going to be the end of us.

Jack’s not appeased. “This is your fault.”

“My fault? You don’t even know what happened.”

“Oh, but I do. You didn’t make a huge declaration, and now you reap what you sow.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” This guy. Fuck. I’m gonna pull out my hair.

“Declarations are important. They solidify all the shit between you. That’s how I did it with my man—surprise moved myself into his place. We had an epic movie kiss in the rain.”

“Moving into someone’s house without permission is unhinged behavior.” Not that I’m opposed, but it shouldn’t be used as the example. I look to Rhett for help.

He shrugs. “I married my man after a hockey game, on the ice, in front of thousands of people, and then I dragged out the divorce process, hoping to fuck he’d choose to stay married to me. We couldn’t be happier.”

Right. They’re both hopeless. “Mine and Casey’s, uh, union was just fine. We’re fine. Now get the fuck out. Both of you!” I’m the one shouting now, but if they don’t get out of here, I’m going to hurt them. I don’t care how big they are.

“Jeez. Fine, bro. We’re out, but remember what I said,” Jack says pointing at my face.

Rhett laughs, patting me on the shoulder. “Jack’s annoying, but he’s right.” I lunge forward, they run out the door, laughing at my damn plight.

Fuck my life.

My phone rings again, but this time it’s Lane. Joy.

“Didja lose somethin’, bud?” Lane says.

“Charles is with you?”

“Yep. He’s fine. Mostly.”

“Put him on. He’s in so much shit for taking off.”

“Sure, you’re not a dad? You’re giving major dad energy.”

“Still not a dad.” Big brothers can chew out their siblings too. Hell, so can little sisters. Ask me how I know.

“What?” Charles says.

“You little shit. Get your ass home right now.”

“I don’t have a home, not that you fucking care.”

“Of course, I care.” When I’m not playing hockey, or fighting and fucking with Alderchuck, I’m up late worrying about Charles and Stevie. “They found your dad. What do you think about that?”

“He’s not my dad. I don’t have a dad.”

“Don’t know about that.”

“Fuck you, Mitch. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna make me live with him. I hate you. I wish I’d never called you.”

Ouch , but I’m not too offended. I was just like him when I was his age. Probably worse. I was busy acting out because of pain, and I know it’s the same for him.

“You don’t know shit about what I’m gonna do.” Unfortunately, neither do I. Haven’t had the chance to come up with a plan or process anything. How do you navigate finding out you have a dad—one that might be a perfectly good one—after fifteen years? And that’s on top of everything else. Poor kid must be ready to explode. It makes sense why he’d run to Lane. Lane’s permissive. Lane’s probably feeding him booze to relax him as we speak. “How would you like to come to a hockey game, kid?”

“But … isn’t the game in Boston?”

“Guess you’ll have to come to Boston with me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Which means you have to get your ass back here because we have to be on a plane. Soon.” Gina’s gonna love me for this.

“Lane can do it. He can get me back in time.”

“Has Lane been drinking?”

“No …” He trails off.

“But you have.”

“Only one, one fucking drink. I deserve it after what I’ve been through.”

“You’re a fifteen-year-old child. You’ve got four more years to go before you can legally drink, and it’s gonna be a lot longer if you continue to have that attitude. No more, understand?”

“Fine.”

“Excuse me?”

“Fuck. Yes, sir.”

A little camp protocol doesn’t hurt, especially if he’s being a shithead. “You’re already in enough trouble for the one.” Some might let it go, considering, but that’s not the move here. The kid needs boundaries. He’s craving them. “Tell Lane to get you here quickly, but safely.”

When I’m off the phone with him, I text Trish to let her know the deal. The problem isn’t solved, but it’s at bay for now.

I open my messages, ready to hit Alderchuck with some of the same confident energy I used with Charles, but I freeze. My hands are suddenly clammy. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t do it. Not quite yet. I need a minute to think about this.

I’ll need an extra jersey for Charles, though, but I don’t have anything that’ll fit him. Just something with an older logo on it. It’ll have to do for now. Gina might be able to get something for him, but it’s kinda short notice. It can be the back up and digging for it will give me time to get my head on right before I talk to Alderchuck.

It’s hard to say what I should do about Alderchuck. Maybe he needs space to deal with this shit, but if we’re a couple, shouldn’t we deal with it together? He’s acting like his shit doesn’t involve me, but it does, even if he’s the one reaping the major consequences, I have responsibility. Fuck him for kicking me out of the tree fort. Fuck him, generally. He makes me so mad. Why do I bother with his ass?

The shirt I want is stuck, so I give it a little yank.

Know what? Screw texting him back. He can take his “we’ll go from there” and shove it up his ass.

I yank harder. It’s stuck. Must be caught on something.

What if Jack’s right, though? Is this my fault because I didn’t make a big enough move? Alderchuck thinks he can’t depend on me? He did run back to his brother, the same brother who’s been the mop for all his messes. Casey needs a little looking after—not a lot, just a little. Maybe sometimes a lot. I’m not sensitive like Stacey is, I’ve got my own ways, but I can take care of him if he’ll let me.

No, not let me. That’s not how we work. I barge my way in. He gets pissed when I don’t. He pushes me away to make sure I’ll come back no matter what he bulldozes me with.

Well, shit. That’s the third thing, isn’t it? The thing Casey’s annoying friend Jack wouldn’t tell me. Joke’s on Jack, I don’t need his confirmation this time. I know it in my bones. But that doesn’t mean I know what to do about it.

What the fuck do I do?

Stupid fucking shirt. Tugging with all my strength is the move.

Wham. Crash.

Pennies. Pennies rain from the sky. Or well, the top shelf of my closet. The old protein powder container I collect pennies in rolls across the carpet until it hits my foot. My arms and legs prickle with gooseflesh and my eyes catch the shiniest one.

I pluck it from the ground.

Dad.

“What do I do, Dad?”

I flip the penny, catch it, and trap it on my arm under my palm. Heads we go with Alderchuck’s preposterous plan. Tails we go with mine and I retrieve his ass after the game tomorrow.

Heads or tails?

My hand remains firmly over the coin. I don’t wanna look. What if it’s heads? Alderchuck’s plan will be the end of us, I’m sure of it.

It better be tails. God, it needs to be fucking tails.

Please, Dad. Say tails.

Heart pounding a hole through my chest, I get ready to lift my hand.