Chapter Sixteen
Five minutes later, Gale’s phone buzzed on the dashboard, its chiming ringtone competing with the low rumble of the truck’s
engine. A knot formed in his stomach as he glanced at the screen, his sister’s name flashing like a warning. He swiped to
open the message.
Not happening. Don’t ask again.
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Typical Brooke, wielding bluntness like a weapon.
“Well, that’s that, then.” He tossed the phone into the cupholder, a wave of disappointment washing over him. “My sister isn’t
interested in going to see my father,” he said, his voice tight as he shifted the truck into reverse. “No surprise there.”
Harriet smoothed her hands over her skirt, a nervous habit he’d come to recognize. Her voice was gentle when she spoke. “No.
Brooke feels a lot, but boundaries are important to her. Especially with your dad.”
“All true,” Gale agreed, feeling the familiar ache of family fractures.
“I can see how that makes it so much harder for you,” Harriet offered.
“It’s whatever,” he muttered.
“It’s a lot of things, but ‘whatever’ isn’t one of them.”
Gale glanced over, meeting Harriet’s steady, knowing gaze. For a moment, he felt seen in a way that both comforted and freaked
him out. There was a strength in her that called to something in him. “No, guess not,” he admitted, his walls crumbling slightly.
“I don’t know how I feel. It’s a lot, so . . . it’s whatever.”
They drove in silence, the powerful engine humming beneath them. Gale’s thoughts churned like a sea, memories and regrets
crashing against each other.
“Where are we going?” Harriet asked, her soft voice breaking in.
“I need to see my mom,” he responded, realizing he’d been unconsciously steering toward the one place he always found solace.
After a pause heavy with unspoken pain, he added, “Can’t say I blame Brooke, though.”
“Want to talk about it?” Harriet prompted, her tone a gentle invitation.
He shrugged, eyes fixed on the road ahead as emotions warred within him. “What’s there to say? You know the story. Hall of
Fame hockey player, Hall of Fame shit father.”
She reached over, her hand finding his arm. “Sometimes it helps to say it out loud, even if I’ve heard it before.”
The light ahead turned red, and Gale eased the truck to a stop. His fingers drummed an erratic beat on the steering wheel,
matching the chaotic rhythm of his heart.
“It’s just . . .” Gale started, his voice low and thick with the old pain. “After all these years, after everything he put
us through? What is he owed?”
“I get it,” she said softly, her tone conveying understanding without judgment. “It’s a lot to process.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, accelerating as the light turned green. “With Brooke tapping out . . .”
“It puts more pressure on you,” Harriet finished for him, her hand tightening on his arm.
He nodded, jaw clenching. “Exactly. And every time I think about seeing him, I can’t help but remember the accident.”
Her breath caught, knowing the weight of what he was referring to. “It was horrific,” she said quietly. “The families affected.
The news frenzy. The reporters on your lawn.”
“Yeah.” Gale’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Two innocent people died because of his drunk ass. And he gets a brain injury
but is spared his miserable life. How is that fair?”
“It’s not,” Harriet finally said. “None of it is.”
Gale’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Am I supposed to just forgive because he’s dying? After he’s destroyed so many
lives, including his own family’s?”
“I can’t imagine how conflicted you must feel,” Harriet offered, her thumb tracing soothing circles on his arm.
“That’s just it,” Gale said, his voice rough with emotion. “I don’t know what to feel. Mad? Sure. Plenty mad. But there’s
also this . . . I don’t know. This tiny part of me that wonders if people can change. If there is some miracle where he can
come to and at least apologize or something.”
They lapsed into a silence charged with unspoken words as Gale navigated the familiar streets to the cemetery. As they pulled
in, Harriet spoke up, her voice tender. “You know, you don’t have to see him. Not if you’re not ready.”
Gale parked the truck and turned to look at her. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with a potent
mix of understanding and something deeper, something neither was ready to name. “I know,” he said softly. “But I need to.
For Mom, if nothing else.”
They walked among the headstones, Harriet’s arm linked through Gale’s. The gesture was familiar, yet charged. A few familiar faces nodded in greeting—other regulars sharing this ritual of loss and remembering.
“Evening, Mr. Kim,” Gale called out to an elderly Asian man tending a nearby grave.
“Ah, Gale.” Mr. Kim straightened, wincing slightly. His weathered face creased into a smile that spoke of shared understanding.
“Good to see you. It’s been a few weeks.”
Gale smiled back. “You too, sir.”
As they walked on, Harriet bumped into Gale. “Remember when we used to sneak into the cemetery as teenagers with the Ouija
boards?”
Gale’s skin tingled at her proximity. “Yeah, Brooke was convinced it was haunted and you liked those ghost stories.”
“And you tagged along.”
“Excuse me? I was protecting you. Knight in shining armor, remember?”
“I think you cried once.”
“Ha. In a very manly way.”
They reached his mother’s grave, a simple stone bearing her name and the dates that bookended a life cut too short. Gale knelt,
removing the wilted flowers from the small vase.
“Hey, Mom, sorry I don’t have fresh flowers today,” he said softly. “But I did bring an old friend.”
Harriet knelt beside him, her hand finding his. “Hey, Mrs. K.”
Gale’s fingers traced the engraved letters, a gesture so familiar it was almost ritual. “I miss her,” he said after a while,
his voice thick. “God, I miss her so much.”
Harriet squeezed his hand. “I know.”
A sad smile tugged at Gale’s lips. “Remember how she used to come to all my games? Even when I was just a kid playing peewee?”
Harriet laughed softly. “Oh god, she was always the loudest one in the stands. So proud of her baby boy.”
“Yeah.” Gale’s voice was wistful. “She never got to see me make it to the NHL. Sometimes I wonder . . .”
“She knew you would,” Harriet said firmly. “She always believed in you. On and off the ice. You and Brooke were her whole
world.”
“She got pregnant with Brooke so young. And then I came. I wanted her to have her time. She always wanted to go to Paris.
When she got the cancer, she could have had the best treatment available. But Dad blew all the money. I can’t ever forgive
or forget it.”
“No. But Brooke has told me about all the money you donate to the ovarian cancer center at the hospital now. I know it’s because
you never want another woman to face what she did.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, lost in memories. Finally, Gale spoke, his voice low. “I don’t know what I’m
doing. About so many things. I’m goddamn lost.”
Harriet leaned her head on his shoulder. “You know what your mom would say?”
“That I need a haircut?”
She elbowed him gently. “No, smart-ass. She’d tell you to trust yourself. That you’ve got this, even when it feels like you
don’t.”
Gale let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, maybe. I just . . . I wish she was here. To tell me what to do about my father, about
everything.”
“I think,” Harriet said slowly, “she’d want you to do whatever brings you peace. Whether that’s seeing him or not.”
They sat for a while longer, the breeze rustling the bushes surrounding nearby headstones. Gale felt a calmness settle over
him, a clarity he hadn’t experienced in months. Something about her presence made the chaos in his head quiet down, made his
muscles unwind one by one.
“I need to talk to Brooke,” he said finally. “Really talk, you know? About him, about Mom . . . about everything.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. The simple touch shot straight through him, made his breath catch. “It’s going to
hurt, opening all that up. Do you want me to be there?”
He shook his head slowly, fighting the urge to turn his hand over, to ask for more. “No, but . . . thank you.” His throat
felt tight with everything unsaid. “I think this needs to be just us. Just family. Even if we do it badly.” He glanced over
at her, caught by something in her eyes that made his skin prickle. “Maybe I’ll call you after, though?”
Harriet nodded. “Any time.”
The certainty in her voice settled into his bones, made him ache for more than he could ask for.
As they pulled out of the cemetery, Gale gripped the wheel a little harder, his knuckles whitening. The silence felt different
now—charged with something. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual despite the knot in his stomach, “you want to grab a coffee
or something? At my place, I mean. Just . . . don’t feel like being alone right now.”
“Your place? Okay. Sure,” Harriet replied, her voice soft but steady. She was looking straight ahead, and he couldn’t read
her expression.
The drive was quiet, but Gale’s mind raced louder than the engine. Every few seconds, he’d glance at Harriet, then quickly
back at the road. Her profile was familiar after all these years of friendship, but somehow different in the fading afternoon
light. Was he reading too much into things? Maybe she just pitied him.
But there was something about the way she sat there, calm and present, that made his racing thoughts slow just a little. Like maybe he didn’t have to figure it all out right this second. Like maybe it was okay to just drive, and breathe, and let whatever this was unfold in its own time.
Pulling into his driveway, he cut the engine and turned to her. His heart was pounding like he was about to step onto the
ice for sudden death overtime.
“I want to say something,” he started, his voice rough with nerves, but he needed to speak his piece, release the pressure
that had been building.
“Gale,” Harriet said, her expression unreadable in the shadows of his car. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. “Before
you continue, there’s something I need to say first.”
His stomach dropped. All the air seemed to leave his lungs at once. “Okay . . .”
Harriet took a deep breath. When she turned to face him, her eyes were fierce with something that made his pulse jump. “There
is clearly something going on here. We don’t keep crashing into each other’s mouths for nothing.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, throat tight. “I know. And I get that it’s . . .”
“Complicated?” Harriet offered.
“Exactly.” Everything they’d been building—not just this past week but their entire shared history—felt balanced on this moment.
They sat in silence, rain beginning to patter against the windshield. When Harriet spoke, her voice was rough with emotion
she’d clearly been holding back for too long.
“I’m not asking for promises. But I’m interested in exploring where this goes. You?”
He nodded, warmth spreading through his chest. “I am. It’s just—I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“Me too.” There was a history in those two words—all the looks that had gone on a little too long, all the conversations that had skirted the edge of something more. She glanced out the windshield as the rain began to fall harder. “We should head in.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, good idea.” His voice was hoarse.
As they got out of the truck, the rain started to fall in earnest. They quickened their pace toward the house, Gale suddenly
aware of every inch of space between them, of the way Harriet’s shoulder brushed his as they hurried through the downpour.
At the door, he paused. “Harriet, I—”
She cut him off with a look that left him struggling to remember how to breathe. “Go inside, okay? We can talk more. Or not.”
His fingers went clumsy on the door code. He’d thought about this moment so many times, but now that it was happening, his
brain felt waterlogged. He took a deep breath, got the door open, and stepped aside to let Harriet in. This was it. No more
careful distance. Whatever came next, at least he wouldn’t have to wonder anymore.