The Good Luck Charm Page 4

  Tyler rolls his eyes but changes the subject. “How much longer are you going to stay with Dad and Mom?”

  “Until I find my own place, I guess. I can’t handle that basement for too long, but I don’t want to leave Mom to deal with him on her own yet.”

  “Maybe DJ’s got a spare slice of mattress you could crash on.” He wags his brows.

  “You’re fucking creepy, you know that?”

  “I’m just saying. I see the way she looks at you when you’re not paying attention. She wants to ride your hockey stick.”

  I snort. “That was literally the worst pun ever. And she doesn’t want to ride any part of me. She barely even talks to me.” Our conversations mostly revolve around my dad, his progress and what he needs. So far all of my attempts at a real, meaningful conversation have been shut down.

  “I noticed that. I thought it was awkward sexual tension. What exactly is the story there, anyway?”

  “Dad pushed me to break up with her when I was drafted.”

  “But you didn’t and you fucked it up with one of those hockey bunnies?”

  “No.” I shoot him a glare. “I took his advice and broke it off.”

  “Wow. Since when do you listen to Dad?”

  “It was pretty much the first and last time.”

  “Ah. I’m guessing that breakup didn’t go well.”

  I take a swig of my beer, thinking about how adamant my dad had been. “Not really. Remember the weekend I came home right after I was drafted?”

  “Yeah. I bought you all kinds of booze and told you I’d kill you if you ratted me out.” He smiles at the memory.

  “I kept my mouth shut. Anyway, Dad pulled me aside and asked me how I was planning to deal with DJ. I was riding the high, right? But then he laid into me, told me if I was going to throw away a scholarship and a career in medicine, that I better be focused one hundred percent on hockey and I couldn’t do that with a girlfriend halfway across the country.”

  “Sounds like something Dad would say. Always pragmatic about things, right?”

  “Yeah.” I look up at the sky. It’s cloudy tonight, keeping the stars hidden. “I told him she was going to move to LA with me when she finished high school.”

  “I bet he didn’t like that.”

  “Not at all. I thought I had it all planned out, but then he started talking about what would happen if I got traded to a different team. What would DJ do? Transfer schools? She’d have no one but me and I’d be on the road half the time. He kept hammering it in that I couldn’t string her along and mess with her life like that. She needed stability and I wasn’t going to be able to give her that. It sure wasn’t what I wanted to hear.”

  “Did you end up breaking it off that weekend?”

  I shake my head. “Not right away. I kept thinking maybe I could make it work, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized Dad was right, even though I didn’t want him to be. I couldn’t take her away from everyone and then leave her alone half the time. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “That’s a heavy realization to come to at that age.”

  “I was so fucking mad at Dad for a while. I think I probably still am, to be honest. The night I’d finally broken it off with her I’d spent a good hour on the phone with him, listening to his rationale as to why it needed to be done before I left for LA. So I called her and finally ended things.”

  “Over the phone?”

  “Like an asshole.”

  “Christ.”

  “That was the last time I talked to DJ until Dad had the stroke. Well, I tried to call her a couple of times after we broke up, but it didn’t go well, so I left it alone.”

  “Well, that sure as hell explains the tension between you.”

  “Yeah. Pretty sure any vibes you’re picking up off of her are more along the lines of her wanting to beat me with a hockey stick, not riding mine.”

  Tyler rubs at the space where his beard meets his neck. “I don’t know. I mean, you can be mad at someone and still want to screw them, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “There’s no guessing. She might want to beat you with a hockey stick, but I’m pretty sure she’ll ride yours when she’s done, too. Maybe you need to let her angry fuck you. Get all that negativity out of her system.” His grin is barely visible through his beard.

  “It’s a real surprise you don’t have a girlfriend,” I deadpan.

  “Whatever. I’m just telling it like it is, and the ladies love this.” He strokes his beard affectionately.

  “It’s a great place to store snacks.” I drain the rest of my beer. “You want another one?”

  “Nah. I should go; my flight is stupid early tomorrow.”

  “You sure you don’t want to stay here and just leave for the airport in the morning?”

  “In your old room? Not unless that mattress you used to sleep on has been burned.”

  “Mom redecorated the room. It’s all girly now.”

  “So it’s pretty like you?”

  “Fuck you.” I flip him the bird.

  “I’m glad you’re home, not just because of this stuff with Dad, either. It’ll be nice to have you around, now that you’re not an annoying little shit.” He pushes up off the swing and becomes serious for a moment. “You’ll keep me updated on Dad, though? If he doesn’t get better, I’ll find someone else to finish the project in Alaska.”

  “Between me, Mom, DJ, and all the medical staff he has access to, I’m pretty sure he’s going to be fine.”

  “I hope so, for Mom’s sake, anyway. She’s the one who has to put up with his miserable ass the most.”

  * * *

  The next morning a loud noise wakes me. It’s a little after six. I stayed up long after my brother left, drank half a dozen more beers on the porch by myself, and leafed through old photo albums. It was pretty pathetic. At least there were no witnesses. Although I’m not sure if I got rid of the beery evidence.

  Another thump prompts me to get my ass out of bed. Dressed in only boxers, I rush upstairs, hoping that the noise hasn’t woken my mother, who’s been sleeping like shit. Not that I’ve been sleeping all that well. Between managing my dad and preseason training ice time, I’m pushing my limits. Beyond that, the mattress in the basement is ancient and there’s a dip in the middle. I’m pretty sure DJ and I were the cause of that.

  I flick on a lamp in the living room, blinking as my eyes adjust. The room is empty, which isn’t a surprise considering the early hour. A few more thumps and grunts come from where my dad sleeps these days.

  The office is big enough to fit a double bed, but not much else. I find him in his wheelchair, angled awkwardly. He has something in his hands, and he’s concentrating on whatever it is, so he doesn’t hear me when I approach. The curtains are drawn tight, so only light from the living room illuminates the small space. I flip the switch, blinding us both.

  He grunts his surprise and swears. Something warm and wet hits my shins.

  I look down at my legs and then back up at him. In one hand he’s holding an oversize mug, the handle big enough for him to grasp fully.

  “What the fuck, Dad? Are you pissing in that cup? Did you just piss on me?” I don’t know why I’m asking—it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s doing and what he’s just done.

  His eyes are wide, at first with absolute horror, and maybe a little embarrassment at being caught relieving himself into a mug. Although, I have to appreciate the lengths he’ll go to in order to maintain some level of independence. We have walkie-talkies for those middle-of-the-night occasions when he needs to make a trip to the bathroom, or requires a water refill, or whatever really, but it appears he wanted to do it on his own. Based on his indignant glare and the awkward positioning of his wheelchair, I assume he got stuck, couldn’t reach the walkie, and decided this was the most dignified option.

  His gaze darts down to where he’s holding himself. “I’m a grower,” he slurs.

  My shock and mild disgust ov
er the fact that I’ve been peed on—by my father—disappear in the wake of this unnecessary, cheeky-as-fuck revelation. I bark out a laugh. “Like father like son—is that what you’re saying?”

  A lopsided grin breaks across his face in return; his shoulders start to shake, a low chuckle bubbling up. The mug he’s holding shakes perilously. I grab for it before its contents can slosh over the edge and make even more of a mess.

  “I’m going to rinse this out and put your coffee in it later.”

  “Fuck you,” he slurs, still smiling.

  “You pissed on me. Fuck you back.”

  His laughter deepens. It’s the first time I’ve heard that sound since I came back to Minnesota.

  “You’re an asshole, you know that?” We’re both still laughing, though. “Next time walkie me.”

  “I did. Four times.” He gives me what used to be his stern eye, but the stroke has softened his features, so it’s lost some of its impact.

  “Ah, shit. Sorry, Dad. Tyler and I were up late last night talking.”

  He waves me off, then tips his chin toward the bed. “Help me.”

  He tries his best to hold his own weight as I shift him back into bed, but it’s clear it’s taken most of his energy to manage getting his ass into the wheelchair and peeing into the cup. Once he’s settled I dump the contents of the mug in the toilet next door. I consider tossing the mug, but I’m not that nice. Instead I throw a capful of bleach in there, fill it with hot water and soap, and leave it to soak. Then I fill a bucket of warm, soapy water so I can wash the floor, grateful it’s hardwood and not carpeted.

  “Sorry,” my dad says as I drop to my knees and wipe away the evidence.

  I glance up. He’s lying in bed, eyes slits, looking at me. “For the mess I have to clean up or peeing on me?”

  It takes a while before he responds and the words are hard to get out. “Don’t tell your mother.”

  “That you pissed on me?”

  He reaches for the closest object, which happens to be the walkie-talkie. I grab it before he can get it. “So you’re gonna throw shit at me now, too?”

  “What if I…” He gets stuck on the words for a while. “I can’t…”

  I know where he’s going with this. I know what he’s afraid of. I take his hand and squeeze, forcing him to squeeze back reflexively. “Remember when Mom got pregnant seven years after you had a vasectomy?”

  His brow furrows.

  “Even your balls refuse to cooperate with science. You think the rest of your body is going to bow to a stroke?”

  He squeezes back, so I keep squeezing, forcing him to put as much effort into it as he can. “My hands are covered in your urine,” I say quietly.

  He shoves on my chest, hard enough that I stumble back in surprise. “You gettin’ your fight on?” I tease.

  He smiles again, then drops back against the pillow. It’s hard to see him so uncertain of himself, but in some ways it’s as enlightening as it is sobering. My dad has always been an I-know-more-than-you kind of man. But now, in this situation, he’s just as scared as the rest of us.

  “You want me to shut the light off? You gonna try to sleep some more?”

  He nods and I turn to leave the room.

  “Eth.”

  I glance over my shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  “I won’t tell Mom.” His gratitude is the last thing I see before I turn the light off.

  I take the opportunity for what it is and head down to the lake for an early morning swim. It’s already muggy with the promise of heat later today. A fine mist lingers on the glasslike surface. The sun hovers above the trees, burning off the last of the nighttime cool, the lemon glow reflected on the smooth surface below.

  Still dressed in my boxers, I take the dock at a jog and dive in. The cold water is a welcome shock. I push out, kicking hard, staying under as long as I can. Breaking the surface with a sharp inhale, I flip onto my back and float for a while, watching the sun rise higher in the cloudless blue sky. I wish this stroke hadn’t happened to my dad. Not because it’s an inconvenience, even though there have been moments when I’ve thought this and felt guilty for it. But because of the strain it’s going to put on my mom, and how difficult it is for my dad to be unable to do things for himself and her.

  Chapter Five

  Needs and Wants

  Lilah

  It’s just after seven in the morning when I pull into the Kases’ driveway. Normally I wouldn’t stop by this early, but last night Jeannie mentioned needing a few things when I called to check on Martin, so I picked them up for her and figured I could drop them off before work.

  Besides, in my head, I rationalized that since both Tyler and Dylan have gone back to their respective homes, and Ethan must be busy with preseason practice, my assistance would be helpful. It has nothing to do with seeing Ethan. That’s what I keep telling myself, except I was up before six this morning and the effort I’ve put into my appearance tells a different story.

  While it’s nice that Ethan is here for his family, it’s somehow displaced my role. I’m used to being the one Jeannie comes to when she needs help, and his presence makes me feel less necessary.

  My sister Carmen thinks I need to get over it and talk to him. I keep assuring her I am talking to him—I just find being in his presence safer with the buffer of his parents. It’s very twelve of me.

  I grab the grocery bin from the passenger seat and head for the back porch. Splashing draws my attention toward the lake. Hands appear at the edge of the dock, a head following after, then thick, broad shoulders. In a smooth, seamless surge, Ethan pulls himself out of the water. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen Ethan Kase without a shirt. But I can say with absolute certainty that he has grown into his height. The lanky build of his youth has given way to a body lined with heavy muscles and incredible definition that can only be achieved with countless hours of disciplined workouts.

  For a moment I envy Ethan. Not because he’s a specimen of near physical perfection, from the powerful thighs to the trim waist, six-pack abs, defined chest, and a gorgeous face—that despite his career and the potential for scars and damage, he’s even more handsome. I’m not envious of his beauty—although I can certainly appreciate it. I’m envious of his determination to fight so hard for his dream, for the one thing he loved more than anything. More than me. The last thought pricks my heart.

  Until he showed up a week ago, I thought I’d gotten over the loss of him, but clearly that’s not the case. And it’s a big part of the reason I’m avoiding spending any real time with him. I fear my heart remembers loving him more than it remembers how he broke it.

  He lifts a hand in a wave and I realize I’ve been spotted, and also that I’ve been staring. I nod in acknowledgment since my arms are full, and move toward the screen door—quickly so I can get inside the house before Ethan corners me. The last thing I need is a close-up of all that gorgeous. He still has the ability to make me lose my head and to send my hormones into a tailspin. Or maybe that time of month is coming and that’s the reason for all the tingles in my sensitive places.

  “Hey, DJ, wait up—let me help with that!” He jogs quickly toward me, his wet body glistening in the morning sun. It really is unfair that he looks this good, and here I am dressed in scrubs with a llama pattern all over them. It’s my day of rounds in the pediatric unit, and the kids like the fun prints.

  I shift the shopping bin of groceries to my hip and reach for the door handle, but it’s heavy, so I have to readjust when the bin slips. By the time it’s safely tucked against my side, Ethan is in front of me, not even out of breath despite having run all the way from the dock. He grabs the handles of the bin, and my immediate reaction is to hold on tighter.

  He tilts his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, possibly at my resistance. Eventually I relinquish the bin; otherwise, I’m going to make an awkward situation even more uncomfortable.

  Ethan is mostly naked
. I’m trying not to gawk, but dear lord he looks amazing, so I’m not above ogling. Seeing him like this, fresh from the lake, hair dripping, water beading across his chest, reminds me of a time when life was so much simpler. Back when the most complex decision was whether we studied first and made out after, or vice versa. More often than not, making out took first priority. Otherwise Ethan found it hard to keep his hands to himself and the studying suffered.

  Except he’s a man now, with an incredible career and a body to match, and I’m an almost-divorcée who abandoned my dream of becoming a doctor. Instead, I settled for the man who I thought could fill the hole the one in front of me created.

  “Everything okay?” Ethan ducks his chin a little, bringing his face closer to mine.

  “Huh?” I shake my head, realizing I’ve been staring at his chest. Again. “Oh yeah, fine. Jeannie asked me to pick a few things up for her.” As if that wasn’t obvious based on the bin he’s holding.

  “She could’ve asked me so you didn’t have to go out of your way.”

  I shrug and keep my eyes on the contents of the bin. “I was already at the store, so it wasn’t a big deal; besides, I wanted to check in anyway. Jeannie mentioned you have to head back to Chicago.”

  “Yeah, for a couple of days. I have to get my house on the market and tie up a few loose ends.” I hold the door for Ethan, glancing at his ass as he steps onto the welcome mat. He’s wearing boxers, not swim shorts, which is odd, but I’m not opposed to their see-through quality or the way they cling nicely to his sculpted glutes.

  I follow him inside and startle at Jeannie’s suddenly stern reprimand. “Ethan! Are you wet? Do not trek through the house like that!”

  Ethan takes an automatic step back. I mirror his movement, but the door’s already closed, so I have nowhere to go. I raise my hands in an attempt to prevent being pinned against the door. My palms connect with wet, cool skin. The sensation is reminiscent of licking a nine-volt battery on a whole-body frequency. Heat hits me, pushing through my skin, electrifying me. Ethan goes still and stiff.