Chapter 4
Four
Lucas
The door to Preston and my apartment hits the wall with a loud thud. I wince at the noise and pull the door back to get a look at the wall. I run my fingers over the spot where the cream paint has begun to chip, revealing the light gray that used to be there.
I really need to start being more careful about that. I’ve already gotten my ass chewed out by Preston once or twice before—maybe even monthly—for this exact thing.
Dropping my duffel bag onto the floor, I kick my shoes off and shove them into the same corner in our entryway. I’m already flicking on the hallway light switch and taking the few steps to the thermostat before it even has a chance to switch back on.
Preston might be fine with living in a meat locker but I most certainly am not.
My feet carry me past the entryway where I trip over the white and gray rug that I thought would be a good idea to keep the gray wood tile clean.
Now we just have a rug that’s dirty most of the time because neither one of us wants to clean it.
But hey, the rest of the floor remains near spotless.
Once the kitchen lights are on, I move around on autopilot. Meal prepped chicken, potatoes, and broccoli thrown in the microwave. Energy drink that I probably shouldn’t be drinking this late, already in my hand and cracked open.
It’s only nine pm. I plan on spending the rest of this Friday evening sprawled out on my bed watching reruns of Dexter. I don’t think one energy drink will hurt.
I lean back against the counter, wincing at the burn of the carbonation trailing down my throat, when my phone rings from where I sat it on the counter.
A picture of Mom and Dad light up my screen. I don’t hesitate to answer.
When I do, I’m greeted with both my parents sitting on the couch, gently pushing each other out of the frame.
“What are you guys doing?” I chuckle.
They look away from each other and turn their heads, smiles wide. Mom is wearing the Kingswell colors. Gold, white, and black. Along with my number—eight. Her dark brown skin is streaked with gold glitter across her cheekbones. Dad is in similar attire, glitter and all.
In the reflection of Mom’s glasses, I can make out the replay of tonight’s game on the TV screen. My chest tightens at the sight of them. Even after five kids, my parents have never told any of us what we could and couldn’t be.
They simply just listened and cheered us on.
So it wasn’t surprising that they encouraged me when I told them I wanted to leave San Diego and move out to New York for college.
They only made sure that I knew I’d have to work for a scholarship, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to go to one of the top universities in the country. Best place to go for hockey, especially. It’s even where one of the greatest of all time African American hockey players attended.
Frederick “Mastermind” Hollis.
His picture from his prime days are still hanging out on the walls of my childhood room.
He paved the way for so many Black kids in the hockey world and I want nothing more than to meet the man one day. Tell him that when I was told I was too rowdy for my own good, smaller than most players in my league, and as thick as a brick, those things didn’t stop me.
They were simply trivial.
I dream of being one of the greats.
Just like the Mastermind.
“We’re so proud of you, sweetheart!” Mom’s smile widens. “You did amazing out there.”
Dad takes the phone from Mom like they both can’t possibly be in the frame. “That last pass? That was all you, Lucas. Where’d you learn to move like that?”
I affectionately roll my eyes as I lean my phone against the stove to reach into the microwave to stir my food.
“It’s called practice, you guys, but thanks.” I lean my elbows on the counter, food back in the microwave.
“Oh!” Mom takes the phone. “Mel, baby, your brother is on the phone.”
Mom flips the entire phone around instead of just the screen, but I smile nonetheless when I spot Melody walking into the living room. She’s wearing the same exact navy blue pajamas with stars that she’s been wearing religiously for the past year.
It’s only six their time but her black curls are already pulled into a silk bonnet and her glasses are perched on her nose. Even through the screen, I can see that the watch she “stole” from Preston this past spring break is clutched in her hand.
All she had to do was straight up ask Preston if she could have it and the blond took it off his wrist and placed it in her palm without a stutter.
She never wears the watches she collects, though. Just chooses which to take apart and which ones to carry around.
“Hey, Mel.” I wave as she steps closer to the screen but doesn’t reach for the phone. “Did you see my game?”
“No.” She doesn’t even bother to sugarcoat it. “I don’t like watching you get hit for no reason.”
I shrug. “You love me or something, Mel?”
“Yes, you’re my brother. I think it’s biological.”
I snort, used to her no-nonsense responses.
She used to not speak at all growing up but after some speech therapy, she now just says it like it is.
Which I appreciate. Sometimes being knocked down a few pegs is good for my ego.
“Well, I won for you tonight.” I chuckle.
“Not surprised,” Dad says from off the screen. “Griffins always win.”
Mom flips the screen back around, fitting both her and Dad in the frame as if it’s something she just realized was possible.
“No they don’t.” Melody’s voice is still nearby. “They’ve lost six out of the thirty-four games they’ve played.”
Before Melody can start naming off each we lost to and by how many points, Mom gently asks her what she needs.
“There’s no more fruit cups,” Melody explains and Mom is already getting up from the couch, leaving me with Dad.
I can feel him watching me as I set my now-hot food down onto the kitchen island. It’s quiet between us when I move the phone against the can of my energy drink so I can sit down and neither of us say anything when I take a bite of my chicken in the dimly lit kitchen.
The light above me flickers and I remember I told Preston I’d change the bulb before it finally goes out.
Guess that’s one thing I can do to fill at least a minute of my time tomorrow.
Perfect.
I’ll hit the gym then change out this damn light bulb.
My schedule is really piling up here.
“Oh, no.” Dad chuckles. “I know that look.”
My attention turns away from the light and back down to my phone. I tilt my head, popping a piece of broccoli into my mouth. “What look?”
“The one you get when you’re bored.”
Well damn, I didn’t think it was that obvious.
Dad continues. “That’s the look that usually gets you in trouble.”
“Me? Trouble?” I gasp. “Never.”
Dad shifts the phone so his face is closer, almost like he’s trying to see what’s floating around in my head, even from all the way across the country.
“You say that but then I’ll get a call from Brendon Nole himself about how he had to bail you and his son out of jail.”
“It’s not like we committed a crime.”
Dad looks at me, clearly unimpressed. “You were both charged for public indecency.”
I wince at the reminder of getting shit-faced with Preston and a couple of other guys on the team.
We somehow ended up at a diner just outside of Ellingbrooke.
We then decided that walking ten feet to the bathroom was unnecessary, so we pissed right outside the diner, our junk very much out for everyone to see.
Not my proudest moment but hey, we were only in jail for a few hours before Preston’s dad, the town’s very own governor, had the charges dropped and the fines paid.
“I promise you that tonight is going to strictly consist of me watching TV before passing out,” I reassure Dad, who only shakes his head and chuckles like he half believes me.
“Well in that case, I’ll let you go then.”
Mom shouts my name from the kitchen. “Wait!”
I hear her hurried footsteps before she leans over the arm of the couch, her chin resting on Dad’s head.
“I’m serious, Lucas. You did amazing, we’re so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Ma.” I can’t help but smile because even as an adult, hearing my parents say I’ve made them proud is probably one of the best things to be told.
“Go get some sleep,” she gently suggests. “We love you.”
“Love you guys too.”
Melody’s head pops back into the frame, a fruit cup now in her hands.
“Bye, Mel!” I shout dramatically because I think it’s funny how disgusted she looks but she waves, regardless.
I give one last wave before ending the call and setting my phone back onto the counter, purposely scarfing my food down so that the ache in my chest that feels a lot like missing my family, doesn’t grow bigger.
Once I’m in bed, show on and lights off, I remind myself that even though the apartment is quiet and a little lonely, at least Preston isn’t here to turn the fucking air conditioner on.
So, small wins, I guess.