Tacker

by Sawyer Bennett

  “What were you feeling, Tacker?” I ask.

  “Helpless,” he says. “Out of fucking control. I’ve never felt so worthless in my life.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I remind him.

  “She didn’t know that,” he croaks, and tears fill his eyes. “I mean… she didn’t understand what had happened, other than I’d crashed that plane. As far as she knew, I’d killed her.”

  I don’t know MJ other than through the memories Tacker has shared over the last few weeks. But what I have gleaned is she was a kind woman who loved him. In a million years, I can’t imagine her ever laying blame on his doorstep. So I go out on a short limb, attempting to focus his attention on that. “Did she hold you responsible? Did she say that to you?”

  He shakes his head hard and his eyes squeeze shut, releasing a stream of tears. I watch as they flow down his cheeks, his hands gripping into Starlight’s mane. She holds still, a patient support system for his pain.

  “She’d never do that,” he finally says, opening his eyes but not meeting mine. He uses one hand to dash the tears away.

  “Then you need to stop doing it to yourself,” I remind him.

  Tacker gives a bark of a humorless laugh. “I’d almost have rather had her recrimination.”

  Tilting my head, I reach across Starlight’s back and take his good hand in mine. I squeeze it hard to get his attention. “Why? Why would you have rather had that?”

  “Because…” he croaks, and then Tacker completely loses it. A sharp sob breaks free, followed by a torrent of tears. Laying his head down on Starlight’s back, he cries.

  Loud, racking sobs interspersed with piteous moaning. He’s in so much pain, but all I can do is hold tightly to his hand and trust Starlight will support his weight while he needs it.

  Tacker pours it out, his chest heaving with the effort. I quietly watch, taking note that my own body is reacting. Tears slip out of my eyes, and my chest aches so badly that my heart feels shredded for him. I had not anticipated this today, but I don’t stop it.

  He needs it.

  To him, his breakdown might have felt like an eternity. In truth, though, it wasn’t more than a few moments. Eventually, he quiets except for some long, shuddering breaths he sucks in and lets out. Over and over again, he moves into the deep-breathing techniques I’d taught him. On his own, he brings himself back under control.

  Tacker lifts his head. Rather than be embarrassed by his purging of emotion, he looks me dead in the eyes. It’s a sign of trust that takes my breath away. “MJ spent all her time left on this earth telling me how I needed to go on. That she wanted me to continue to live life and not get lost in my grief. Told me she wanted me to get married one day, wanted me to have lots of children, and wanted me to remember her fondly. And I swear, Nora…”

  He pauses, sucks in a breath, and tries to temper the anger in his voice. “I swear,” he continues in a low voice, “that part of me hated her for doing that to me.”

  “For doing what?” I press, because this is critical.

  That muscle in the corner of his jaw ticks, and his voice rumbles with emotion. “For dying graciously. Trying to absolve me of guilt. For preparing me for a life without her. She died a movie death. I mean… who does that shit in real life?”

  “MJ did,” I say simply. “And it’s a sign of how beautiful her soul was.”

  He grunts and mutters a curse under his breath, his gaze shooting off to the side.

  “You’d have done the same,” I say, and his anguished eyes search mine. I lift my chin. “You absolutely would have done the same for her if the positions were reversed.”

  He can’t argue with me. He knows I’m right.

  “It’s a gift, Tacker,” I say. “She gave you an amazing gift, and you need to accept it as such.”

  Although his lips are pressed flat, I can see him grinding his teeth.

  He’s had enough.

  “Come on,” I suggest, pulling my hand gently from his. “Let’s go groom Starlight, and you can tell me all about the team practice yesterday. You were back on the first line, right?”

  Our counseling sessions haven’t been all gloom and doom. I’ve spent some of each hour with him learning about his job and the importance of it within the framework of his life.

  “Yeah,” he says. Pulling the lead free of the rail, I hand it to him so he can lead the horse to the barn. “We were a little rusty for sure, but by the end of the practice, we were totally back in sync.”

  “And you get your cast off tomorrow?” I ask.

  He nods as I fall into pace beside him. “Supposedly. The plan is to move me to a splint for a few weeks if it’s healing right, but I’ll have more mobility.”

  We chat about hockey all the way back to the barn. Some of the horses pop their heads out to say hello. There are no other appointments this afternoon, which is how I knew it was the right time to press Tacker into working with Starlight and talking about MJ’s death.

  When I reach her stall, Tacker asks, “How would you and Raul like to come to a game soon?”

  A surprising excitement fills me, and I smile. “Really? I’ve never even seen a game on TV.”

  “Really,” he says with a return one. “I’d love to have you two come and watch me.”

  “Then yes, I accept on behalf of us both.”

  Tacker’s eyes are bright, the pain receding. He merely nods, his lips curved up as he leads Starlight into the stall.

  CHAPTER 13

  Nora

  The stream of cars that bounced down our gravel driveway mid-morning was unending. Tacker managed to bring almost the entire team with the exception of a few of the guys who had long-standing plans that couldn’t be canceled. They all stepped out, muscled and dressed for some hard work. I was almost giddy from the prospect—and not because of the muscles—but because I could actually make a dent in the project that would have taken us months to do on our own.

  I could barely talk when Tacker strode over to me, sweeping his arm out. “Your working party has arrived.”

  My eyes darted around, taking in the sheer amount of people he’d brought. Focusing on him, I try to come up with the right words, then I notice his wrist. “Your cast… I thought you were getting it off early this morning?”

  Tacker shook his head, lips pressed flat. “Doc said it needs another two weeks.”

  “But you were ready to play next week,” I said worriedly, knowing how excited he’d been.

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that,” he replied with a sly grin. “I’m playing with or without the cast.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Of course I can.” He’d laughed, then given me a wink. “Now, I’ve got work to do, so excuse me.”

  And it wasn’t just players Tacker had brought. I was stunned when the Vengeance’s coach, Claude Perron, introduced himself to me along with Christian Rutherford, the general manager. There were other folks from the management end, too.

  Several of the wives and girlfriends also came, some dressed to haul brush and timber while others came bearing loads of food. I had offered to barbeque for the crew, but Tacker had forbidden me from buying anything. He told me he’d handle everything, and that all I needed to do was make sure there was a fresh propane tank in the grill.

  While introductions were being made and work parties were organized, I took a moment to observe Tacker and how he interacted with others. I was pleased to see that while he looked a little out of his element, he didn’t shy away from the team as a whole. He did tend to congregate with a core group of mates, whom he introduced me to as his first line—a term I’d become familiar with as we’d often talked about the game of hockey in our sessions. The first line was the best line—the most skilled competitors on a team.

  Bishop—the captain and right winger.

  Dax—left winger.

  Legend—the team’s goalie and the assistant captain.

  The two defensemen, Erik, and his best friend, Aaron Wylde.<
br />
  Tacker was the center—the nucleus who held them all together.

  I can’t even imagine how out of sync they had been when they’d lost him. The team as a whole and his line. But watching them today, I could tell they were going to pull back together quickly. There was a bond there that couldn’t be broken by Tacker’s demons.

  The most shocking arrival of all had come not long after the Vengeance volunteers had dispersed to the different areas of the ranch where they’d be clearing and hauling. A luxury car pulled up followed by a tractor-trailer carrying an actual tractor on its flatbed. A sparkling, brand-new tractor that could provide the necessary muscle for us to blow through the heavy-duty chores on the ranch.

  The man who stepped out of the luxury vehicle was incredibly handsome and while he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, he seemed like he’d be more comfortable in a designer three-piece suit.

  Erik’s girlfriend, Blue, introduced us.

  Dominik Carlson, the freaking owner of the Arizona Vengeance.

  Merely telling me he appreciated all the help I’d given Tacker, he’d handed over the keys to the tractor. With no other fanfare, he wandered off to find one of the working parties to put his own nice muscles to work.

  The best part of the day, by far, had been hanging with Blue and her brother, Billy. They showed up in a handicap accessible van with Erik at the wheel and Billy in the back in his wheelchair. He has dysarthria and is mostly non-verbal, but I found it easy to communicate with him. He’s an incredibly happy young man who reacted with pure joy as I took him around the ranch and introduced him to the animals. In addition to the horses, we have some milk goats and chickens, as well as a few very lovable dogs.

  I’ve currently got one of the baby Nigerian dwarf goats curled up on his lap as I encourage him to hold the bottle at the right angle for feeding. His smile is broad and unending. Blue leans against one of the corners of the small shelter within the goat pen, watching with pure and unadulterated love in her expression. She’d taken over the care of her brother after their parents died.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see some of the wives and girlfriends working at long tables we’d set up outside the gray barn, loaded down with enough food to feed everyone when they come in. Two of the players man the large gas-fueled barbeque pit just beyond, smoke and meaty smells drifting on the wind.

  “I can’t believe Tacker put all this together,” I tell Blue before giving my attention back to Billy. Making a small adjustment to the angle of his hand, I encourage him, “Here… hold it up just like this.”

  “Oh-kay,” he manages to say, his head rocking slightly as he grins.

  “Great job,” I praise him.

  “Tacker is like a brand-new person,” Blue says.

  I smile. While I can’t divulge anything, I can definitely compliment him. “He’s accomplished a lot in the last few weeks.”

  “He smiled this morning, and I almost fell over,” Blue says dramatically. Her eyes drift to her brother, going even softer. “But he has always smiled at Billy. Tacker’s always had a remarkable friendship with him, so while he may have been closed away from much of the world, he never was from my brother.”

  The sounds of laughter catch our attention, and we both glance toward the barn again. The workforce is arriving en masse, ready to get their grub on. They’d been hard at work for about three hours. The plan was to eat now, then they were going to hit it for a few more hours. I was so blown away by them generously volunteering an entire day, and there’s just no way I can repay them all.

  “Hey, Billy,” I say, starting to pull the bottle from his hand and the baby goat from his lap. “Looks like it’s about time to eat.”

  Of course, I get another bright smile.

  We make our way over to the burgeoning crowd where I’m introduced to the people I haven’t met before. I make small talk and direct people to coolers filled with water, soda, and beer. Moving over to the food tables, I try to make sure everything is in order, but I’m shooed away by Dax’s wife, Regan, who assures me that she has it all under control. Taking me by the shoulders, she forces me into the line so I can get a plate of food myself.

  When I have my lunch, I scan for a place to settle in. My eyes catch on Tacker where he leans against the paddock fence with a bottle of water in his hand. He’s talking to Dominik Carlson, and I figure it’s a good opportunity to gush over his generosity again.

  As I make my way there, I can feel the moment Tacker’s gaze falls on me. Dominik is saying something to him as I approach. It’s obvious Tacker is actively listening, but his eyes stay on me the entire time I walk toward them.

  His lips curl up, eyes crinkling slightly in a greeting that seems to imply, “Glad you came this way”. It also says that despite his best efforts to be sociable with everyone, it’s still tough and I’m his safety net.

  Dominik also smiles in greeting.

  Extending my arm, I hand my plate to Tacker. “You need to eat.”

  He takes it from me, glancing down at the food before tilting his head at me. “You need to eat, too.”

  “I’ll get something soon,” I reply before addressing Dominik. “I really can’t thank you enough for the tractor. It’s far more generous than I deserve.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Dominik drawls, his eyes darting a moment to Tacker before returning to me. “I think this place is amazing and the work you do is incredible. I’m more than glad to help.”

  I incline my head. “Well, thank you again. Along with your other donation, it will make a huge difference here on the ranch.”

  Dominik’s attention lights on something behind me, and I twist to see what. It’s just a group of players, but he’s clearly interested in them because he murmurs, “If you two would excuse me…”

  He walks off without a backward glance, heading toward them.

  “He’s got a thing for Dax’s sister,” Tacker says with a chuckle. “I expect he’s going to try to poach some information from him while he can.”

  Curious, I shift slightly to see. Sure enough, Dominik heads straight for Dax, who is sitting at one of the picnic tables, bent over a plate of ribs.

  “Got a thing for his sister?” I ask for clarification.

  Tacker shrugs, transfers the plate I’d handed him to his good hand, and picks up the plastic fork resting on the edge with his casted hand. He spears a piece of potato salad. “It’s all gossip to me, really, but those guys gossip with the best of them.”

  I snicker, then lean up against the post. “Oh, do tell.”

  Tacker puts the bite in his mouth. As he chews, he points at the table where Dominik has now taken a seat right beside Dax, who appears decidedly uncomfortable.

  After swallowing, Tacker says, “While I was working out the other day, Legend told me that, about a month ago, Dominik apparently showed up at the rookie party Dax’s sister had also crashed. Supposedly, they hooked up. Since then, he’s been pursuing her, but she’s been dodging him.”

  “Sounds romantic.” I sigh, wondering what type of woman would run from Dominik Carlson’s advances.

  Tacker’s lip quirks up in a half smile. “You’re a romantic, huh?”

  “For the right situation,” I reply a little coyly. “You?”

  “Back in my glory days, I suppose I could have been called that. Been a while.”

  I’m pleased to hear Tacker talk so effortlessly about his past life and the man he used to be, especially since I don’t detect a single note of apprehension in his tone.

  I don’t want it to turn awkward in any way, though. Tacker does best with small doses of conversation.

  So I pat him on the arm, then gesture slyly over to the picnic table. “I think you should go eavesdrop to see what’s going on, and I expect you to report back to me on the situation at some point.”

  Chuckling, Tacker dips his head. “On it.”

  I watch a moment as he saunters over to his friends… his teammates. The ones who have had his back from the start
and who are now starting to see some rewards in return. I have high hopes for that man, and I try to ignore the tiny kernel of care I’m starting to feel for him.

  I mean… I care for all my clients. With Tacker, though, we have a bond based on similar struggles. I’ve not connected with someone like this in an exceptionally long time.

  When my stomach rumbles, I decide ribs, potato salad, and baked beans are calling my name. I plan to go out and work with them after we eat since Blue said she was taking Billy back to his group home to get some rest. He’s had a big day.

  I fill my plate, grab a bottle of water from the cooler, and purposely avoid the table where the first line congregates. Tacker’s presence has pulled the others around.

  Smiling, I see Raul sitting against the side of the barn, a paper plate loaded with food on his lap. I wander over to my old friend and father figure, sitting beside him.

  “How are you holding up?” I ask. I had kind of hoped he was being more of a supervisor out there today, handing out orders to the young men, but knowing him, probably not.

  “Fit as a fiddle,” he replies, taking a bite of cornbread.

  “Can you get over that tractor?” I ask, once again giddy over such an amazing donation. “Do you know all the things we can do with that thing?”

  “Goodnight, little Gator.” Raul chuckles, putting our little transport ATV to rest in his mind.

  We eat in companionable silence for a little bit before Raul tips his head up, scanning all the people who are shiny with sweat, laughing and joking with each other, and enjoying the food.

  “You stumbled into a new community by knowing Tacker,” he observes. “Trust me… those people out there will be friends of the ranch for life merely by what you’ve done for that man.”

  “I’ve not done anything,” I demure, because my job is to merely listen and encourage. “Tacker’s done all the hard work. I’m really proud of him.”

  I take a bite of potato salad. It’s so good, I shove in another. When I swallow, I offer, “I’m weirdly excited about going to the game after they get back from their road trip.”