20. Dutton
Dutton
T his week sucks. My dad’s still having a rough time of it, and that makes things hard on my mom, too.
Since I’m so close, I try to stop by whenever I can, but every time I’ve visited this week, it’s been glaringly obvious that he still has a long road ahead.
I know that according to the doctors, we could still be facing months of this, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my cousin’s worries distract me from what’s really going on.
He was especially irritable when I swung by last night.
Mom said evenings are worse, and I’m not sure if that’s because he’s so exhausted or what, but Mom and I agreed that my upcoming game is just too much for him at this point.
Better safe than sorry, right? My immediate family might be small, and two-thirds of us might be a little on the grumpy side, but we’ve always been close.
I’ve never doubted my parents’ love for me or their love for each other.
It goes without saying that we’ll be there for him if there is something more serious going on, but it’s damn hard not to have any answers.
There are some rare cases where post-concussion syndrome can last this long or even longer, but there are usually other conditions at play, and none of those apply to my dad.
He’s in his mid-fifties, this is his first concussion, and he doesn’t have any other health concerns.
We’re stumped and frustrated, but we’ll make it through, and hopefully his next doctor’s appointment will provide some insight into what’s going on in his head.
In addition to the worry over my dad, I have to deal with the tension that’s plaguing our team—tension I caused.
No, I never wanted to hide my relationship with Bridgette from her brother or anyone.
But the fact is that it wouldn’t have been an issue if I hadn’t been a colossal prick to the guy for the last two years.
In my slight defense, when I started fucking with him on the ice when we were freshmen on opposite teams, it was nothing personal.
I saw a way to disarm my opponents a little by rattling one of their players.
That’s just sports. It happens all the time.
You take whatever advantage you can get, and how was I to know that the woman of my dreams would end up being related to the guy I frequently targeted on the ice?
Beyond that, how could I ever have predicted that Blue and I would join this freaking team?
If someone would have told me that a couple years back, I’d have laughed my ass off and called them a liar.
But here we all are.
Mickey and I are sporting matching black eyes, and I’m not surprised at all when Coach Novotny barks at us to get our asses in his office.
Our head coach is looking at recruits this week, so I thought maybe we could fly under the radar, but I was wrong.
Novotny is known for being calm and reserved, but the look he gives us when we file into his office makes it clear he’s not in the mood for our bullshit.
I take one of the padded chairs across from his desk, and Mickey takes the other, not bothering to look at me.
I tried talking to him last night after I got back from visiting my folks, but about two seconds into the conversation, I held my hands up and walked away.
If I hadn’t, I’d probably have two black eyes right now.
“What the hell is going on with you two?” he asks, cutting straight to it.
“We never expected you to be best friends, but we do expect you to be teammates, so would you care to explain why you both have busted knuckles and black eyes? And don’t even think about bullshitting me.
This is not the week, and I don’t have the time to sit here and play guessing games. What the hell happened?”
Before I can speak up, Mickey opens his mouth. No surprise there, but his words catch me off guard a little.
“Wagner and I finally had it out. It’s been two years in the making, and we came to blows Saturday night.
I’m not proud of letting my temper get the best of me, but the good thing is that we came to an understanding.
Like you said, we’re sure as shit never gonna be friends, but for the sake of the team, we’ve called a truce.
I can promise you our bullshit will not enter this building or affect the team any more than it already has. ”
Christ. Is he flat out lying, or did I miss the part where we hugged it out?
I school my expression and nod in agreement because I’ve got to admit, Mickey’s convincing as hell.
The guy sitting next to me is still and calm.
He’s in total control of his words and emotions.
This is not the erratic, unpredictable player I once faced.
I don’t know if he’s got new meds or if he’s just taking them like he’s supposed to.
Or maybe he’s grown the fuck up. Whatever the reason, I’m glad for his composure because Coach Novotny’s eating it up like fucking candy.
“Wagner, is this true? Can you agree to get along with Mickey for the rest of the season? And all through next year? Because we need both of you, and unless you get called up,” he says, looking at me, “ or you get an offer you can’t pass up,” he adds, looking at Mickey, “you two are stuck with each other for two more years.”
The shock that registers on Mick’s face lodges somewhere in my brain.
It’s uncomfortable, like a sharp, tiny little pebble in my shoe.
Yes, I’ve thrown his lack of focus right in his face on multiple occasions.
And I’ve also been on his ass about how some guys would kill for the kind of talent he has.
And I’ve made it clear that his talent amounts to diddly-fucking-shit if he’s inconsistent.
But when Coach mentioned a potential call-up, the guy looked floored, like that wasn’t even on his radar.
How is that possible? Yeah, he’s a fucking nutjob sometimes, but he’s good. Really fucking good. Like, professional-level good. How does he not know this?
Christ. I haven’t just been an asshole. I’ve been a dick. A colossal one. I more than earned the nickname he gave me.
Fuck. Nothing I said was wrong, exactly, but it sure as fuck wasn’t helpful.
My brain is exploding, but I steel my features and answer my coach’s question. “Yes, sir. Like Mickey said, we hashed our shit and moved on.”
“You better hope you’re not lying to me,” Coach says, leveling both of us with just a look.
“Because this isn’t about me, gentlemen.
It’s not about Coach Baylor or Coach Vandaele.
It’s about you and your teammates out in the locker room.
You function as a unit or you don’t function at all.
I don’t want to think that two of our strongest players are so egocentric that they’re willing to risk their season because they can’t play nice together. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” we say in unison.
Novotny dismisses us because he’s made his point.
We’re about ten feet from his office when Mickey turns to me with a hardened expression. His voice is low and cold when he speaks, and I can’t lie. This is a side of him I’ve never seen.
“Just so we’re clear, Wagner, I lied. There’s no fucking truce, and there won’t be.
I don’t like you, and I never will. But for the sake of my team, I’ll deal with your ass in a professional capacity only.
For the sake of my sister, I won’t punch you again.
Unless you deserve it. Don’t fuck up. Don’t talk to me.
Don’t try to explain. And don’t you fucking dare hurt her.
” His eyes are a darker green than Bridgette’s, but right now they’re practically glowing with anger.
Having said his piece, he stalks away. It’s not like me to stay silent in a situation like this, but the last damn thing I need is for Coach to catch us.
Since Mickey’s making his way to the weight room, probably to blow off some steam, I make a split decision to head for the pool.
My compression shorts will have to do because I’m not going back in that locker room to dig through my bag for swim gear.
I need to process the thoughts in my head, and nothing helps me do that like a punishing workout.
There’s always a lifeguard on duty here, since we share this pool with the rest of the athletes at BU.
It’s fairly empty now except for a guy working on his breaststroke in lane eight, so I grab a few towels and set them on the pool deck.
My usual routine starts with a few warm up laps and then some interval work.
Hockey games are all about stopping and starting, so my training needs to mimic that.
Just when I’m about to dive into the water, the swimmer from lane eight calls my name.
I look over to see JT Norris hopping out of the pool and heading toward me.
I wouldn’t really consider us friends, but he and I have been friendly when we work out in the early mornings or stay late to run drills in the evening.
I’d like to think we’ve built a certain rapport, or at least have a fair amount of respect for each other’s game, but he’s also Mickey’s best friend.
That means this conversation could go either way, and the look on his face right now isn’t hostile, exactly, but it’s sure as fuck not friendly.
“Wagner,” he says, coming to stand next to me.
We’re nearly equal in height and build, so he looks me directly in the eye when he utters his next words.
“Look, I’m not the one to tell someone who they should or shouldn’t date, believe me, so I’m not here to tell you to keep your distance from Birdie.
I know from experience that it just doesn’t work. ”
“So why the hell are you here?” I ask, not really caring that I’m probably provoking one of the few guys on the team that I actually had a decent relationship with. I’m equal parts pissed and frustrated, so if JT’s got something to say to me, he can fucking say it.
Instead, he holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m definitely not here to get a black eye so you, Mickey, and I can look like triplets. Stand down, Wagner.”
I relax my shoulders a fraction of an inch, but that’s all I’m willing to give right now.
“I’m not in the mood for a lecture, Norris, unless you want to tell me why everyone on this team gets to have an opinion about my relationship.
That’s some bullshit right there. Bridgette’s happy.
That’s all that should matter to you guys. ”
“Ultimately, that’s all that does matter,” he concedes. “But you’ve gotta know that she doesn’t just have one brother on the team, she has about twenty. We’re protective of her and we want what’s?—”
“You want what’s best for her,” I say, finishing my teammate’s sentence.
“I get that.” My words are clear and calm, but the rest of me is damn near boiling.
Clenching my fists and my jaw, I count backwards from ten so I don’t do something stupid that results in another facial injury to a teammate.
Back in the locker room, I gave Mickey a pass.
He’s hurt and betrayed, and even though I think he needs to get the fuck over himself and realize his sister is a grown-ass woman who can make her own damn decisions, I saw something in Coach’s office that told me there’s more going on with him than being an overbearing sibling.
Bridgette told me the other night that he needs some time to feel his feelings, and though I don’t really like it, it makes sense.
“But answer this question for me. How much of a dick do you think I am? And how little do you think of Bridgette that she’d put up with a dumbass such as myself? ”
JT sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “That’s not it at all. But you’ve got to admit that?—”
“I don't have to admit shit,” I tell him plainly. “But I’ve got nothing to hide, so here it is. Bridgette’s it for me.
I knew it the moment I saw her. And when we started talking, there was no going back.
We dated for a solid fucking week before I even knew her last name was Mikalski because that never even mattered to me.
We didn’t do the whole small talk thing.
I’m not good at it, and she’s so fucking captivating, I could listen to her talk about anything all damn day.
We had good conversations. And when we didn’t talk, it was just as fucking good,” I say, not caring about the cringey look on his face.
He might consider himself her brother, but he’s the one who started this conversation.
“I don’t need to hear about?—”
“Don’t you? Because it seems to me you fuckers don’t understand that Bridgette’s an adult, just like the rest of us.
In fact, she’s even more of an adult. She’s got her shit together more than anyone else I know.
So please tell me why you think she’s so damn helpless that she needs a fucking squad of big brothers to keep her man in line?
Believe me, she’s more than capable of getting that job done all on her own. ”
“I get it,” he says, putting his hands up.
“More than anyone, I really do. But there’s a reason Mickey and I are protective of her, okay?
You haven’t met the family yet, but when you do, you’ll see.
The way her mom judges her? The way they treat her?
It’s unreal. I’ve been there for enough holidays and breaks to know it was toxic as hell.
That’s why Mickey wanted her here. He hated that he wasn’t there as a buffer.
So, just put yourself in his shoes for a second, ok?
He finally gets his sister out of a bad environment, and then he finds out she’s with you—a person who’s only ever antagonized him.
His gut reaction was to think you’d do the same to her. It’s what she's used to after all.”
“The fuck I would,” I say, doing my damnedest to rein in my anger.
“Then prove it. You say you’re going to treat Bridgette right, then I’ll believe you. But I’ll also be watching.”
We stare at each other for a minute before he turns his gaze to the clock on the wall. “Take care of her,” he says, patting me on the shoulder and then walking out.
Taking care of Bridgette is all I want to do. I just need everyone to get the hell out of my way so I can do it.