by Lane, Stacy
What am I doing? Why am I picking a fight with the best person in my life?
It’s Vic and his stupid words spoken to me at a moment when I was riding a high from Jo whispering she loves me.
The morning I returned to the hotel room I shared with my teammate, I opened the door to find a woman who was not his wife in bed with him.
A slim, dark arm was draped over his chest. Big hair that was the polar opposite of Chelsea’s blonde curls took up the pillow beside Vic. They were both passed out and never woke when I came inside.
I let the retracting door slam closed behind me.
Vic popped awake, and to my amazement, not an ounce of shame crossed his face.
He rushed the girl off. Looked at me and said, “There’s your life lesson. Don’t settle for one woman for the rest of your life. It gets fucking old real quick.”
I was furious with him. I’m no saint by any means, but infidelity is a hard pass. Chelsea didn’t deserve any of what’s about to go down.
And all I kept thinking about over and over was if this is really how it goes, then I want no part in it. After all, I was a firm believer in love being momentary. I never want to become the guy Vic has turned into.
If it’s only a matter of time and chance for it to all be over, then why go on? I cannot hurt Jo that way.
But then she spent a couple days with me and it masked those doomed thoughts. I wanted her so desperately, but I was afraid of the eventuality of letting her go.
“Are you being like this because I said I love you?” Jo blurts out across the room.
Feet carried me to the kitchen, but I whipped around at that.
“In Vegas. Before we fell asleep, I told you I love you. Did I spook you? Can I not be open with you, because if not, you need to let know now.”
She didn’t spook me. When she whispered those words from her lips and across my skin from where she lay, Jo restarted my heart. I was running brand new. Then I caught Vic and sputtered until I ran out.
I want this to be different, I just don’t know how to accomplish it.
“I heard you, and I want nothing more than to hear it over and over again, but with all that’s going on I don’t know how to balance us and my career. This life—relationships, girlfriends, wives, kids—others may do it, but I’m not that kind of guy.”
“If I’m a burden on your dreams, Brooks, then I’ll bow out.” Jo believing she’s the problem only makes this so much harder. She’s perfect. She’s my angel.
But I’m the fallen dark prince.
“I want you, Jo. But hockey comes first, always has, and already I’ve jeopardized that. I don’t know what to do.”
“You can’t want me with restrictions. Do you think I don’t know how much you love your career? It’s not fair to either of us if something has to be given up. To have you means to accept hockey will always be a priority. And to take me means you’ll have trust that I would never make you choose. What I deserve is to not be pulled in two directions.” Jo holds out both hands, palms up. “You got me right here where we’re good and content, and then you have me over here waiting for the day you say we’re done. You don’t have to love me back right now, Brooks. I’m patient enough to wait. I know how you process. But will there ever be more?”
“A future with kids and promises,” I scoff. “The one thing I always told you I could never give.”
“Hockey has been your only future right?” she asks with a dare. “When you get that trophy one day, the big one you all play for just to eat cereal out of.”
“The Cup,” I insert with a smirk.
She still doesn’t know shit about hockey, and I love it.
“When you win The Cup one day, am I there? Am I beside you taking pictures and celebrating and participating in ridiculous antics that you’ll come up with during the time you have it?”
Yes.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I hesitate, and it’s the killing arrow through the heart.
“Guess I have my answer.” Jo drops her head. “I love you, Brooks. But I’ve already been with one man who never shared all of himself with me. Yet here I am on the same path to do it all over again.”
“I don’t want you to settle. You deserve everything you truly want.”
“I want you. But we want different things in the end.” Jo’s soft, tired words slap me in the chest.
“Will you give me some time? Let me think about all of this.”
“Sure,” she sighs like she doesn’t expect a different outcome even if I do take the time.
I wish I never asked her to come over tonight. If she had just stayed at home this conversation would have never gone down. I would have been able to keep her for a little while longer.
I was aware of an ending when she and I began. But the searing pain in my chest at the thought of Jo not being there if my goals are ever conquered was unaccounted for.
When I picture my career, the accomplishments and trophies like all of us in the industry grew up doing, it’s always been the same. Me alone, except for my parents and brothers, rising to the top. Trying to imagine Jo not standing by my side is a new kind of hurt I’m unprepared to handle.
“Stay. Please.” The strain in my voice pleads with her.
Her eyes close with rejection, but Jo nods once with a yes.
I hold her in my arms all night long, even though she never looks at me again. I never wanted to hurt her, but I couldn’t give her up either.
Now I finally had to decide if I could be the person she needed, or if I had to let her go for good.
TWENTY-NINE
Jo
“Mom?”
“Hello, darling. Surprise!”
It’s morning, two days before Christmas. Very early morning. So early, that my coffee hasn’t finished brewing.
A knock sounded at my front door and my heart began to race almost as fast as my feet sprinting across the house to open it.
Brooks has an afternoon game, but it’s been a week with no word from him and his time needing to “think.” I had hoped this was him. Instead, I swung the door wide and was greeted by my mother.
Surprise, indeed.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Mom and I have been on better terms as of late, but not so much as to gift me with her presence.
And that sounds terrible. It’s the holiday season and I should be grateful, but my mom is a lot to handle and she has the personality of five different people. Right now with everything going on, I’m not sure I’m capable of enduring her range of emotions.
Ignoring my shock from her sudden arrival, I’m pushed aside by her giant luggage rolling over my toes as she walks inside.
“I hounded your brother to buy me a plane ticket. Actually, I planted the seed in his girlfriend’s ear, who would just love to get rid of me for the holiday, and it worked like a charm.” Her scheming smile would creep out any innocent bystander.
The zebra print bag looks to be holding more than a couple days of clothing.
I send up a silent prayer for patience.
“Just in time for coffee, I smell.”
“Yeah, it’s brewing now.” Shutting the door, I take a silent, deep inhale, and then lead her to the kitchen. Pointing down the hall, I say, “You can put your things in the room you always stay in.”
“Wonderful,” she replies but stands her luggage against the wall instead, handle retracting inward.
Blinking, I continue into the kitchen and pull two mugs down from the hooks.
“Are you making breakfast?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Hmm.” She goes to the fridge and plunders its contents. “Darling, this creamer is expired.”
Swiftly, I swing my face her way just in time to see her toss the pumpkin spice creamer I bought with Brooks in mind months ago in the garbage. Pressing my lips in a tight line, I block my reaction by turning back to the coffee pot.
She moves about the kitchen. I say nothing and keep sipping t
he brew that keeps so many people like my mother from harm.
“Oh, that’s cute. Trying to be more festive this year?” She points to the two-feet of fake tree sitting on the counter in the corner of my kitchen. It’s bare except for a topper and three ornaments.
“Something I wanted to start doing. Betty has one dedicated to all things kitchen related.”
“Who’s Betty?”
“Brooks’s mom.”
“The hockey player boyfriend.” Diverting my eyes, I don’t correct her. “You’ve met his family already.”
“They are how I met Brooks.”
“So when do I get to meet him? I have the disadvantage, living so far away. Hopefully, you’ll introduce me while I’m here.”
“I didn’t even know you were coming,” I drawl in a bland retort.
“Unexpected visits are the best way to find the truth.”
“The truth to what?” My sour remark causes her to smirk.
“This relationship you are so closed off about.”
“I’m closed off because it’s nobody’s business.”
“Jolene, you’re dating a professional athlete. It’s going to be everyone’s business.”
“So you came to be nosy,” I conclude.
Mom stands at the stove, scrambling eggs and turning over sizzling sausage. “I wanted to spend Christmas with my daughter, and meet the new man in her life.”
Clearing my throat of discomfort, I say, “He has a game today.”
“I’m sure I’ll see him tomorrow then.” She pulls out two plates and splits the contents. “Any last minute shopping you need to get done?”
“No.” I take a plate and one of the chairs at my island counter.
Mom sits across from me. We eat in silence, but it doesn’t last long.
The familiarity of my mom surrounds me. Her heavy perfume, long, strawberry blonde hair with bangs cut similar to Jane Seymour, and the way she sips her coffee while chewing food.
Half a cup into caffeine, I start to come around to the fact that I won’t be spending Christmas day alone. Mother-daughter bonding does not come easily to us, but having her here, when I’m going through something even if she doesn’t know about it, is a comfort I rarely associate with my parents.
Maybe that mother’s intuition is a real thing. Out of all the people to show up when I needed someone, it was my mom.
“I heard about Mason’s brother releasing information to prove Mason harassed those women from a couple years ago.” She sets her fork down, lifting her cup to finish her coffee.
I nod and then stand to go grab the carafe. Refilling our mugs, I reply, “He did. Crazy to think the guy I dated for a year was a total stranger.”
“Good riddance,” Mom mutters, raising her gaze with a crooked smile.
“Seconded.” I set the pot down on a coaster of Santa saying, Ho-Ho-Hot. “Dad okay with you leaving him alone for Christmas?”
“Even if he’s not, too bad. We could have paid for one ticket since your brother gave us money for the other. He’s a Grinch around this time of the year anyway. How about Brooks? Does he enjoy all the lights and presents and decorations?”
“Uh,” I frown. “I don’t know.”
“He hung your outside lights, didn’t he?”
“No, I did.”
“Jolene, please tell me you didn’t go up on the roof alone,” Mom scolds.
“Taytum was here.”
“Well, next year, make Brooks do it.”
“I did just fine on my own, Mom. He’ll climb the ladder the same way I will, so it doesn’t really matter who hangs the lights.”
“I suppose so.” She purses her lips as she stands, collecting our dirty dishes and loading them in the dishwasher. “Are you going to the game?”
“No, I’ll watch it on TV.” I wish she’d stop asking about Brooks. There’s bound to be a question that I’ll fumble and spill details that she does not need to hear. If that happens, a slew of different questions will pour out.
I’m given a reprieve for a while when she decides a nap is required after her long flight. I spend the next hour busying my mind by cleaning the kitchen, doing a load of laundry, popping in a quick twenty-minute yoga session, and then taking a shower.
Though my company shuts down for two weeks during the holidays, not opening back up until after the new year, I still found myself at the desk in my office, going over reports and analysis’. Statistics and math were just as good as yoga to relieve worries.
I was running numbers, jotting down theories to cross reference on a new insurance adjustment the company wants to take in effect next year when my mom meandered into my office.
“Jolene, do you not hear the door?”
“Huh?”
“Someone is at the door.” She pushes with impatience.
Eyebrows creasing, I get up, wondering who that could possibly be.
Taytum is off with Nick, Chelsea is out of town still, and Brooks…
I glance at the clock as I cross the house to the front door.
Puck drops in thirty minutes. It’s not Brooks.
When I get a glimpse at who is on the other side, I’m unlocking and swinging the door open with eagerness this time.
“Betty,” I smile, greeting her with a hug. “This is a surprise.”
“Well, the boys are at the game today and I thought I’d see if you wanted to do that pie day we’ve been talking about. Brooks is always going to have some new goal he’ll break, so I’ll be there for the next one.”
Not understanding, I ask with curiosity, “A new goal to break?”
“He’s one point away from 1000.” We shuffle into the living room. My mom is standing there and waiting for an introduction. But I’m circling a narrow drain, tightness closing in all around. “Something he should have invited you to witness.” Her voice lowers, indicating she knew more than she planned to let on.
I nodded, clearing my throat from the hot slosh of hurt rising. “Betty, this is my mom Caroline. Mom, this is Brook’s mother, Betty.”
“Caroline, so nice to meet you,” Betty smiles kindly at my mom. Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, she looks down at me with warmth and says, “You raised a great girl. We love having Jo in the family.”
My throat closes some more at her words. I wanted nothing more than to be a part of their family. But if Brooks is at the limit of how far he can go in a relationship, and playing in an important game he told me nothing about, I couldn’t see that dream coming to fruition.
I hope he achieves his goal today. I can celebrate for him even if he is not here with me.
Today, I’ll be happy for him.
Tomorrow, I’ll worry about moving on.
I can tell my mom wants to say something else on the matter of family, but luckily she bites her tongue.
Betty came with an armload of groceries. She wasn’t joking about baking pies.
We helped her sort and unload in the kitchen. The game played on the TV in the living room, the sounds of skates and whistles and yelling drifting in.
“I’m so happy to see you set up the kitchen tree.” Betty pats my hand, holding a tiny wrapped box in the other. “I brought you a present.”
“Oh, Betty, you didn’t have to do that.”
She pfft’s at my response and shoves the green and red wrapping into my hands.
Mom stands over my other shoulder as I stand at the counter, pulling back the ribbon and lifting the top off the tiny box.
Inside, on a bed of white foam, sits two ornaments hanging from delicate silk strings. An apple pie and a pumpkin pie.
“Both yours and his favorites,” she says softly.
Damn. I lick my lips and then nibble on the bottom. Sniffling, I reply as I run a finger along the smooth, ceramic pieces. “Thank you. I love them.”
“It’ll all work out, dear,” Betty whispers.
I nod, knowing it’ll work out, just not in my favor.
Mom, Betty, and I spend the next hour laug
hing and making the best messes while mixing ingredients for our homemade crust. We roll out the dough, set it into pans, let it chill, and move onto the other ingredients.
Mom makes the pecan filling, Betty does apple, and I make the pumpkin.
Putting my double ovens to good use, the pies bake as we drink coffee and move into the living room.
And I get to witness Brooks’s 1000th game point goal.
I smile when the camera catches his elated expression. I keep smiling when the reporters talk about his family in attendance, the shot changing over to the three Labelle men sitting inside a box suite. The smile never leaves my face because I am so proud of him.
I may not be there celebrating with him, but that doesn’t make me any less proud or happy for Brooks.
Mom and Betty talk non-stop and become fast friends. The game ends, Fury winning, and we retreat to the kitchen.
Cutting into freshly baked pies, I grow quiet as I listen to their chatter. I’m grateful to not be left alone, yet I feel like alone is what I need right now. But I don’t go seeking the loneliness, too afraid it will draw attention to my real feelings.
Instead, I eat more pie. One slice of pumpkin and one slice of apple.
Both of our favorites.
I’m jolted from the company of sad thoughts and laughter from the moms when the doorbell rings, followed soon after by a raucous banging.
“Dear Lord, who is that?” Mom places a hand of her chest, jumpy from the unexpected knocks.
I uncurl my legs from the stool I sat on at the counter in the kitchen, feet floating across the house.
Betty and Mom trail behind, but I lose sight of them as I briskly reach the front door and open it without looking for whom it might be.
I’ve always felt an unending pull to Brooks. My chest squeezes as my heart expands.
The hair beneath the blue ball cap is damp, and white tape circles both wrists. His t-shirt and shorts are clean and dry, but he smells like the fresh, cool December air and…sweat.
“I love you.”
My eyes snap away from the curling ends of his hair to his gray eyes. They’re storm clouds full of longing and desperation, replete with conviction.