Chapter Twenty-One
Denis
“Hey, Denis. How’s it going? How was your night?” Rip was sitting on the bench, strapping on his pads.
I pulled my jersey over my head and secured my hair in a tight bun. “Pretty damn good. And yours?”
“We had Tag and Sterling for dinner.”
“Oh? How’d that go?” I buckled on my chest protector. “Tag’s very…cheerful.” The look Rip gave me told me all I needed to know, and I suppressed a smile. “The man is on a perpetual high. Always in a good mood.”
“God, I hate those kinds of people,” Rip groused.
We snickered, and a warm feeling settled in my chest. I sat beside Rip and nudged his shoulder. “It’s good, you know. You and me, I mean. I’m very happy you didn’t hold my bad behavior against me and we’re now friends.”
Rip’s eyes softened, the lines around them more pronounced than when we first met. Then again, I wasn’t a young stud any longer either.
“I’m glad too. People make mistakes, but they deserve a second chance. I learned that with my father.”
“Sometimes they do, mon ami. But there are some mistakes one can’t forget or forgive. They create scars that never heal.”
Solemn-faced, Rip stopped putting on his equipment and set it between us on the bench. “Is that what happened with you and your family? I know there must be reasons why you never mention them. The only one you keep in contact with is your old coach, Gil.”
My lips formed a brittle smile ready to crack at any moment. “As far as I’m concerned, I have no family.”
The rest of the team walked by us, getting ready for practice, their voices rising and falling as they put on their equipment. Music played in the background, but Rip and I remained oblivious, and he reached out and squeezed my wrist.
“How come we never talked like this when we were together?” he asked, and I patted his cheek.
“I don’t know. You never told me about your father either. Neither of us was forthcoming. We shared a bed, but that was all. Eventually, it wasn’t enough.”
“Our timing was wrong,” Rip said, rueful but quiet.
“Perhaps,” I conceded. “Or maybe…I didn’t know who I was yet to admit I wasn’t ready to be with one person. I’m just sorry to have hurt you in the process.”
“It takes courage to say that.” Rip tilted his head and regarded me with thoughtful eyes. “You’ve changed recently. You’re more self-aware. A little more humble.”
“Don’t make me out to be a paragon, mon ami.” I snickered. “I’m still the best in the league. And faster than you on the ice.”
“The hell you say, you bastard. Them’s fightin’ words.”
We finished suiting up, and Ellis and I took to the net, taking one-on-ones and pile-ups in front.
We practiced with the whole team, and afterward had lunch and watched films of the Drifts.
Coach went over the plays for the upcoming game, stressing where we were weak and the Drifts liked to come for us.
I hit the gym for a hard workout followed by PT. Hutch checked me out, prodding my groin area and ribs.
“No pain or stiffness?”
I winked. “Only when it counts.”
Hutch rolled his eyes. “You’re a real comedian, Denis. Do us all a favor and stick to your real job, just sayin’.”
“Hey. Use it or lose it.”
“Say that to my wife’s face,” Hutch teased.
“No way. She’d cook my balls for dinner. How is Carole?”
“She’s great. Sends her love. My little boy, Michael, says he wants to be a goalie like you.”
“Not a docteur like his papa?”
Laughing, Hutch shook his head. “Nope. He wants a goalie stick for Christmas, and we’ve promised to send him to hockey camp. He’s pretty fast already and is doing great in the Hockey Tots League. He’s ready to move up now.”
“I’d better get ready. He’s coming for me. Next time you bring him to the game, make sure you come see me, and I’ll have something special for him.”
“Thanks, I will.” He collected his instruments. “I’d keep the compression shorts on for at least another month, and make sure you continue with the PT. You’re doing great.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
Late in the day, I left the arena for home, and where I’d once hit up the clubs, now all I wanted was a nap.
“Maybe you are an old man after all,” I muttered and climbed into my car. Downtown Brooklyn traffic was its predictable snarl of pedestrians, cars, and buses, and the ten-minute drive turned into twenty-five before I walked through my front door. “Damn, next time I should walk.”
I called in for dinner and ate without tasting. Alone, it didn’t matter much what was on my plate. I used food for fuel and nothing more. To properly share a meal, I’d wait for the weekend—Saturday night after the game, to be exact—to sit across the table from Sterling.
Between my injury and spending time with Sterling, I’d neglected checking in on Gil.
The years of playing hockey had wrecked his knees and hips to the point where arthritis had made it too painful for him to walk.
No operations had helped him, and he was mostly confined to a wheelchair now.
On the days I visited, I took him for walks to the pretty lake on the premises.
I stretched out on the couch for a nice chat. “Gil? C’est moi, Denis. Comment ca va? How is it going?”
“Bien, bien. So good to hear your voice, mon fils. I’ve been watching your play since your injury. It’s all good now, eh?”
“Yes. Tout va bien. I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while.” In the off-season I drove up to see him every week. Arthritis had taken away his mobility, but his mind remained sharp, and he had his cronies with whom he could play cards and talk hockey.
“You’re a busy man—road trips and television. A superstar.”
It was one thing to boast among your peers, but hearing Gil say the words made me cringe. “Not quite, but I’m happy with how we’re playing. I think with this next stretch, we can regain first place.”
“I think so too. Although those pesky Drifts have been your nemesis, pas vrai?” He chuckled, and I joined in.
“You are correct. They love to play the spoiler. Time to teach them a lesson once and for all.”
“That’s the spirit. I have to say, I’m very impressed with how quickly you came back from your injury. I’m glad you listened to your doctors.”
“Someone once told me to play hockey, not the hero. A very wise man, in fact.” We shared a laugh. “Now enough about me. How are you feeling? I’m sure you’re taking your own advice and doing what your therapists tell you to.”
“Bah. I’m an old man. They should let me live out my days in peace.”
My heart squeezed. “You have many years ahead of you. Plus, I need you around for when we win our third Cup in a row. I expect you to be in the stands.” He stayed silent for so long, I thought we’d gotten disconnected. “Gil? Es-tu là?”
He grunted. “I debated whether to tell you or not, but you should know. Your parents…they called me after your injury.”
My voice stayed steady even as my stomach cramped. “Did they? How did they find you?”
“C’est pas pertinent. They asked what I knew and if I’d spoken to you. How you were recovering.”
“And you said what?” I tried to remain nonchalant, but it was hard to catch my breath.
“I told them they should call you if they wanted the answer.”
“I received no calls. So they weren’t too concerned.” I found myself unable to sit still, and started pacing.
“They obviously watch your games.”
I choked on the bitterness of my laughter.
“How nice for them. They can brag about their son the hockey player out of one side of their mouth, while telling me I will burn in hell from the other side.” I stopped in front of the window and placed my forehead against the cool windowpane.
“Twenty years, Gil. Twenty years of silence. Am I supposed to care that they called?”
A sigh filled my ear. “C’est affreux de détester tes parents, mon fils. But it was a terrible thing you endured, and I understand.”
“I’m not sure you do. I held back from telling you the worst of the abuse—the constant slurs, how week after week they forced me to sit and read from the Bible well past midnight until my eyes burned from lack of sleep.
My father would sit face-to-face with me and say I was going to burn in hell.
That I was dirty, wrong, a disgrace. And Maman, she let it happen.
She’d sit and pray on the rosary all night long.
You saved my life, Gil. You and Mary were more parents to me than my own flesh and blood.
They didn’t ask me for my side of what happened in Georges’s bedroom.
They believed him, and that was it. I was condemned and judged. ”
“I am so sorry.”
“It is fine. I am fine now.” Chest heaving as if I’d run miles, I gazed out the window. Twinkling lights popped up in the lavender haze of twilight in the city. “I live a wonderful life. I have the career I’d dreamed about, a beautiful apartment, and good friends.”
“And love? What of that?”
“Always the romantic,” I said with a smile, almost echoing what Sterling had said to me that morning. It would be late by the time he finished work, but it didn’t matter. I had to see him, needed to, and made a mental note to text him whether it would be his apartment or mine.
“Love can do wonders to heal the heart.”
I had to remember this was Gil and not snort in his ear or call him a fool. “Even a lover can’t help when some things are broken beyond repair.”
“You are too wonderful a person to be alone all the time.”
I didn’t think it was necessary or that Gil would appreciate hearing about all my bed partners or failed love affairs.
He’d liked Rip, and I knew he’d hoped we’d stay together.
In contrast, he’d never thought much of Gordie.
And now there was Sterling. A man completely different from any other I’d ever been with.
The only man to whom I’d bared my heart as well as my body.
And because I wasn’t sure where we stood, I said nothing to Gil. I didn’t want another failure.
“Thank you for the compliment, but at the moment all my focus has to be on regaining first place and winning games. We want to win three Cups in a row.”
“I think you can do it, but it won’t be easy. Trades and drafts have made other teams stronger than last year.”
“Ah, Gil.” I sighed. “I wish you’d come live closer to me—my building even. You could attend all the games. You could have anything you wanted.”
“Non, mon fils. I need the quiet and serenity, not the hustle-bustle. I’m not far away. You have been as beloved to me as if you were my own blood. No matter what happens with your parents, you will always have me.”
I wiped my face. “Je t’aime, Papa.”
“We will talk again soon. Have a good night.”
“Sleep well.”
I watched night fall over the river. From my perch high above, I followed the twisting ribbons of taillights on the highway as they traveled across the sparkle of the Brooklyn Bridge necklace.
At one point it had filled me with awe—so many people living so many different lives to form one city.
I had to go, do, be part of it, or else I’d be missing out.
But now? I wasn’t ready to give up playing hockey, but I was tired of the scene. I’d had my wild nights. Now I wanted a place to call home and someone who looked forward to seeing me walk through the door.
I checked my phone and frowned at Sterling’s silence. But knowing how his focus was strictly on work, I shouldn’t be surprised. My conversation with Gil had cut into news viewing time—a.k.a. Sterling Forest—but I could still catch the end.
I hit the remote and flicked until I came to Channel 8. Sterling’s face filled my seventy-five-inch screen, and I grinned. “Mmm, looks like you managed to cover all my love bites. Should I take that as a challenge for later?” I sat and listened to his deep baritone, admiring his handsome face.
“It’s time to turn to sports, with our own Tag Gold. What do you have for us tonight, Tag?”
The golden-haired man bopped his curly head up and down.
“Thanks, Sterling. Our Brooklyn Blades are off tonight, but they’re gearing up for what promises to be an intense game against the Portland Drifts, a team that always seems to give them a hard time.
They need to make up wins for the weeks their superstar goalie, Bouvier, was out with his groin injury. ”
“You think so, Sunshine Boy?” I scoffed. “Why don’t you try skating in our shoes one night and see?”
He finished off the rest of the segment without any further digs at us, and Sterling took over again.
“Coming up tonight at ten, Adrian Hunt will be reporting on a city-council vote to ban outdoor fruit markets, as some call it a health hazard.” Sterling gazed straight into the camera.
“This is Sterling Forest. Have a great evening and an even better tomorrow.”
I cleaned up, did some stretches, and took a shower. Another check of my phone, but my messages remained empty.
“What the fuck? I’m sure you have some time to acknowledge me.”
I decided to hell with it and packed an overnight bag for his place.
Around 10:15 I called for a car, and a half hour later, it let me out in front of his building on Central Park West. I no longer had to guess how Sterling could afford such a pricy address.
Obviously, it was part of the money his mother had given him.
Neither of us won the parent jackpot for sure.
I settled the strap on my shoulder, and after greeting the doorman, walked inside.
The concierge was the same as the previous night, and his brows shot up as he recognized me.
“Oh, hello, sir. Mr. Forest isn’t here.”
“I know.” I flashed an easy, buddy-buddy smile, as if we were compadres. “I was hoping you’d let me sit and wait. I’m a bit early.”
“Sure, sure. No problem.” He waved me toward the lounge area, and I sat on the overstuffed velvet couch, facing the door.
Fifteen minutes passed before Sterling walked in, greeting the doorman. I rose to my feet, and he met my eyes even as the concierge announced my presence.
“Mr. Forest—”
“Thanks, Leon. I see.”
I met him halfway. “Hey. I texted a few times, but you didn’t answer.”
He evaded eye contact. “Yes, well, sorry, it was a busy day.”
Something was definitely up. “Can we go upstairs?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. It’s late, and—”
“And unless you want to have this discussion in your lobby, I think we’re going up because I’m not leaving until you tell me what the hell is going on.” This bullshit wasn’t going to fly with me.
Sterling’s face remained impassive, but he gave me a sharp nod, and I followed him to the elevators. We entered his apartment and I dropped my bag on the floor, folded my arms, and stood in front of him.
“What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t even meet my eyes, his head hung low, and his voice was a shadow of the strength he’d projected on screen. “I’m not sure we should keep seeing each other.”