Breakaway

by Sophia Henry

  “You’re too sweet.” His hands make their way up my sides, and his thumbs skim the skin just under the underwire of my bra. I take a deep breath and hold it for a split second, basking in the anticipation of him sliding his thumb under my bra and over my breast. I’m pretty sure his long fingers could reach my nipple. I don’t even care that we’re sitting in a restaurant. There’s no one else in here anyway.

  “I should let you go before I have your clothes off and your legs spread on this table.”

  “I’m game if you are,” I say and nip his lower lip with my teeth.

  Luke flips the nip into a deep kiss, pressing his mouth against mine and sliding his tongue inside. My automatic response is to wrap my arms around his neck and press my chest against his.

  Though I’ve tried to deny it, I know in my heart that our fun, flirty trysts shifted after Jack’s funeral. The chemistry turned from sexual to serious. If we don’t stop soon, I won’t be able to turn back. Physically or mentally. At this point, I’m not so sure that I want to.

  As I let myself sink into the intensity of the kiss, panic builds inside. My breath increases to the speed of my racing heart. Luke’s lips are becoming a lifeline; if I break away, I’ll die.

  Reluctantly, I pull back, inhaling a gulp of air to remind myself what I really need to live. Easing myself off his lap, I rake both hands through my hair as I move back to my own seat. I immediately spear a piece of my veggie omelet, pretending that the normal act of eating breakfast will suppress the way that kiss just intensified all the feelings I’ve been trying to quell.

  At first, we’re both silent, each of us taking a moment to calm down. Then Luke says, “You have the most unassuming naughtiness of any girl I’ve ever met.”

  “Thank you,” I say, lifting my mug to my lips. I can’t tell him that naughtiness had nothing to do with the passion in that kiss. It’s not about pure lust anymore. It’s much, much more.

  “That’s all I get?” Luke teases me.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you, Luke. You have a maturity that I don’t usually see in guys our age. Even professional athletes, who have to grow up quickly. There’s still immaturity in how they interact with women.”

  “Like hooking up the first night we met?” Luke winks. “That kind of immaturity?”

  “Technically, we didn’t. You cooled it off because I was too drunk. In the heat of that moment, a lot of guys don’t stop.” It’s sad, but true. I don’t think all men who do it are bad guys. But there’s still a line, and I have a lot of respect for Luke for knowing not to cross it, even while inebriated.

  “I know.”

  “You’re respectful, mature, talented, and great with kids. Actually, you’re a natural with kids.” As I think about it, I realize I don’t know much about him. “Do you have any?”

  My question makes Luke choke. His eyes bulge and his cheeks fill up as he pounds his chest. Then he brings a napkin to his mouth and releases a few short, hacking coughs into it.

  “Oh my gosh!” I stand up quickly and pound on his back. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  Luke raises his hand to stop me from whacking him again. “I’m good,” he squeaks.

  Embarrassment sends me back to my seat. I lift my mug to my lips again and look at him over the rim. “You sure?”

  He nods and wipes away moisture from the outside corner of his eye. “Just wasn’t expecting that question.”

  “I have no idea why I asked you that,” I explain. “I mean, I could have asked you if you had younger siblings, but instead I had to go all baby daddy on you.”

  “Must be part of being a nurse, eh?” he asks. “Getting right to the heart of the matter.”

  “It does make my job easier when I have all the facts.”

  “What do you mean?” Luke shakes salt onto his eggs. He reaches to replace the shaker in the condiment holder without looking and it falls to the table.

  He finally tears his eyes away from me to glance at the mess he’s made. He brushes the salt off the table, then picks up the saltshaker again and tries to ram it into the holder.

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. It shouldn’t be hard to put back, since there is a designated spot for both salt and pepper, but the base of the shaker is square and the opening is rounded. The condiment holder is so old and rusted, it looks like it’s been around since the restaurant opened, and maybe it has. I can only hope the owners had round salt and pepper shakers when they made the original investment.

  “You have to twist it so one of the edges hangs out the side,” I offer. “It took me a minute the first time I tried.”

  Luke glances at me quickly and his eyebrows narrow. He thinks I’m laughing at him, and I am, but only because I did the same thing the first time I ate here.

  “Thought I was going crazy,” he mutters. “Or you were playing a trick on me.”

  “Maybe the Philadelphia is playing a trick on everyone. Who can figure out the preschool shapes game?”

  “I never would’ve figured it out if I were drunk,” he says.

  “I bet it’s fun watching people try, though.”

  We laugh at the same time.

  “Are we experiencing what experts call insta-love?” he asks.

  I correct him. “Insta-like.”

  “It was insta-lust, for sure.” He raises his eyebrows, which makes me laugh.

  The silly banter is a welcome break. I never intended for a spontaneous breakfast date to get this heavy, but I like the little pieces of information I pick up every time I’m with Luke. Our lives have interesting parallels.

  “What makes you anxious about going to Vancouver?” Something’s up with him, and if he wants a real relationship, we’re going to get into it.

  Luke looks around the restaurant before he speaks. “Remember when I said drug addiction runs in my family?”

  I nod, recalling him telling me that at his condo, after I’d confronted him about the painkillers in his bathroom drawer.

  “I honestly don’t know if it does. All I know is that my mom’s a junkie,” he says quickly.

  I cover my mouth with my fingertips and whisper, “Oh.” Definitely wasn’t expecting that.

  “Any relationship we had dissolved when I was a teenager. That’s when she chose drugs over me. But even though we aren’t close anymore, she’s my mom. I can’t just forget about her.”

  “What about your dad? How does he handle it?”

  “My dad died unexpectedly when I was eleven. That was the catalyst that aggravated Mom’s mental illness. Depression sent her plummeting into drug addiction and put both of us out on the streets.”

  “Both of you?” I ask, appalled. Luke lived on the streets?

  He nods.

  “How’s she doing now?” I ask. Part of me feels bad asking questions, as if I’m interested in his pain. But I’m absolutely intrigued by his story. I never would have thought he grew up under such bleak circumstances. He presents himself so well. He’s so successful.

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “She cleaned up, right?”

  He shakes his head, then rubs his face with both hands as if struggling with how to explain it to me. “No. I tried everything I could think of. Rehab. Buying her a house so she had a safe place to stay. Moving her to Detroit to live with me.” He shakes his head again and sighs. “I can’t help her if she doesn’t want to be helped.”

  “That’s true.” I reach out and touch his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “Every time I see her, it drains me. She can’t comprehend that I’m not playing anymore. Her money train is gone. She thinks I’m a washed-up hack.” He pauses. “I know how ironic and idiotic it is to care that a junkie thinks I’m a washed-up hack, but it’s my mom. No matter how badly she treated me, or how much she failed me, it’s ingrained in me to make her proud.”

  “To an extent,” I say, though I quickly regret it, since it’s not my business. It’s hard to keep my mouth shut when we’re talking about real c
ircumstances that affect the mental health of the people involved. Enabling a drug-addict mother who hasn’t made an effort to change despite Luke’s efforts isn’t something he should continue.

  “I know she’s fucked,” Luke agrees. “But I also know that one day I won’t get the three-month ‘I need money’ phone call. And I’ll probably go back and find out that she OD’d and got thrown in the Pacific because her dealer boyfriend didn’t want her body around messing up his sales for the day.”

  “Geez, Luke,” I say, pulling my arm back and dropping my eyes to my plate.

  He grabs my hand again and squeezes it. “I’m sorry, Bree. Sometimes I forget that the brutal reality I grew up with is too harsh for everyday conversation.”

  I close my eyes and take a breath, reminding myself that this is a completely different side of drug use than I’ve ever seen. I’ve never been exposed to the poor, dirty junkie side.

  “Last time we met in person, she complained about how much her life changed since my injury.” Luke places an elbow on the table and rests his forehead in his palm. “I don’t even know why I go to see her anymore.”

  “Why do you?” I ask. I understand the situation well. It’s not something that’s restricted to drug users. Luke’s mom is using guilt to manipulate her son. And he’s falling right into it.

  “She’s my mom. And she’s sick.” Luke’s voice is a whisper, as if he doesn’t even know why he’s defending her.

  “I’m not judging you, Luke. Please know that. I understand your situation. But if you’ve tried everything and she still won’t help herself, don’t you think it’s time to let her go? At least from a financial standpoint?”

  “Well, yeah, I—” He stops and his gaze moves to the table. “My salary isn’t quite as much as it used to be, ya know what I’m saying? I’m not complaining, believe me, but I’m smart enough to know that I can’t waste my life savings on my mother’s drug habit.”

  He’s embarrassed and my heart hurts for him. “I’m not going to tell you not to see your mom, Luke, but you have to draw a line at some point or she’ll take you down with her.”

  He holds up a hand. “I know, Bree, I know. I should have done it sooner. But something inside wouldn’t let me let her go completely. She’s my fucking mom.” He shifts his eyes to the floor. “I guess I’ve finally come to terms with how she is and how she sees me.”

  I pause before I say anything. “You deserve so much better, Luke. You’re an amazing man.”

  “Please don’t, Bree.” He lifts his eyes to mine, silently pleading for me to stop. And I do.

  Through the rest of our breakfast, I keep the conversation light. He already knows what he needs to do and doesn’t need me pushing him. I just hope that he stays strong when he comes face-to-face with his mom.

  Chapter 17

  Luke

  Going home is like pressing an Express to Hell button on a time machine. I’m immediately transported back to the years before I left for Kamloops to play for the Blazers in the WHL. Ages eleven through sixteen were the worst years of my life.

  When I tell people I’m from Vancouver, British Columbia, most respond the same way. “I’ve always wanted to visit there,” or “I hear it’s so beautiful.” Everyone I know thinks Vancouver is this charming, lush wonderland, and it is—for some. But not everyone grew up in places like Shaughnessy Heights, the city’s wealthiest neighborhood.

  Growing up in Downtown Eastside taught me many things long before a kid should know about them. I learned how to reach into my jacket to make it look like I was packing a gun when someone aggressive-looking approached. I learned how to barter for food, bus tickets, even ice time.

  I’m in town to meet with Owen Rayburn, our second-round pick in last year’s draft, at Purebread in Gastown. He’s from North Vancouver, which is across the Burrard Inlet from where I’m from. Across the inlet and light years away. Might as well be another planet.

  “Owen!” I call to the kid walking in the door. He’s not hard to spot in a gray Puck Hcky T-shirt, baggy black basketball shorts, and a red Vancouver Giants ball cap.

  His eyes light up like a kid at a Canucks game when he sees me. When he reaches my table, he extends his hand. “Mr. Daniels! How are you?”

  I glance behind me. “Is my dad here?” I tease him, shaking his hand. “You can call me Luke.”

  It’s a lame joke, especially because it doesn’t touch on my real life at all. My father died fifteen years ago.

  “Thanks, Luke.” Owen plants himself in the chair across from me.

  “Want something?” I nod to the counter where approximately one million people wait for one of Purebread’s delicious pastries. The line goes out the door.

  “I’ll hold off.” He laughs. “Maybe I should have picked a different place.”

  What I want to say is “No shit,” but I hold my tongue because I get it. He’s nineteen and Purebread is a trendy place, located in Vancouver’s oldest neighborhood, which is situated between Downtown to the west and Downtown Eastside—aka drug addict’s paradise—to the east.

  “I thought I’d have to go out to Langley to see you.”

  The Giants recently moved their home games from Pacific Coliseum, in the city, to the Langley Events Centre, which is just southeast of Vancouver.

  “Nah, I still live around here. The commute sucks.” Owen shrugs. “But at least I get to catch up on my shows while I’m on the train. I just finished the most recent season of Game of Thrones. Do you watch that?”

  “Yeah. Unbelievable series.” My coffee is still too hot to drink, so I slug a sip from my water bottle instead.

  “Oh my god! When Cersei—”

  Panic rips through my insides and I raise my hand. “I’m only through season four!”

  “Whoa! Sorry, Luke. I almost dropped a major spoiler on you.”

  I’m not a TV freak or anything, but that would’ve pissed me off. Maybe I should’ve read the books first.

  “New subject,” I tell him with a wink. “So, how’s it going?”

  “Good. I started the program you emailed me. It’s killer, man.”

  I sent Owen the fitness and nutrition program I used when I played. It’s grueling, but it gets results fast.

  “It’s supposed to be. I’ve got to get you ready for the next level, ya know?”

  “I know. I’m ready for the challenge.” Owen grabs the flat brim of his hat and adjusts it on his head. I guess I’m old school, because the style irks me. There’s nothing better than creating the perfect curve on a broken-in hat.

  “You are?” I ask, forgetting about the annoying flat brim and getting back to business. “Then tell me why you kept passing to Lincoln last night.” I wasn’t in town for the game, but I watched the video on the plane ride from Charlotte to Vancouver.

  Owen leans back in the chair, his shoulders curved toward the table. He knows it’s a rhetorical question.

  “You need to shoot,” I continue. “More shots equals more chances and more goals, right?”

  He nods.

  “I’m all for passing and being a good teammate, but sometimes you’ve got to rip it yourself.”

  More nodding. It reminds me of bobblehead night at Aviators games. Those things creep me out.

  “You can do it. You’ve got a great shot.” I tap my temple. “You’re too much up in here. Let go and let it rip.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  If he looks like I just kicked his puppy with spiked boots now, he’ll probably spill tears in my coffee when I start in on him about his partying.

  Owen is a great kid. He’s fast and smart, kind and disciplined. But he’s young and just became old enough to drink legally in British Columbia, and I know the kid’s been partying his ass off. That’s all thanks to social media and selfie-happy girls who like to brag about who they’re hanging out with.

  I remember being nineteen and in “the Dub.” It’s big time for a young guy. Some of the girls have slowly transformed from innocent teenagers w
ith a crush to real puck bunnies who just want to hook up with a hockey player. And the hormones kicking around inside don’t make it any easier for a guy to keep his head in the game. But it’s essential if they want to make it in the big league. That’s the reality of being a professional athlete.

  “You still living at home?” I ask.

  He nods again.

  “How’s that working out?”

  “All right.” He sits up straight. “Mom’s cool. Dad’s on my ass all the time.”

  “Not all the time. Didn’t you miss curfew a few nights ago?”

  His shoulders drop and his eyes close. When he opens them he’s looking at the floor, avoiding me. He’s been playing hockey long enough to know that shit will get back to me.

  “Owen, I was in your shoes. Hell, the majority of guys in the league have been in your shoes. But you have to make a choice. Partying or hockey. Partying can’t be your top priority. You’re a smart kid. You know what it takes. Now you need to go all in.” I meet his eyes. “Body, head, heart. That’s the life of an athlete. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you all in?”

  “I’m all in, Luke. I swear. You can count on me.”

  “You have my number. Call me if you need anything or if you need to talk. I’m a Vancouver boy, too.”

  “Really? Where’d you grow up?” Owen asks.

  I pause before I answer. “A few blocks away. Downtown Eastside.”

  “No.”

  Owen is from a well-off family in North Vancouver. His dad is a high up at HSBC Bank Canada and his mom is a teacher at a private secondary school. He’s probably never been past Gastown, which is shady enough, despite its recent revitalization.

  “I’m living proof that if you keep your head clear and work your ass off you can accomplish anything.” I stand up, hoping Owen will take the hint and go. “When does the bus leave for Spokane?”

  He pulls his phone out of his pocket and presses a button to check the time. “Three hours.”