by Hamel, B. B.
Addie
I get home from work, tired and ready to crash, but I know I have to be a mom for a little bit longer. Cara comes running over and I give her a big hug before carrying her into the kitchen. I put her down and let her teeter over to a ring of toys she has set up in the back corner while Eleanor busies herself with dinner.
“How was work?” she asks me.
“Good.” I grab an open bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and pour myself a little glass. “Not the most exciting job in the world. But Teddy’s a really nice guy.”
“He said you’re doing a good job,” she says. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, Eleanor. And thanks for getting me this job. I know I was really hesitant, but it’s good for me.” I take a sip of my drink. “Pretty soon I’ll be moving out, I bet.”
Eleanor frowns a little bit. “Sure you will,” she says, stirring.
I watch Cara play for a few minutes, enjoying my after-work drink. Eleanor finally turns to me with a strange look on her face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
She’s never looked upset before in my whole life, but I’m afraid she’s going to cry. It freaks me the hell out. Eleanor’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.
“I did something today,” she says. “Something I know I shouldn’t have.”
“What happened?” I ask her again. I get up to go over to her, to comfort her, but she shakes her head.
“I let Will see Cara earlier today while you were at work.”
I stop in my tracks and stare at her. “You did what?”
“He wanted to come over again, said he wanted some tea, but really he wanted to see Cara.” Eleanor takes a breath and lets it out. “He knows, sweetie. He has to know.”
I stare at her, eyes wide, anger rising. “You did what?”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know I had no right.”
“No, you didn’t,” I say angrily. “If I wanted him to see Cara, I’d let him myself. You don’t get to make those decisions.”
“But he’s her father,” she says, an insistent whisper.
I glance over at Cara. She’s still playing, but I know she’s listening. I turn back to Eleanor and step closer to her. She looks so small suddenly, although she looms huge in my memory.
“Never again,” I say softly. “Never without my permission.”
“I promise,” she says. “I just want the girl to have a father. And he wants to be there—”
“No,” I say, surprising myself by the anger welling up through me. “If he wanted to be there, he would’ve been.”
“He didn’t know,” she says softly.
“He knew. Or maybe he just didn’t want to know. But it’s not that simple.”
“Of course it’s not simple. Nothing’s ever simple. I don’t know what happened between you two to make you hate him so much, but Addie, honey, he’s the best person for you.” She hesitates a second. “And I think he wants to be a part of Cara’s life.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” I hiss at her. “Do you hear me?”
“I hear you.” She pulls herself together, standing tall again. I shrink back a little bit. “But you hear me now, Addie Carter. That boy loves you, and you’re a damn fool if you don’t see it.”
I hesitate, surprised, but my anger wins out. I walk over to Cara, scoop her up, and carry her up to her room. I play with her for the rest of the night, until it’s time to put her to bed. All the while I keep thinking about what Eleanor said.
That boy loves you.
* * *
After Cara’s in bed, I tell Eleanor she’s on duty before I go out to my car and drive over to Will’s. I get there in less than ten minutes and climb out of my car, not sure if I’m angry or excited or both, Eleanor’s words still in my mind.
I storm inside his building and head right for his door. I knock twice, nice and hard, and wait. I can hear his TV on inside, playing some hockey game too loud. It mutes before he comes and answers.
He smiles when he sees me. “Hey, Addie,” he says.
I glare at him. “We need to talk.”
His smile fades and he nods. “Okay. Come inside.”
I push past into his kitchen and whirl on him. I can’t be soft now, even if I keep thinking about what Eleanor said. I can’t let that distract me or make me forget why I’m here.
I don’t want to think about the last time I was in this apartment. I don’t want to think about how he makes me feel, his hands on my body, his lips on my skin. It’s not fair, so freaking far from fair. He got to run away, leave me and go to Russia when I really needed him, all after using me for sex and getting me pregnant.
And now here we are. He’s back and he’s doing it again, fucking me when he wants to and leaving me wondering what the hell he’s thinking.
But no, no, that’s not the Will I know. That’s not the Will I’ve gotten close to again. Kind Will, supportive Will, he’s the only person that ever truly loved me and made me feel special, aside from Eleanor of course. So why can’t I trust him?
The sound of the basement door slamming shut, my parents fighting upstairs, dripping water, my stomach growling, my father laughing as they pulled me away.
Will cocks his head as I stare at the floor. I realize that I might be having a panic attack.
“Addie?” he asks, coming toward me. “Are you okay?”
I step away from him. “Stop, don’t come closer.” I take big, deep breaths, steadying myself.
He looks terrified, and he keeps glancing at his phone. I glare at him. “Don’t call anyone,” I say. “We need to talk.”
“Okay,” he says. “Just, I want to make sure you’re okay first.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, steadying myself on the counter. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t respond. He grabs a glass and pours me some water, putting it down in front of me. I sip at it gratefully, although it doesn’t quench my anger, not at all.
“You went and saw my daughter behind my back.”
He doesn’t look surprised. “I got Eleanor’s permission.”
“You didn’t get mine,” I snap.
Will frowns. “I know. I’m sorry about that, it’s just—”
“Stop,” I say angrily. “Just save it. I don’t want to hear excuses.”
“Addie, I—”
“I said stop.” I slam the glass down onto the counter hard enough to send a crack spidering up its side. Water immediately leaks out of it, and I step back, surprised.
He comes over and grabs the glass, dumping the water into the sink and dropping it into the trash. I back away as he comes toward me. “Are you hurt?” he asks.
“I’m fine.” I stop in the living room and turn back to him as he cleans the water up with a towel, “You can’t see her again.”
“What?” He stops cleaning.
“You can’t ever see my daughter again,” I say to him.
“Addie, let’s just talk about this,” he says, eyes wide.
“No, you listen. You crossed a line today, Will. You went behind my back to see my daughter. You can pretend you weren’t being sneaky all you want, but we both know you were. You took advantage of Eleanor’s kindness, and that’s bad enough, but you also took advantage of me.” I glare at him, daring him to answer, but he doesn’t. He looks down at the floor, his face a perfect mask.
“You don’t get to see her again,” I repeat. “Don’t call, don’t show up in the middle of the night. Don’t bother Eleanor. Do you hear me?”
He just nods, arms crossed over his chest.
I walk to the door. I can feel my resolve rapidly fading. I’m pushing away the only person that I’ve ever opened myself up to, the only person that loves me in this world. I’m pushing away a gorgeous man that makes me feel so incredible. The memory of that night comes back again, and the more recent memories, his hands on my skin, my body shivering, my lips moaning.
I stop at the door and pull it open. I have to get
out of here before I give in. I can’t look back. I have to think about my daughter’s best interests, and I don’t think that’s Will.
“I know she’s mine.”
I stop with my hand on the door. I feel like I might pass out.
“I know, Addie. I didn’t know, but I should’ve figured it out sooner. Eleanor didn’t tell me, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just, figured it out.”
I glance back at him, but I don’t speak. I think I might pass out, my heart’s beating so fast.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have gone to Russia. I shouldn’t have left you. I fucked up. But I’m here now, and I’m not leaving. I know she’s my daughter.” He comes closer, eyes wide now, pleading. “If it’s true, please, let me be a good father. Let me step up. I want to help, I want to be involved. I know it’s a big deal, and I won’t let either of you down. Please, Addie. Tell me the truth.”
I stare at him, at the father of my daughter, at the only man I’ve ever loved. Dripping water, my father laughing, my stomach rumbling, empty now for days.
I turn away and open the door. “Too little, too late,” I say, and slam it shut behind me.
20
Will
Addie’s haunted eyes drift through my dreams night after night.
I try calling, I try texting. I even show up once. Julissa came out, the nanny. “You should leave,” she says. “They’re calling the police.” I got into my truck and left without a fight.
I swear it was breaking Addie with every word she said to me, but she meant it all. I didn’t know how badly I had hurt her back then, but now I see it so plainly. I broke her all over. I abandoned her after getting her pregnant, assuming that I really am the father, and now she can’t forgive me. After what she went through, I think I understand. It takes a lot to make Addie trust you, but once you lose that trust, it’s gone forever.
I hate myself for not realizing sooner. I hate that I stayed in Russia for so long, following my childish and selfish dream. I was a professional hockey player, but so what? I was playing for a team I didn’t care about in a country that wasn’t my own. I was just marking time, getting paid, having some fun on the side, but drifting. I just drifted for two years while my best friend was raising my baby.
I wish I could go back and make a better decision, but I can’t. That’s not how things work.
I’m pretty fucked up for a few days after that. I spend most of my time on the couch, calling Addie sometimes, at least until she blocks my number. Mostly, though, I just stare at the TV, watch hockey when it’s on, and hate myself.
That last part’s pretty easy. I’ve failed at everything I’ve loved. I failed at hockey and now I failed with Addie. I have a daughter out there, Addie pretty much admitted it, but I’m not allowed to see her. All because I screwed up and went behind her back.
At my lowest, about a week after Addie left my apartment, I consider going back to work for my dad. My bank account is still comfortable, but it won’t last forever. I have maybe enough saved for a few more months, but after that, I’ll be dead broke. I need to work, can’t afford to just sit around on my pathetic, sorry ass. I have a fantasy where I apologize to my dad and he apologizes in return, and we hug, and everything’s okay.
I don’t call him. I don’t bother. I just start drinking instead. Every time I feel myself getting pathetic enough to go crawling back to that monster, I drink a beer.
I’m pretty wasted for a few days there.
Eventually, I wake up one morning, hungover and alone in my barely furnished apartment, and I know I need a change. I get up, force myself to go for a run, do a quick ab workout, and shower. I spend the day looking online at job listings, and I even suck up my pride enough to apply for a few of them. They’re not great jobs and they’re definitely not careers, but they’ll make me money.
That night, I feel a little bit better. At least better enough to put on some decent clothes, freshen up my deodorant, and head out to a local bar that I haven’t been to in forever.
I’m actually a little surprised that the Tuned Piano is still in business. It used to be a dueling piano bar, hence the name, but they cut that shit out when they couldn’t find a second player worth a damn. When I was in high school, that was the bar all the seniors went to, because they didn’t bother to ID and nobody cared if a bunch of kids got drunk on cheap beer and watered down drinks. At least they had some decent food. I brought Addie there a few times, despite her protests, and we had some fun.
The place isn’t in great shape, but it’s not in shambles, either. Clearly someone’s been keeping the place up. The sign is freshly painted, and the door looks like it was replaced, although the tiled floor is exactly like I remember and the bar’s seen better days. I amble over and sit down, not letting myself look around just yet. I’m willing to bet I know half the people in this joint, and I’m not totally ready to handle that.
I order a beer and sip it while I watch hockey on the TV behind the bar. That’s a new addition, too. I sit hunched forward over my drink, letting the night stream around me. The place actually fills up, although the high school students are notably absent. I’m guessing the current owners cleaned that aspect up.
About an hour and two beers later, a shadow appears over my right shoulder. I glance back and there’s a face I think I recognize eyeing me back, a little frown on his face. The guy’s got a big, bushy beard like a lot of dudes wear these days, and he’s wearing a hockey jersey over some jeans.
“Will?” he asks.
I turn around more to look at him. “Yeah?” I grunt.
“Holy shit, Will Eaten. It’s me, Vernon Grain.”
My eyes go a little wide. “Vernon? Damn, I didn’t recognize you under all that hair.”
He grins. “You like it?”
“Very manly,” I say, and he laughs.
Vernon and I played on our high school team together when I was a senior and he was a junior. He was pretty good, not one of the better guys but a solid all-around performer. I heard he made captain the next year, which didn’t surprise anyone. The guy’s always been something of a motivational speaker and a leader of sorts. Besides, his uncle is on the school board.
“When did you get back in town?” he asks.
“Few months ago,” I say. “I’ve just been laying low, you know?”
“Sure, man, sure. Last I heard you were playing hockey over in the KHL.”
I wince a little bit, and my knee throbs. “Yeah, I was. Got injured.”
He nods, frowning a bit. “Shit. Sorry to hear.”
“It’s cool. Can’t do anything about it.”
He hesitates a second, looking over his shoulder. “I’m here with some guys but… ah, fuck them. Let me buy you a beer.”
“You don’t have to ditch your friends on my account.”
“And pass up the chance to talk to an actual pro player?” He sits on the stool next to me.
“It was just the KHL,” I say.
He grins at me. “Still pretty impressive. Which team were you on again?”
I’m not sure I want to get into all this. The whole hockey thing’s still a fresh wound, and Vernon is clearly a hockey fanboy. Still though, he’s ordering me another beer, and I’ve been pretty down. Might as well kill some time and talk to the guy.
I tell him all about living in Russia and about playing for Vityaz. I tell him about my friends, about the games, about being the best scorer on the ice.
“But they always look down on Americans for some reason,” I say. “I guess since I wasn’t good enough for the NHL, people think I don’t belong anywhere.”
Vernon grunts. “Assholes.”
“Yeah, well, whatever. And then I hurt my knee pretty badly, so they cut me.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” I agree. “Cleared some cap space for them and got rid of a potential liability. They didn’t know if I’d ever play again, and I think they were right.”
H
e frowns at me. “Is that for real, you’ll never play again?”
“Yeah,” I say, and it hurts to admit, but I’m finally acknowledging it. “It’s true. I’ll never play again, not like I was anyway.”
“Damn.” He sips his beer, frowning even deeper. “What are you doing right now?”
I cock my head. “Sitting here drowning my sorrows.”
He grins. “No, I mean, for work.”
“Nothing,” I admit. “Just living off my earnings. I didn’t have a lot of expenses in Moscow.”
He nods a little, watching me closely. “You ever think about coaching?”
I blink, surprised. “Coaching? I mean… a little bit. But I don’t know.”
“You should coach,” he says.
“Okay,” I answer, laughing. “Where?”
“Weston High,” he says, not breaking eye contact. “I’m the assistant coach for the varsity team, but the junior varsity team needs a new head coach.”
I hesitate a second. “Are you serious? Don’t you want that job?”
“Nah,” he says, grinning. “I get paid more where I am, and plus, I’m next in line for the varsity spot. If things keep going the way they’re going, I’ll have that job in a couple years.”
I stare at him. “Seriously, man, I don’t know.”
“You should do it,” he says. “Listen, my uncle’s on the board. I can get you an interview, but with your background… they’ll hire you for sure.” He shrugs and sips his beer. “Think about it.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say softly, surprised by the strange excitement in my stomach. “I will.”
“Here, take my number.” I pull out my phone and type in the number he gives me. I text him a second later. “Call me tomorrow if you’re interested.”
“Thanks, man,” I say, totally mystified. “I mean, I’ll think about it.”
“Do it,” he says seriously. “You may not be able to play now, but you were up at the highest levels. You’d make a good coach. You were a good captain back in the day.”
I grin at him. “Thanks. I hear you weren’t so bad yourself.”