18. The Offer
THE OFFER
PARKER
After more than a week on the road, there’s nothing better than walking into my own house and knowing I don’t have to think about hockey for at least forty-eight hours. It’s the only time I welcome silence, in exchange for no more flights and media and stupid fucking drama on the ice.
The dream follows me home anyway, despite me leaving that hotel room long ago. It lingers somewhere in the back of my mind for the rest of the day. By the time I step onto the back porch with a beer, I already know I’m not going to leave it alone.
The firepit crackles softly against the chilly evening air.
I stare at my phone, pulling up Luca’s contact before I talk myself out of it. If anyone would know whether something’s actually wrong, it’s him. The call rings six times before he finally picks up. “Well,” Luca says dryly. “Look who survived without hearing my lovely voice.”
“You still pissed at me?” I laugh.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“You planning on saying something stupid?”
“Don’t I always?”
“Then yeah. A little.” For the first time all day, some of the tension in my shoulders begins to loosen. “Missed you too, asshole.”
“Mm.”
I hear a cabinet shut somewhere in the background. Tiny footsteps thunder across hardwood. A child starts yelling, then another immediately joins in.
“What the hell is happening over there?”
“I have no idea,” Luca says. “At this point I’m just trying to make it until bedtime.”
I laugh into my beer.
The conversation drifts naturally after that. I hated being in Calgary, as usual. The road trip sucked because I had a certain rookie screaming in my ear and begging me for a sleepover where we watch a movie and have warm milk and cookies like I’m fucking Michael Jackson or something…
Luca’s kids—still annoying. Emelie has fled the country with their oldest to visit her parents in Strasbourg.
My ex-wife is threatening to rent a pontoon when we’re in Tahoe.
Nothing out of the ordinary. Honestly, I welcome how normal it is.
The entire time, though, I find myself waiting for an opening to casually bring up the person I’ve actually been thinking about since three in the morning. Fortunately, Luca gets there first.
“So…have you talked to him lately?” There’s something devastating about the way it comes out.
My grip tightens slightly around the bottle. “Not much.”
“Hm.”
I straighten a little and try to pretend guilt isn’t shredding at my insides. “What does that mean?”
Luca lets out a slow breath. “I don’t know.”
The words don’t reassure me. If anything, they make me feel worse. I know how easy it is for Anders to convince people he’s fine while he’s sitting on something that’s eating him from the inside out. “You think he’s struggling?” I ask.
Luca laughs humorlessly. “I think I’ve called him six thousand times this week and have only heard his voice for a total of two minutes.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah,” Luca sighs.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
“He seeing Helen?” I ask after a beat. “I haven’t been home enough to know.”
“I don’t know.”
That answer bothers me more than it should. “You don’t know?”
“No. It’s not like he’s in high school and I get billed for his appointments every week.” Luca sounds tired now. Genuinely tired. “Normally Emelie would know. He tells her everything, but lately he barely answers her either.”
The sickness in my stomach grows worse. When I’d called Luca, part of me had expected reassurance. Maybe it wasn’t the most logical expectation, but it was what I wanted.
I wanted Luca to laugh at me for worrying about Anders. Instead, every answer seems to confirm the feeling that’s been sitting in my chest since I woke up.
“You want me to check on him?” The offer leaves my mouth before I’ve fully decided to make it. “I can.”
“God.” Luca answers immediately. “Please.”
And that single word tells me everything.
Luca’s worried enough that he’s willing to overlook every single thing he said to me the last time we spoke.
But then again, this is how it’s always been.
Anders gets mad and freezes Luca out. Luca asks me to help.
And if this were any other case, I’m sure it would be resolved just as easily.
But this isn’t like every other time. I’m the reason Anders is upset. How the hell am I supposed to fix that?
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to be talking to him.”
“That’s not what I said.” A second later Luca sighs. “I just wanted some boundaries.”
“Right.”
“That’s different.” I don’t bother arguing, mostly because I understand what he’s trying to say, and partly because hearing him defend it makes me feel strangely guilty.
“You know how he gets with you.” Every muscle in my body tightens.
Luca keeps talking before I can respond.
“He listens to you.” The words land harder than they should. “He always has.”
“I’ll talk to him,” I say quietly.
Relief immediately enters Luca’s voice. “Thanks.”
The gratitude makes me feel sick. This has always been Luca’s responsibility, but it feels like I’ve stolen it from him, and I fucking hate myself for it.
A few minutes later, after the conversation drifts back toward summer plans and screaming children and normal life, we finally hang up.
I sent a quick message to Anders.
Me
Will you be home tonight?
But when I see that he’s read it and I never get a text back, the reality of the situation comes crashing down and now I’m forced to deal with the repercussions.