Chapter 18
LEAH
Until now, there has never been a time when I didn’t want to go home.
Or I should say, go to where I live. My apartment in Omaha is hardly a home.
My real home smells subtly like peppers and onions, lemon, butter and sugar.
It’s where the radio is always on softly in the background, tuned to a Colombian channel Dad hooked up via satellite.
The laundry machine is usually running, though now that Mom has a room dedicated entirely to the washer and dryer, she left behind the thud, thud, thud of the drum rolling unevenly in the old machine in the duplex’s basement.
Home is where my family is.
Now, that’s in the fancy house on Stowells. But it used to be right across the street from the patch of grass that calls itself a park.
And of all people, Hudson is sitting on the bench.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
His tone is of honest surprise when he answers. “I’m not sure.”
I lower onto the cracked wooden slat next to him and draw my knees to my chest. “Me neither.”
As if speaking aloud his stream of consciousness, Hudson says, “My mom once said our father was in a band. I guess that’s what may have been what inspired Hunter.”
“Was she a groupie?”
He rubs his hand down his face. “No, more like a one-night kind of thing. She moved to the US from Sweden after she found out she was pregnant because her sister lived in Cobbiton. At the time, there was a decent-sized Swedish community here. She never liked it. Always had stars in her eyes. At her first chance, she left town.”
“Sounds familiar. Is she back overseas? Have you seen her?”
“A few times. The last time I was there for a hockey summit, I took her out to dinner. She left without saying goodbye. She ghosted just like Hunter.”
“That’s rude,” I say bluntly.
“Wasn’t the first time.”
As I think about how thankful I am for my crazy family, Hudson tells me that he went to a restaurant in Omaha tonight and the server said he looked like the former dishwasher. His twin comes to mind. Has been circulating there a lot lately. Hudson too.
“I think about him a lot,” I say.
“I don’t.”
I look sharply at Hudson.
“I used to. But he kind of faded,” he says flatly.
“Some brother,” I mutter.
Hudson angles himself toward me and his knee bumps mine. It’s like a stamp of warmth, then he doesn’t move it. “Before you judge me, I tried, Leah. I really, really tried. Poured my first NHL check into him and Swiss Vinegar.”
I let out a sudden laugh. “I forgot that was the name of the band. It sounds so cheesy now.”
“Ya think? When I moved to Boston and Hunter went to New York, I visited him and he was sleeping in someone’s car. Made him come north and live with me for a while. The rest of the band followed him. It’s almost like they worshipped him and I think he fed off it.”
My gaze on him softens because I wasn’t expecting that and a deep, young part of me identifies with that odd notion. “Seriously?”
“Of course. He’s my brother.” Hudson wears a pained smile.
I confess, “I gave up after he stopped answering my calls and texts.”
“He sold his phone. Probably stopped paying the bill. Lost the number.”
I don’t know all the details, but it sounds like Hunter went down a dark path.
“He’d stay out all night and sleep all day. Then the random derelict band members he called friends made themselves at home in my condo. Ate my food. Burned a hole in my couch. Someone spray-painted the bathroom mirror.”
“Whoa.”
“Said they were song lyrics. I kicked them out. Let him stay. Made him promise to get it together. When I was traded to Miami, I had to have the condo entirely redone. But he came along. I was hopeful the sunnier skies would help. Things were okay for a minute. Then he robbed me. Took everything valuable—not that I had much beyond basic household items like cutlery from Bed, Bath & Beyond. But still. Haven’t seen him since. ”
I’m quiet for a beat because I wasn’t expecting to hear this either. Although twins, the brothers were always separate entities.
Hudson had hockey, Hunter had a new hobby every month.
Hudson was a good student, but Hunter begged to copy my homework.
Hudson’s dark, thick hair was and still is stylishly tousled and Hunter spent hours spiking his to pointy perfection with gel. Wait. Why am I thinking about Hudson’s hair?
He says, “I’ve never told anyone that.”
I try to think about Hunter’s positive qualities. “He was a good listener.”
Hudson arches an eyebrow. “If his hoodie was up, he was listening to music.”
“That’s true.”
“He used to try to play the guitar with his eyes closed.”
“Never mind nails on a chalkboard. More like a mosquito in the ear. It was the worst.”
I chuckle. “It really was. And those paintings.”
“They were like the scribblings of a child.”
“Yet we encouraged him,” I say with a mite of guilt.
“Lest we risk a full-on meltdown.”
“It’s like he was always on the outside looking in.”
Hudson nods. “Yeah. Never thought about it like that. I think he showed us two different versions of himself. You got Dr. Jekyll. I got Mr. Hyde.”
I open and close my mouth, unsure what to say because Hudson is speaking truth to all of the things that I’ve never been able to.
I was afraid that if I let myself think poorly of Hunter, that would explain why he never wanted to move from friendship to more and that would point too starkly at my own supposed deficiencies.
The distinction in this conversation is that Hudson is not trashing his brother. There’s affection in his tone—a kind of brotherly love.
I say, “This conversation should be weird.”
Hudson’s eyes float to mine, devastatingly dark but inviting like he’ll tell me his secrets if I ask. Whereas Hunter’s eyes were sly like he’d take his to the grave.
Softly, I confess, “Looking back, I didn’t realize it then, but it was like if I could just make him like me enough, he’d see that he was better than he let himself believe—”
“Or maybe you were just attracted to the bad boy.”
“Rather than the boy next door.” I belatedly realize how that sounds.
He shakes his head slowly. “Leah, we all did what we could. Maybe except for my mother. She was in her own world. I don’t understand what went wrong or why he made the choices he did. I may never. But I’ll always love him.”
Liquid fills my eyes. “Yeah, me too.”
Inspiration sparks and I tell him I want to help them to reunite and a plan forms in my mind, but I’ll have to carry it out on the sly, given the trepidation in his expression.
“Thanks, but …” Hudson shakes his head. “Short of hiring someone to track him down, I don’t know how you’d achieve that.”
“Anything is possible. Then again, I also believed we were best friends. I never understood why he shut me out.”
“Define friend.”
“Like literally from the dictionary?”
“What does it mean to you?”
“Oh, um, loyalty, you’re there when you need each other and even when you don’t. You listen to each other and only offer advice when it’s in their best interest rather than what they want to hear. So always tell the truth.”
Hudson is either thinking about my answer or his brother, underscoring the quiet early fall night.
Looking at the duplex, which is worse for wear, I say, “So you had houses in Boston and Miami?”
“Houston, too. Still own them all, so I have options if things don’t work out here with the Knights.”
“You mean if you get traded back to one of your previous teams? That’s not likely.”
“Nor is my contract being renewed after this season,” Hudson says so softly I almost don’t hear him.
I lean in. “That’s ridiculous.”
“But true.”
I shake my head and get to my feet. “No, Hudson. Nuh-uh.”
He tucks his chin in surprise.
“Nope. You’re not doing this. I love Beau and Margo. He’s a grump but a great goalie. You are, too, but there’s no way someone besides one of you is going to stand in front of that net.”
“Thanks for the punch of positive thinking,” he says dismally.
“Bro,” I say, harkening back to the days when I was just one of the boys and we’d play street hockey about three yards away from this bench.
“Dude.”
Nostrils flared, I glare at him. “Hudson Emil Roboveitchek, it sounds to me like you’ve given up.”
He stiffens as if surprised to hear me call him by his full name or that I know it. Some things just stick with you. “I haven’t, but I am preparing for reality.”
I grip his arm and tug him toward his truck.
I’m the tallest person in my family, so I’m generally used to maneuvering them when, for instance, Valentina stands too long in front of the stove “testing” Mami’s sauce or my brother parks himself in front of the television when the game is on, or Dani gazes into the refrigerator as if what she’s craving will magically appear.
Even though Hudson is a solid mass of muscle, he lets me tow him toward his truck …
then he somehow slides his hand into mine.
My instinct is to draw it away, slap him on the arm, and run down the street shouting, No! Now I have cooties! But I get the sense he needs a friend to lean on, a hand to hold right now.
Pausing in front of his truck, he holds our hands up and looks at them for a long moment as if only realizing what’s transpired. We both drop the grip and shuffle awkwardly under the street light.
After a big exhale, Hudson says, “Thanks for that.”
“For what? You have no idea what I have in store for you,” I say, referring to my just now hatched plan to not let him give up on his goalie dreams.
He tilts his head toward our recently occupied bench. “Talking to me about all that. I usually work it out on the ice, but I appreciate that you listened. That you understand.”
Does that make us friends? I remind myself that I’m his secret adversary.
Breezing past what I tell myself was a case of trauma bonding and not us becoming friends as I defined it earlier, I ask, “Do you have your Palace pass?”
He nods. “In the glove-box.”
“Follow me and if you don’t, I know where you live, so no evasive maneuvering.”
His eyes light with amusement. “You do?”
Realizing that sounds like an admission of guilt given my recent gnome delivery, I say, “The Badaszeks’ newest neighbor on Golden Bantam Lane.”
“Yep. Right across the street. The house comes complete with a garage and a hot tub.” He waggles his eyebrows.
Is he suggesting that I already know this or that we take a dip? Not wanting to know the answer, I hastily get in my car.
Hunter calls to me, “Are we going on a side quest?”
“More like the main mission.” I realize how absurd this might seem, but guilt is powerful.
I gave up on one brother, I won’t let this one wash his career down the drain.
I’ve spent most of my life around hockey and as a superfan.
Hudson has true talent and skill, which is a combination that’s tough to come by and even harder to cultivate.
Resolved, I add, “Coach wanted me to give you figure skating lessons and I think I know why.”
Biting down on his smile, he says, “I kinda sorta can’t wait to see what happens next.”
I slam the door and take off for the arena as a stupid little surge of excitement follows me all the way there.