Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Olivia
April is a rough month for me. No matter how prepared I think I am for the emotional warfare that awaits, I always cry enough
tears to rival the puddles of melted snow that decorate the city’s landscape. The ground thaws and I harden with bitterness.
Every anniversary is another painful reminder of the finality of my dad’s life—his death, his funeral, boxing up his clothes
and donating them to the local Goodwill, shutting off his phone, finishing the last of his favorite cereal that used to always
be stocked in the cupboard, canceling the specialty cable TV programs. He didn’t die once; he kept dying. Every irreversible
action was another small death.
It sounds ridiculous to mourn the NHL package, but much of my most cherished time spent with him was watching the hockey games.
Before his headaches were inescapable and back when the ringing would let up long enough to enjoy conversation, we would sit
together and watch the Freeze play.
He did it for me. I know now how painful it must have been to sit and watch the game that took so much from him.
To see others doing what he was born to do.
He would break down plays for me and explain the game in detail in a way only someone who has experienced it would know.
And for a fleeting moment, he was happy.
At least I like to think he was, because I know those were the happiest moments of my life.
We canceled the NHL package on April 15th, before the next billing cycle took effect. I sobbed into my pillow because it was
the only thing available to absorb such excessive tears.
Eventually, the deaths became smaller and further apart. I felt a big one when it was announced that Brody signed with the
Freeze. And an even bigger one when he told me he loved me. I want so badly to tell my dad about Brody. I want to tell my
dad that I stood up to Erik Parker and told him off, then I want to gush about Brody ad nauseam. He’s nothing like his dad, you’d love him, I would say. I wish I could talk to my dad right now, but instead I’m trying to put on a happy face as Brody leads me blindfolded
from his car to a special surprise date.
“Take off your blindfold,” Brody says, letting go of my hand.
I pull up the sleeping mask he uses on the team’s plane and blink rapidly, refocusing my eyes. He snuck me into the public
library after hours and has a picnic set up on the floor in the same clearing where he delivered his compelling speech on
children’s novels. His audience is gone, and all that’s left is us and a room full of stories. Two beanbag chairs sit in the
center of a blanket surrounded by the essentials needed for a perfect date.
He tilts his head toward the space, welcoming me to step into the world he’s created for us. Like a kid rushing to secure
a swing at recess, I run over and crash into a beanbag. Brody chases after me, falling down onto the other. I sink into the
mysterious comforting innards of the bagged chair, letting it mold around my frame as it makes way for me. Much like Brody,
it’s the perfect place to rest.
Spread out in front of us, Brody has prepared a variety of Korean dishes his mom’s been teaching him to make, and for after, some of our favorite snacks.
Fairy lights hang from the ceiling like stars.
The quietest place in the world just got quieter.
Hidden in here, we’re only two people in all of existence tonight.
“You’re not going to make me write a book report, are you?” I ask jokingly.
Brody gets to work uncorking a bottle of wine, while I ready two glasses. “No, but I have something for you to read.”
“Parker Perfection?” I joke.
“Absolutely not.” Brody laughs. The cork slips from the bottle with a suctioned pop. “It’s a social media post. I guess more
of an announcement. I’m changing my last name to Lee and I’m going to post it after the last regular season game.”
“Wow.” A piece of spicy cucumber goes down the wrong pipe and I break into a coughing fit. “That’s a big decision.” I choke
out the words.
“Not for me, but it will be for everyone else. I want you to be the first to read it because you get me. The real me. Not
the hockey player everyone thinks they know.”
My mind spirals over the words real me. I gulp down mouthfuls of wine, hoping to drown out the guilt in my stomach that churns mercilessly.
What about me? Does Brody know the real me? He might not know my real last name or the reason I’m a natural at hockey, but
I’m more honest around him than I’ve ever been with anyone else. I discreetly pinch the flesh of my arm between my fingers,
hoping the pain I feel in my heart can be overthrown, but now I’ve got a heavy heart and a freshly forming bruise.
“Here,” Brody says, handing over his phone. He tucks a loose tuft of shaggy hair behind his ear.
In the Notes app, Brody has constructed a short statement.
This season has been transformative. I’ve evolved not only as a player, but also as a person. As part of my evolution, I am
dropping the Parker last name, from my life and my jersey. The next time you see me, call me Brody Lee. I might have gotten
a head start in hockey because of my father’s legacy, but I’ve put in the work to outskate its shadow.
It’s brief but the sentiment is powerful enough to choke me up. Not wanting to upset Brody, I fight back tears. “Looks like
I’ll need a Freeze jersey with your new last name on it,” I say, handing back his phone.
He smiles softly. “That can be arranged. You looked so good in my last one, you’ll look even better wearing my new one.”
My smile strains under the weight of my lies.
Brody’s homemade bibimbap offers a tasty distraction; with every bite, I remind myself that I am an unworthy recipient of
its comfort. We sprawl on our beanbag chairs, ignoring the “quiet” signs hung in every viewpoint while we exchange hearty
belly laughs.
Between bites and drinks, we exchange funny stories.
Inching closer together both physically and emotionally with every embarrassing childhood confession.
He tells me about the time he jumped out on the ice for his rookie lap and skated into the wrong end of the rink.
He took a shot on the visitor’s net, sending the puck into the back of it.
It caused a big commotion and reporters claimed he was being cocky: “Erik Parker’s protégé already claiming what is his before the first puck drop.
” Truth was, he was so nervous he accidentally skated the wrong way.
After that mistake, he had no choice but to score in his first ever NHL shift.
He was awarded first star of the game and decided to never tell his secret—until tonight.
I tell him that my dad used to drive Tori and me over to Edina for Halloween every year because the hoity-toity neighborhood
was known for handing out full-size chocolate bars. If you went late enough and all the chocolate was gone, nice women with
freshly highlighted hair would reach into their designer handbags and slip you a dollar or two. I took all my collected chocolate
bars and ate only one—saving the others and selling them to friends at school and to parents at hockey games. I bought myself
a bike with the money. The freedom those two wheels offered was sweeter than any treat.
We eat and laugh until our bellies hurt and we can’t tell which is the culprit. I remain wrapped in his arms as we share a
beanbag. I’m close enough to hear the thumps of his heart and ride the rise and fall of his chest, yet I want to be closer.
If there was a door I could open and crawl inside, I would. Like a house, I’d walk right in and exclaim, “I’m home.” We lie
together quietly, surrounded by millions of silent words.
Silence has always been a scary place to sit, until Brody came and sat with me. In the quiet, my mind always finds the darkest
corners to rest. Brody is like a ray of light that has shown me there really wasn’t anything to be scared of in the first
place.
“April is usually filled with bad memories, but tonight you gave me something good I’ll remember forever.” I stare up at him
from the spot I’ve claimed as mine in the crook of his neck.
A single tear drips from my eye, trickling down my cheek at a snail’s pace. Brody tucks his chin and presses his lips to the
tear, his kiss absorbing it. For the moment, the stabbing sadness is gone.
He tightens his grip on me, saying, “I love you.”
I press my lips to his warm musky neck and taste his skin. “I love you more.” My words vibrate against his flesh and the buzz tickles my bottom lip.
Brody tilts my head up, his eyes swallowing me whole. My sadness dissolves in his protective embrace. When he presses his
mouth against mine, the only thing on my mind is getting closer to him. His tongue swirls inside my mouth softly, teasing
me because I know he’s capable of more and I want all of him. His hands tighten in my hair, and mine are fussing with the
buttons of his pants. I get them undone and slip my hand down the front of his underwear. He’s firm in my hand, and gasps
into my mouth when I give his shaft a squeeze and gentle tug.
Brody breaks our kiss, but only to lift his shirt overhead and toss it off to the side. I follow suit, and in the time it
takes me to tuck my hair behind my ears, he’s reached around and unclasped my bra. I’ll never tire of that trick. He watches
me slide off my pants like I’m something he’s about to devour. Like I’m made for him.
“What?” I ask, lying beside him in my underwear.
“You’re beautiful.” He runs his fingertips down my sternum. My nipples harden as he traces over them. Goose bumps sprout all
over my body. Time stands still with Brody. And I’m grateful it does. I could be here tangled up with him forever and still
be left wanting more of him.
He ditches what’s left of his clothing but pulls a blanket over us. Kissing Brody feels like being hit by car—I would know.
It’s a full-body experience, with a dizzying effect powerful enough to disorient. My legs are like spaghetti, flopping open
as he moves on top of me. His hard dick presses between my legs and I feel myself swell beneath its weight. I’m impatient
when he’s this close to my opening. He loves to watch me squirm in anticipation.
The eye contact is so strong I forget how to blink. I almost forget how to speak too but after a gulp I say, “Please. Please, fuck me.” My voice breaks and I tremble.
Looking down at me with a heavy gaze, he shakes his head. “I want to go slow this time.”
He starts at my mouth and begins to slowly kiss down the length of my body, eventually disappearing beneath the blanket. I
press my eyes shut as he savors each kiss along the way. He teases me with pressed lips on the insides of my thighs, slowly
inching closer and closer to my center. He kisses my clit and the pleasure shoots through me, causing me to involuntarily
shake. He holds me in place, digging his big hands into the flesh of my thighs, as his tongue firmly rubs up and down on my
clit. He sucks and kisses and licks until I moan out in pleasure. He slowly makes his way back up, and I take his tongue in
my mouth, tasting myself, dazed with pleasure, drunk off his touch.
He presses himself against the slick opening of my pussy, and I take a deep breath. As I exhale, he guides himself inside
me. My fingernails dig into his back and I moan out his name. “Brody.”
“I love you.” His voice is hoarse.
“I love you.” We exchange the words like we’re exchanging breaths.
Brody is a man of his word. He thrusts in and out of me slowly and with intention. I feel everything. The weight of his body
pressed on mine. The heat of his breath on my neck. The friction of his hands running over me and into my hair. I can’t get
enough of his touch—I can’t get enough of him. He watches me the entire time, studying my face to see what I like and what
he needs to continue doing to make me orgasm.
“You’re so perfect,” he says. I feel myself getting closer to the edge with each thrust. “Come with me, baby,” he pleads breathily.
With locked eyes, I let myself release. My body convulses beneath him as he continues to thrust in and out of me. He moans
in my ear and together we finish.
While he’s still inside me, he kisses the cap of my shoulder and across my collarbone, tickling his way up my neck. I regain
a bit of composure when he finally pulls out, but I still hold him snug. We pull the blanket higher, tucking ourselves in
as we settle into place together. I wish we could hide here forever.