Chapter Four - Brooks
CHAPTER FOUR
Brooks
The thud of my phone hitting the wall, and then the floor of my living room is the only sound as my thoughts crash against one another.
It’s been 8 days since I packed my shit into a suitcase in my apartment in downtown Calgary and came back to town. 12 days since my trainer and the team doctor told me to take a break from playing. 14 days since that fucker plowed in to me, shoving me into the boards and fucking my shoulder and messing up my knee in the finals of the fucking Stanley Cup. About 10 minutes since my coach told me I probably won’t be playing at the start of next season either after discussing my latest scans and test results with my trainer and doctor unless we hoped for a miracle.
And about 2 minutes since my agent told me that because I can’t play hockey right now, the only thing keeping me relevant is the fact that I’m an eligible bachelor, as if my whole career is already over and that’s all I have going for me, so I should be focusing on keeping that title.
I scrape a hand down my face, exasperated, my beard rough against my palm, reminding me I haven’t even trimmed it since the whole end-of-my-career shit happened .
I close my eyes in the hopes that this is a nightmare and that as soon as my eyes reopen I’ll be back with the team at the rink waiting for coach to berate us for another disaster play.
When I reopen them, I’m still looking at my phone on the floor in front of me. Not a nightmare.
I limp my way down the hallway to the front door of my house leaving my cellphone on the floor where it lay, probably broken — there’s nothing anyone could say to me right now that I’d want to hear anyway — and grab the keys to my truck on the way.
I’ve had this truck since I was 17 and it was, and still is, my pride and joy even though I could buy this thing brand new a hundred times over by now, and even though I live in Calgary, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving this thing behind; this old girl comes with me everywhere.
I relax back in to my seat as I cruise down Highcliff Street, there’s nothing like coming home and seeing this place with a fresh set of eyes every once in a while. You definitely forget about it when you stay here too long.
The run down buildings and the slow businesses during off peak seasons make this place seem dull but it’s not until you sit back and look at the scenery and see it in the peak of summer to appreciate it.
I look back at my house in the rear view mirror and sigh. Boy, do I love that piece of shit. It’s a ranch style home, all old and weathered but my brother says it keeps me humble despite the size of it and it’s location. I’m the only house at the end of the street and the land around it, the staircase that leads down the cliff and to the beach below is also mine, though I’m not here enough to enforce trespassing signs or to even use the beach so I leave it open to the public.
I drive past the small strip of shops that I dropped that girl off at last week and look into the closed store, the windows now free of newspaper. The girl is standing in there, clutching what look like a stack of books to her chest and turning in slow circles looking around at the room.
Did I get her name? I can’t remember. That whole trip back to town is a fucking blur. What I do remember about her though is she’s got a whole lot of sass for someone so fucking short.
If anyone can even sympathize with what I have going on in my life right now, it would be my brother. He’s had his fair share of shit handed to him and he’s working through it so he’d get what I’m dealing with. He’d give me shit for it, but he’d get it.
Grayson owns a traditional pub on Main Street; once he came back to town after being deployed, he bought the place to give him something to do. I don’t know if the alcohol in the place is really helping him but it keeps him out of trouble at the very least.
I walk in and nod to all the regulars that have been coming here since before Grayson even bought the place, before we were even of legal age to drink. Fred is sat at the bar, probably just finished closing up the shop for the day.
I grab the stool next to him, slapping him on the back. “Fred, how’s it going, sir?”
He chokes on his sip of beer and wipes his chin. “Brooks, you scared the damn hell out of me!”
I hold both hands up, “Sorry old man.”
Fred’s a lifer, been in this town his whole life, his dad had been here his whole life too. He’s a staple in this town, as is the store, being passed down through generations. His kid’s up and left him, just like my parent’s did to me, so my brother and I have a special kind of relationship with the guy, he’s taken us under his wing I guess.
“I’m glad you’re back, boy. It’s been dull without you around here.”
He motions behind him to the group sitting by the front window that must have just caught his eye. A group of guys and a couple girls, very obviously tourists if the ‘I HEART PEIRPOINT VIEW’ sweatshirts are anything to go by. A couple of the guys whisper between each other and cast glances my way. I pull my ball cap further down on my head and sink even lower on the stool, my back completely facing them.
“You say that every time he comes back Fred,” a gruff voice interrupts. A scarred, tatted hand drops a bottle down in front of me, droplets of condensation falling to the stained bar top already.
“At least someone does, big brother,” I say, raising my bottle in my brother’s direction in greeting in thanks and take a sip.
“How comes you haven’t been round? John and Stevie say you got back a week ago,” Grayson asks.
“I’ve had some shit to deal with,” I say and take another sip.
“Don’t we all, boy,” Fred murmurs. “Say, you met Summer too, Gray?” Fred nods in Grayson’s direction, Gray shakes his head with a frown.
“Never heard of ‘em,” Gray says, polishing the glasses.
“Who’s Summer?” I ask.
Fred gives me an incredulous look, a frown then forming on his face, hand slapping against the stained bar top. “You tellin’ me you’ve forgotten that poor girls name already? Damn, do I feel bad for all those girlfriends of yours,” he says, shaking his head.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Not the point you were s’posed to get caught up on, kid.”
Gray interrupts, “This the girl who’s staying in the Taylor’s apartment?”
Fred nods. “Exactly.” He knocks back the rest of his beer and gestures at Gray for another.
A light comes on and my mind goes back to Summer, soaked down to her skin, hair wet, cold and a little bitchy. Cute, disheveled. Exactly the kind of girl I’d go after if my life wasn’t so fucked right now. My mind then drifts to her standing in the store, turning in circles in a little white dress and a bow in her hair. Cute. Pretty.
Fred breaks me from my thoughts. “Brooks should know the girl, he drove her to the fucking apartment.” He’s still shaking his head, he should be careful he doesn’t shake the fucking thing loose. “Well anyway, she’s made friends with our Alex—”
A glass breaks. I look up at Grayson, he’s just staring down at the shards on the floor, “You good, Gray?” He doesn’t move. “Gray?” I try again, and he flinches, drops down to pick up the broken pieces and goes into the back.
I sigh. “How’s he been, Fred?” I ask, concern and guilt for my brother kicking in. I haven’t been there for him as much as I should have been and thats on me.
“He could be better, doing some work with Alex here and there, get’s frustrated, she says.” Every time I’m away from town and working, I struggle with the fact that I’ve left my brother to deal with his shit himself and I hate that I’ve left my little sister just like my parents did to us .
A few more hours and more than a few drinks later, Archer joins us in the pub, freshly showered, hair wet, after finishing work for the day.
“I’m sorry to hear about the knee, dude.” Archer squeezes my shoulder in greeting, and sits down on the stool on the other side of me.
“Yeah, thanks, it’s the shoulder too, you asshole.” The squeeze sends a sharp pain down my arm and across my collarbone and I flinch, rolling my shoulder out, trying to alleviate the ache.
Archer laughs out loud, drawing the attention from the table in the window that are still here and just as many drinks down as I am. They’re getting more rowdy as the evening progresses and I’ve heard them discuss the Stanley Cup and I know I’ve been out of it lately, but I’m not an idiot to assume they know who I am based on that final game. In every other situation similar to this, it’s only a matter of time before they pluck up the courage to come over.
“Dude, will you shut up. It’s not that funny and it fucking hurt,” I grumble.
“Sorry, sorry! It was a fucking cheap shot, though, he could’ve fucking stopped,” He placates.
“Tell me about it.”
Grayson puts an ice cold bottle in front of Archer, goes to give one to me and I refuse and ask for a water instead.
Gray reappeared about 20 minutes after breaking that glass, there are some things he still has to deal with, I don’t question things like that when they happen and I trust he’s working through it and if he needed me, he’d ask.
“Hey, I just left Alex, she was telling me she better see you in session tomorrow,” Archer says to Gray.
Grayson stops short, “Why were you with Alex? ”
Archer takes a swig of his beer. “I just had to do a check in after her fire earlier this week—”
“What fire?” Gray puts down the cash he’d been handed by another patron, his full attention on Archer.
“Just a small one, we attended but she’d put it out by the time we got there.” Archer shrugs.
“How did it happen?”
“We think she left an incense burning.”
Sensing Grayson probably won’t give up until he gets the full story, Archer expands, “We think Gaia knocked it over and it fell into the curtain and caught the curtain on fire and that was it — sprinklers came on and Gaia got out but they’re both fine.
“Gaia got out?” Archer rolls his eyes at Grayson and so do I.
“Yes, and I will not be answering anymore questions about this Grayson. If you really want to know, go to your session tomorrow,” Archer challenges.
Grayson’s quiet for a couple seconds, before turning away and continuing what he was doing before.
Fred excuses himself to use the washroom, so I turn my attention to Archer. This is the first time I’ve seen him since I came home in December for a week over Christmas and he looks almost as stressed as me.
“You good, AJ?” I ask.
He shakes his head, looking at the bar, watching as he traces the grains in the wood with a finger nail. “It’s nothing, work is just stressful right now. It’s summer, there’s fires everywhere.”
Our area doesn’t get a lot of forest fires, but further east and even up north does, and it can mean our guys down here have to head out to help fight them and I can’t say it doesn’t scare me shitless that my best friend could have to go out and deal with it. “Have you had to go out?”
“Nah man, thank god. Others have though, one guys out of commission, got injured. We’ve just been short staffed, so I’m working more hours.” He takes another sip of beer.
“How are you really doing?” he asks me. Archer and I have known each other since we were still in diapers, there’s nothing much we can hide from the other these days.
“Apparently everyone thinks it’s the end of the road. I’m most definitely not even starting next season and my agent’s already talking about ways to keep me relevant,” I say, now wishing I’d taken Grayson up on the offer of another beer.
“Fuck, thats rough.”
“Sure is,” I mutter, lifting my cap to ruffle my hair.
Archer is spinning his bottle around and goes to say something but before he can, we’re interrupted.
“Hey, you’re Brooks Freeman?” a male voice interrupts.
I turn to look over my shoulder and see one of the guys from the table behind us.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answer, turning back to Archer whose eyes keep flicking from me to the guy over my shoulder. If I were back in Calgary or even in a better fucking mood, I wouldn’t be so dismissive but I just cannot do this right now.
“No, I know it’s you dude!” he argues, then shouts over to his friends “Hey, it’s really him! It’s Brooks Freeman!”
I groan as I hear the scrape of chair legs against wooden floor.
“No way, dude, it’s really him,” another voice pipes up, I hear a couple more murmurs about taking a photo with me and then a hand grabs on to my bad shoulder causing a hiss to leave my mouth and Archer to stand up.
“Hey buddy, calm it down. This is not the place.” Archer’s voice is calm but authoritative — the kind of voice you need to help in an emergency — but this guy’s more than a few drinks down and he is not responding.
The rest of the people at the fan’s table start coming over and a few other intrigued guests join them too and a commotion starts, more people start joining in with the comments and I can hear my name being passed around the room like a fucking hockey puck.
Unlucky for them, Grayson doesn’t put up with this kind of shit in his pub. He’s my big brother and his establishment has been a no-fan zone ever since I was recognized in my rookie year and a fight nearly broke out.
“Out.” Gray’s voice could be heard throughout the whole pub, anyone not paying attention before, would be now. Gray’s got that commanding presence and natural authority which got him to where he was in the Navy before he came home.
“Come on, what are you? His bodyguard? Jesus, at least let him sign my shirt!” the first guy argues, putting his hand out one more time to reach me, which was the wrong move. Grayson grabs his arm from across the bar, folding a grown man into a restraint so effortlessly in a blink of an eye.
He leans down and whispers something only the guy can hear, and eventually Gray let’s him go.
The guy gets up, his face pale, avoiding the eyes of me and his friends. “I’m sorry,” He mutters to me and leaves. His friends lag behind, following the guy out, confused looks covering their faces, not sure what the hell happened.
“Thanks Gray.” I sigh.
“Told you we’d keep your life here a secret, we’ re going to keep it that way,” Gray answers as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
I have to give it to the town. Their protectiveness over me having a private life here is admirable and I owe them a hell of a lot.