Anton

by Brenda Rothert

  When I get to work, I take a small bag of cookies out of my backpack and set them on Janice’s desk. She’s not in her office, but she’s in the bar somewhere.

  Dre and I baked cookies while Anita was studying and Dre asked if I’d bring some to Janice.

  She had surprised me by inviting me, Anita and Dre to Thanksgiving dinner. I didn’t know before, but she closes the bar that day and has a meal catered in for the staff and their families. We ate like kings that day, and Janice gave all the kids a nice blanket and some candy to take home.

  My finals are coming up, and I’ve been studying with every free moment I have. Since I can only go to school part-time, it’ll take me another year-and-a-half to finish my senior year, but I know I can get there. Encouraging Anita has reminded me of that.

  “You look happy,” my least favorite waitress Lana says with a smirk. “Did you get laid or something?”

  “No, I’m just not a bitch.” I give her a sweet smile as I arrange the glasses the way I like them before my shift starts.

  “You reconsider my offer of marriage, Mia?” a regular at the bar named Lenny asks from his usual stool. “You can get me a discount on drinks and I can get you discounts on all the plumbing supplies you’ll ever need.”

  “That’s tempting.” I take his empty bottle and pop open a new one for him. “I think I’ve gotta pass, though.”

  The evening crowd hits soon, and I get lost in pouring, mixing and serving. I’m keeping a mental tally of my tips, hoping to take Dre ice skating and shopping for a Christmas gift for his mom this week. Since I’ve started helping Anita with money, I’m wearing lower cut tops, smiling bigger and telling fewer customers who hit on me to fuck off. It’s kinda like what I do to pay for grandpa’s care—the ends justify the means.

  I’ve got a momentary lapse in drink orders later in the night when I look up and see Anton walking toward the bar. I feel butterflies in my stomach, which I’m not sure I’ve ever felt in my life.

  “Hey,” he says, the corners of his lips slightly turned up.

  “Hi.” I sound breathless. Fuck.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m okay. You?”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “Not bad, other than my pain in the ass uncle.”

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “I’ll take a bottle of grey goose.” He sits down on the stool in front of him.

  “Really?”

  He breaks into a smile. “Nah. Water, please.”

  He’s cute. I’ve missed him. I try to keep those feelings from my expression as I get his water and set it in front of him.

  “On the house,” I say adamantly. “You can’t keep paying $20 for a glass of water.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can.” He arches his brows and takes a sip. “That’s damn good water.”

  There’s an awkward silence. Then Anton breaks it by asking, “Why’d you tell me not to come that night?”

  The hurt in his eyes reaches straight into my chest and twists my heart. Anton has never been anything but good to me, and I hate that I caused him even an ounce of disappointment.

  “I’m sorry.” I look down at the floor.

  “I just need to know if it was something I did or said.”

  “No,” I say quickly. “No, not at all.”

  “I’m not trying to get with you, Mia. I’d never do that while you’re still married.”

  “I know.”

  “Then what happened?”

  I sigh softly. “Adam came in that night.”

  Anton’s gaze darkens. “What did he want?”

  “Just…to make me feel like shit, I guess. It worked.”

  “I’ve been thinking about things, Mia. I want us to be friends. And I don’t care who knows about it or approves of it. Adam’s my teammate, but there’s nothing wrong with me being friends with you.”

  His expression is so earnest. So sincere. I’m embarrassed by the tears clouding my vision.

  “I’d like that,” I manage to say. “If he finds out, it won’t be good, but as long as you know that.”

  Anton shrugs. “I don’t just know it, I like it. I’d love to throw down with that fucker. I’m pretty sure I’ve got plenty of reasons, from the look on your face every time his name comes up.”

  I look away, uncomfortable. “I don’t think he shows his true colors to many people.”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me. But I’m here, if you want to talk or if you need me to handle him. Anytime, day or night.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll take you home tonight.”

  I curb my instinct to tell him he doesn’t have to, or it’ll be too late. He’s my friend. I do want a ride home from him.

  And I don’t have to worry about the shame Adam reminded me of recently. Anton and I are only friends. He doesn’t care whether I can have kids.

  “That would be great,” I say.

  My seat is warm when I step into Anton’s car and sit down. His car still smells like leather, but there’s another scent in the air tonight.

  “Ribs?” I ask him.

  He grins. “Yeah. I got a sitter tonight and got carryout ribs from my favorite place.”

  “A sitter? Do you have kids?”

  After a single note of laughter, he says, “No. The sitter was for my seventy-eight-year-old uncle who lives with me. He’s had two strokes but still thinks he’s fucking Evel Knievel.”

  The visual cracks me up. “Wow. Just two bachelors living the dream?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’ve been doing some babysitting myself,” I say.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “For my roommate Anita’s four-year-old son Dre. He’s a riot.”

  “I didn’t know you lived with anyone.”

  “Yeah, she rented me a room when I first left Adam. I didn’t even have enough money for the first month’s rent, but she let me pay it after I got a job.”

  “And you guys get along pretty well?”

  I smile. “Yeah. It was rocky at first, but things have been good lately.”

  “Well, you look good. I mean, you always look good, but you look happier than before.”

  “Thanks. I feel happier. I think it’s just…time, partly. Finding myself. That sounds so cheesy.”

  “No, I get it.”

  Our conversation is flowing so easily that I’m bummed when Anton parks in front of my building. I stifle a yawn.

  “Better get some sleep,” he says.

  “Yeah, Dre will be waking me up at seven.”

  “I’ve got a home game tomorrow night, can I pick you up from work after?”

  “Actually, I’m off.”

  Anton nods. “Want to come to a hockey game?”

  I consider it for a second, thinking I could take Dre, but then I shake my head. “Thanks, but no. I can’t risk Adam seeing me, and…I just think him being there would ruin it for me.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  I open my door to get out of his car, and he gets out to come around and walk me to the door.

  “Text me tomorrow if you want,” he says. “Or call, if you’re feeling old school.”

  “I will.”

  “’Night, Mia.”

  “Goodnight, Anton.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Anton

  * * *

  Vic snatches up the open packet of peanut M&M’s from beside me on the bench and empties the whole thing into his mouth at once, then tosses the bag back onto the bench.

  “You’re lucky I already got mine out,” I mutter.

  He responds even though his mouth is still full of candy. “I think I taste a red one in here, Reverend.”

  “Fuck you.”

  My teammates hound me not just over my celibacy, but also my pre-game ritual of eating only the red candies out of a small bag of peanut M&M’s. I started doing it my sophomore year in college and I set a Boston College
record that season. Ever since, it’s been all about the red peanut M&M’s.

  I’m also a left to right dresser. Everything—my shin pads, socks, elbow pads and even my skates—goes on left side first, right side second.

  This season I’m also listening to Coldplay before games, and I’ve increased the carbs and decreased the protein I eat on game days. I’m always trying to find the balance my body needs to perform at its best.

  I didn’t get my pre-game nap in today because Uncle Dix didn’t approve of the soup I made him for lunch and I had to go pick up something from the deli he likes. Before he moved in with me, I never missed a nap on game day. Fucker’s messing with my nights and my days now.

  I finish getting dressed and look up to see Adam in my line of vision. Skates laced, he’s sitting up to stretch his arms and shoulders. I want to go shove him off the bench and tell him he’s not fooling me.

  He let the woman he vowed to love and cherish forever walk to work in the freezing cold and hustle for tips to feed herself. He won’t accept that she doesn’t want to be with him anymore and give her the divorce she wants and deserves. And from the look on her face when she talks about him, he made her feel like shit, which is inexcusable.

  He’s standing in the way of me and Mia. I know it’s wrong to want my teammate’s wife, but if they aren’t married anymore, I won’t give a shit who she used to be married to. Nothing will stand in my way if I have a chance to be with Mia.

  “What?” Adam asks me as he stands up.

  “That itch any better?”

  He lowers his brows. “What itch?”

  “Heard you caught something from a stripper.”

  “That’s bullshit.” He scowls. “Who the fuck told you that?”

  “I don’t even remember. Heard a bunch of guys talking about it.”

  “They’re fuckin’ liars, then. Probably just jealous. I use rubbers.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, ’cause it’s so hard to get with strippers.”

  “I don’t see you getting laid. What, you like dick now?”

  “I just don’t need to tell the whole fucking world my every fucking move.”

  Adam laughs and turns to Luca. “You notice he didn’t deny liking dick?”

  Luca gives him the side-eye and ignores him.

  “Asshole,” I mutter.

  Adam walks over to my bench. “What’d you say?”

  I raise my voice so I’m almost yelling. “I said you’re an asshole. ASS. HOLE.”

  He shoves me. I fall back against the lockers but end up using them to rocket forward, pushing his chest so hard he falls to the ground.

  By the time he gets to his feet, our teammates have us surrounded, trying to prevent an all out brawl.

  “Break it up, ladies,” one of our assistant coaches barks.

  “The fuck’s your problem?” Adam says, two teammates still trying to steer him away from me.

  “How much time you got?” I respond.

  Vic nudges me. “Get your shit together; it’s almost game time.”

  I don’t look away from Adam as I put on my helmet. I’ll take any excuse to jump his ass. It’s not like me to get pissed at a teammate over anything but sloppy play, but I can’t stem the flow of anger anymore when I see him. He hurt Mia. That makes me want to hurt him back the only way I know how—with my fists.

  Right before we hit the ice at game time, I’m usually in a completely different headspace than I am right now. I stay emotionally level—cool, calm and focused on the game ahead. I’m mindful of the quirks of the opposing team’s goalie and defensemen.

  But all I can think about are Mia and Adam. I’m not just furious at my teammate, I’m also jealous. It hits hard and fast, almost knocking the wind out of me.

  He’s kissed her. Seen all of her. Fucked her. Proposed to her. Woken up next to her. And the fucker doesn’t deserve any of it.

  Vic’s giving me a questioning look, but I ignore him. He and Luca know me better than anyone on the team, and they know I don’t like to talk about personal things unless I initiate the conversation. Even then, I’m guarded.

  I grew up keeping everything close to the vest. My parents were so busy trying to keep us fed and warm enough that there was no time for talking about frivolous shit like our feelings. And then when we moved in with the Carrs, Alexei and I both took a while to adjust. We worried that if we didn’t play well enough, they’d kick us out, though I know now that wasn’t the case.

  In our five-year-old minds, though, everything was riding on how we played hockey. Our parents’ dreams, the generosity of the Carrs…whether or not we’d be able to stay together.

  I never vocalized that the main reason I worked so damn hard at hockey as a kid was that I feared my twin would outpace me and get moved to a better league, which could result in being housed with a different family. Losing my brother would have crushed me.

  When I hear the pre-game music, I roll my shoulders, close my eyes and force myself to focus on hockey. For me, focus is every bit as important as the physical skills that have been drilled into me since I started playing. If my head’s not in the game, I’m slower and I don’t always make the right split-second decisions. Others may not notice, but I do.

  It’s a fast-paced game against a hungry opponent with a new coach trying to turn around a losing record. Our goalie Jonah has an off night and the puck gets past him. We score three goals but it’s not enough and we drop the game 5–3.

  Coach has a lot to say about the loss. I get it. It wasn’t just Jonah; our defense looked like shit tonight, too.

  “Get your goddamned shit together,” he says as he finishes yelling at us.

  I’m not surprised when I get called into his office after my shower. He’s a lot more relaxed by then, sipping a fresh cup of coffee. Gary Pickney is a coach known for drinking black coffee around the clock, not sleeping much, and winning.

  “We haven’t talked in a while, Anton,” he says, sitting in his leather desk chair. He motions for me to take a seat. “How are things?”

  I shrug. “Not bad. Some things going on. My uncle’s running off every nurse the agency sends, so I’m taking care of him.”

  Gary nods. His wife Sherry went through treatment for breast cancer last year and Gary took care of her as much as he could, but still had to hire extra help.

  “Anything I can do?” he asks. “I can have the front office make some calls to help you find someone.”

  “I’ve got it covered, but thanks.”

  “What’s going on between you and Marceau?”

  There it is. The real reason I’m in here. I shift in my seat and decide against diplomacy.

  “The guy’s a total dick,” I say.

  “We’ve got our share of personalities on this team,” Gary concedes.

  I shake my head. I like playing for Gary for many reasons, but the main one is that I can always level with him and trust that he’ll do the same with me.

  “This isn’t about conflicting personalities.” I sigh heavily. “Luca busts his ass every night and is raising three kids on his own. Ellison and his wife just adopted two foster kids. Vic never misses a shift volunteering at the children’s hospital. The first thing out of my mouth about every guy on this team would be something like that—something good. Except Marceau.”

  “Is there something going on I need to know about?” Coach gives me a concerned look.

  “You already know what kind of guy he is.”

  “But he’s always been that way. Why is it bothering you now?”

  I’m definitely not gonna tell him about Mia. It isn’t my place.

  “I’m just fed up with his shit. Always running his mouth, cheating on his wife. I’ve got no respect for him.”

  “You don’t have to respect him.”

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  Coach just looks at me from across the desk for a few seconds before saying, “Adam’s not going anywhere and neither are you. And you’re the last man on this team I e
xpect to be fighting a teammate.”

  I scoff and smile at the same time. “So you’re saying you expect better of me, but not him.”

  “Exactly. We all know who you are and who he is, Anton. And character aside, you’re the highest-earning player on this team and our captain.”

  My shoulders tighten with tension. I don’t like being lectured. No one on any team I’ve ever played for has worked harder than me. It’s rare for me to get called out on anything. Gary just wants me to play nice and win games. And that’s exactly what I did…before I saw Mia that night at Lucky Seven. But things aren’t quite so simple anymore.

  “I don’t need to be reminded of my salary. I’m worth every penny. And with all due respect, you’re our coach. Maybe you need to have the guy who runs his mouth and bangs strippers in here for a talk instead of me. Just sayin’.”

  Gary’s expression goes from surprised to sheepish. “Point taken. But I can’t police my players’ sex lives, no matter how disgusting I find infidelity.”

  “Are we done?” I ask him. “I need to get home to my uncle.”

  Gary gives a slight nod. I get up and leave the room without looking back. No one will ever convince me to play nice with Adam.

  I grab my phone from my locker, steeling myself for bad news before I look at it. Uncle Dix has behaved for the doormen so far, which makes me feel like I’m overdue for news that he pissed where he shouldn’t or called someone a dickless moron.

  But instead, I have a text from Mia. My heart pounds as I open it and see a selfie of her and a little boy with a sweet smile, his skin a shade darker than hers. Their cheeks are pressed together and they’re surrounded by unfolded towels.

  Mia: Laundry night!

  I swallow hard, struggling to get ahold of myself. This picture means more to me than she knows. It means she was thinking of me tonight. She’s opening up to me and sharing parts of her life with me.

  But what hits me the hardest is seeing her with the little boy, who must be her roommate’s son she’s babysitting. I’d do anything—anything in this world—to get a photo like that of Mia and a child who was ours.