Page 20

Chapter 20

RYLAN

I turn the rental car onto the street where I grew up, and my chest tightens as my childhood home comes into view. The white paint is peeling, and the garden is overgrown again, even though Dad promised he'd be better at keeping up with it. All this neglect started after Mom died, and she would be some pissed off if shesawthe place now. She loved this little house.

I've offered countless times to buy Dad a new place, but he refuses to let me. This is where he raised his family, where Nick and I learned to skate in the backyard rink, where Mom tended her garden."The only way I'm leaving this house is in a pine box,"he always says.

Of course, my NHL salarycouldfix everything about this house except what's truly broken: the people inside it.

The key sticks in the lock like always, and as I step inside, I'm hit by thesmellof stale beer with an underlying layer of musty neglect. It breaks my heart, but if I think too long about it, I'll break down before I lay eyes on my dad. So instead I square my shoulders and walk down the hallway that's lined with old family pictures. Back from when we were an actual family.

The living room is dim despite the morning sun streaming in. Dad's in his ancient armchair, but he's not passed out, thank god. Constable Mitchell texted me about an hour ago to tell me he was released from the health clinic, and he got his wife, Karen, to bring Dad home andgethim settled. I make a mental note to send them an incredible thank-you gift because, without their kindness, things would be a whole lot worse.

Dad's leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed, the white bandage above his eyebrow standing out in the low light.

"Dad?"My voice comes out steadier than Ifeel."It's Rylan."

He opens his bloodshot eyes, and the shame in them catches me off guard. His expression isn't filled with anger and defiance like it usually is after an incident like this. It's just raw humiliation and naked pain.

"Hi, son." His expression is defeated. "You heard what happened." It's not a question, but I nod anyway.

"Yeah. Wally called me. And I talked to Dave Mitchell a couple of times. Sounds likeit wasa rough night." I move to open the curtains, but Dad raises a hand to stop me.

"Leave them."He swallows hard."My head's killing me."

I raise an eyebrow."Did they give you any painkillers at the clinic?"

He gives me a sad smile."Just some Tylenol last night. But I deserve tofeellike shit. I deserve tofeela lot fucking worse than I do."

Something's different about his tone. The usual bitter edge is missing, replaced by something more like resignation. Maybe it's the concussion, but this is new behavior from him. Normally, he'd be making excuses and playing the victim, blaming everyone else for whatever bad things happened while he was wasted.

I settle into my mom's old reading chair, and we're quiet for a long moment."When I fell,"he says finally."Wally tried to help me, but I was pissed because he told me he'd called the cops. I…"His voice cracks."I tried to fight him. Started swinging. At Wally Nelson, of all people. The only friend I've got left in this town after Paul and Jenny left..."

He touches the bandage gently, then shakes his head slowly.

"Doctor said I was lucky.Could've been a lot worse.Could've..."He trails off, but Ihearthe words he doesn't say. Could've died.

"Dad—"

"I saw your mother," he cuts me off, voice rough.

I blink at him. Oh shit. Is he having delusions now? "Um, what?"

He chuckles sadly at the expression on my face, and my stomach twists."It's okay, Rylan, I'm not losing my mind. Yet."He sighs."Iknowshe wasn't reallythere. But when I hit my head, I swear to god, she was standing in front of me just as clear as day. And the look on her face..."He closes his eyes."She was so goddamn disappointed in me."His hands shake slightly."Igetthat it wasn't real, but…"he hesitates, taking a deep breath before continuing."Youknowhow people talk about loved ones visiting them in dreams? Well, that's never happened to me. When your mom and Nick died, they were just gone for me. It didn't take very long before I couldn't remember what they looked like. I couldn't picture their faces, or remember the sound of their voices. I had pictures, but I couldn't see them in my head anymore...if that makes sense."

I think about that. It's a little odd, but I guess I didn't experience it like he's describing. When I think about it now, I can still imagine my mom's smile, orhearthe way Nick used to laugh when he teased me.

"Anyway, I just… It's been twenty years since we lost them, and the first time I'm able to actually "see" your mom, she's looking at me like she can't decide whether to break down in tears, or strangle me for being such a fool."

A snort of laughter escapes me because I remember that look of my mom's. When she looked at us like that, weknewshit was about togetreal.

"Twenty years, Rylan. I've spent all these years trying to drink away the pain of losing them, and all I've done is waste the time I have left with the son I still have."

My throat tightens."It's okay, Dad, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do."He meets my eyes directly for the first time, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, he seems clear and focused."I need help, son. Real help. Before I drink myself into the ground and leave you with nothing but ghosts."

Holy shit. Is this even real? I've wanted tohearthese words from my father for so long, now that he's saying them, I can hardly believe they're real.

"That's… Wow, Dad, I'm happy tohearyou say that."I don'tknowhow to react. I'm scared of doing or saying something that will make him change his mind.

"So, I, um... I have a friend…. on the team. His mom is a psychologist and she recommended a place,"I say the words carefully, not wanting to break this fragile moment."It's in Vancouver. They specialize in…"I trail off, unsure how to label his problems in a way that doesn't sound judgemental.

"Drunk old men who've wasted twenty years?"His laugh is bitter, but it doesn't have the angry edge I'm used to."Who've pushed away the only family they have left?"

"Dad—"

"Your mother would be so ashamed of me."He runs a hand over his face, wincing at the movement."And Nick... Christ, your brother would kick my ass if hecouldseeme now."

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it, even though part of me wants to check. I already need the reminder that I'm part of another world, that I do have another life. One where not everything is so heartbreakingly sad.

"When can I go?"Dad asks quietly."To this place in Vancouver?"

That catches me off guard. I'd spent the journey home psyching myself up for the usual dance we do around his drinking. The denial, the resistance to getting help. But this… I try not to let my surprise show."I'll call and find out. If they can take you quickly, I'll go with you and make sure you're set up properly."

He nods slowly."Good. That's... good."His hands twist together in his lap."Will you..."He stops and swallows hard."Will you visit? While I'm inthere? I mean, I don'tknowhow long I'll be… and with your schedule…"

The vulnerability in his voice makes my chest ache."Of course, Dad. Vancouver's only 3 hours from Seattle. It'll be a lot easier to find time to visit."

"I haven't given you much reason to accept this,"he continues."But I'm so sorry, Rylan. You deserved a better father than what I've been."

I have to look away, as my eyes fill with tears. All these years of wanting him to acknowledge the pain he's caused, and now that he has, it's confusing me. I can't figure out how to react.

My phone buzzes again, and this time I pull it out of my pocket to check it. I need a minute to collect myself.

Jamie:"Charlie's threatening to reorganize your stall 'the British way.' Should I be worried?"

Despite everything, my lips twitch. The reminder of my life outside this sadness is so welcome.

"Someone important?"Dad asks. His tone of voice makes my heart race.

"Just a teammate,"I say automatically. But then I remember Lou's reaction this morning. His easy acceptance.

Maybe… Maybe it's time to stop hiding.

The big knot of fear and dread lurches in my stomach, but I steel myself. I don't have to do everything at once, but maybe I can do a little."Jamie Pirelli,"I say quietly."He's new this year. He's... been helping me with some stuff."

Dad's quiet for a moment, and I brace myself for... something. Judgment? Disappointment? But when he speaks, his voice is gentle.

"Good,"he says simply."You shouldn't have to handle everything alone."

The acceptance, however small, makes my throat tight."Yeah,"I manage."I'm learning that."

The silence stretches between us, but it's different now. A little less heavy with unspoken accusations.There's a tentativefeelingof the possibility of... something. Healing, maybe. Or at least hope.