Page 22

22. Blak e

The streets of Boston were wrapped in a chill that bit through my coat as I stepped out of the car. Snowflakes swirled from a flat gray sky, sticking to the wool of my scarf and the top of my beanie. It felt strange to be back here, on the street where I grew up, the Christmas lights strung across the eaves of the houses like glowing constellations. The world moved slower here, or so it always seemed.

My mother opened the door before I could knock, her face lighting up with a smile that softened the hard edges of the day. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said, pulling me into a hug that smelled of cinnamon and the lavender lotion she always wore.

“Hi, Mom.” I hugged her back, the warmth of her arms almost enough to take the cold away .

“Come in, come in,” she chirped as I stepped into the golden comfort of the house. “Everyone’s here already.”

Everybody meant my sister Ellie, her husband Tim, their two little rascals, Noah and Mia, and, of course, my dad. I went through the mandatory hugs with each of them, before trying to sneak the presents I brought for the kids under the tree.

“You’re looking good, Blakie,” Ellie said, studying me head to toe. “Doesn’t he look good, dad?”

“Yes,” Dad confirmed in his typical laconic manner. “Williams must be agreeing with you.”

“It does,” I replied, lowering myself on the sofa. “The team’s solid this year. They’re a good group of guys.”

He nodded, but there was a gleam in his eye that made my stomach tighten. It was the same look he gave me when I was fifteen and slacking off in history class, or twenty-two and taking too long to find a ‘real job.’ “That’s good. But, you know, work isn’t everything. You’re almost thirty-seven, son. It’s time to start thinking about the future.”

My jaw clenched, but I forced a smile, sipping my soda with deliberate care. “I’m focused on the team right now. They keep me busy.”

My mother sighed and shot my father a look that could’ve frozen a lesser man. “Leave him alone, Frank. He’ll meet someone when the time is right. Now, everyone, dinner is ready! ”

“It’s not about timing,” my father replied, undeterred. “It’s about priorities. Life isn’t just about work.”

A pulse of irritation flared in my gut, but I didn’t argue as we moved from the living room to the big table stacked with food. What could I say? That I had met someone, but he wasn’t the person my father envisioned? That I spent most nights fighting the urge to tell Tyler everything I couldn’t say out loud? No, there would be no point in spoiling a nice family dinner. I wasn’t ready to come clean yet, and my dad sure as hell wasn’t ready to hear it.

* * *

The dining room was chaos in the best way, the kind of noise only a close-knit family could create. Ellie’s kids were a constant flurry of activity—Noah banging his spoon on the table like a miniature drummer while Mia hummed a Christmas carol, half-eaten green beans dangling from her fork. My mother hovered nearby, gently scolding them but clearly charmed, while Dad poured the wine for everyone but me, his hand shaking slightly from the weight of the bottle.

Dinner was a predictable spread—roast beef, potatoes, Brussels sprouts charred just enough to give them an edge of bitterness. My parents liked their traditions; they clung to them like lifelines. My father carved the meat at the head of the table, his glasses sliding down his nose as he studied the roast with surgeon-like precision.

Ellie sat across from me, Tim to her right, grinning as she piled mashed potatoes onto Mia’s plate. “No, you can’t just have cookies for dinner,” she said firmly. “Eat something green, or Santa’s not bringing you anything.”

Mia pouted but stabbed a green bean. “Do you think Santa likes cookies too?”

“Of course,” Ellie said, winking at me. “Santa loves cookies. And grown-ups love kids who eat their vegetables.”

“I don’t know,” Tim added, smirking. “Santa’s looking a lot healthier this year. Might be on a diet.”

“Ha, ha,” I deadpanned, catching the look he shot at my plate, which was a little sparse.

“Blake always was the pickiest eater,” Ellie said, laughing. “Do you remember that time Mom made that weird meatloaf with raisins?”

I groaned. “Why do you bring this up every year?”

“Because it’s hilarious!” Ellie said. “You were what, thirteen? And you pitched a full-on protest at the dinner table. I think you even said, ‘This is an abomination against beef.’”

Tim gave a polite chuckle, like he hadn’t already heard that story a thousand times before. “Did he really say that?”

“Oh, yes,” Mom chimed in, carrying a plate of rolls to the table. “And then he declared he was never eating meatloaf again. I think he kept that vow for at least two months.”

“I was a kid,” I muttered, though I couldn’t keep the corner of my mouth from twitching.

Dad smirked as he set the roast on the table. “You’ve always had strong opinions.”

“Yeah, I wonder where I got it from.”

Noah took that as his cue to bang his spoon again. “Uncle Blake doesn’t like meatloaf!” he crowed, as if it were breaking news.

Mia giggled, joining in, and for a moment, the room felt light and easy, the kind of warmth that made you forget the biting chill outside.

“Well, he loved it when Jennifer made it,” Ellie said and instantly regretted it, her face changing from flushed to pale in seconds. The shift was immediate, like a string pulled taut in the air. Mom froze mid-step, her expression carefully neutral. Tim reached for his glass of wine, his gaze darting to me. Jesus, like I could somehow forget she ever existed if only they never mentioned her again.

I managed a small smile. “I did. She used to make it better than Mom’s.” I looked at Mia, put a hand next to my mouth, and whispered, “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Mia giggled, and Mom let out a soft sigh, though her eyes shimmered. “I already knew. ”

Ellie reached across the table, her hand brushing mine briefly. It was a simple gesture, but it carried the weight of everything we didn’t say.

Then, mercifully, Mia chimed in, oblivious to the tension. “Uncle Blake, do you have a girlfriend?”

Tim choked on his wine, sputtering into his napkin, while Ellie gave Mia a look that was both amused and mortified. “Mia, honey, that’s not a polite question.”

“What?” Mia said, confused. “Grandpa said he should find a new wife!”

Dad coughed into his fist, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “I may have mentioned it earlier. Once.”

My shoulders went rigid as I clenched the fork, anger surging like a storm on the horizon. “Oh, just once?”

“What’s the big deal?” Dad said, now getting defensive. “You know I’m right. It’s time you moved on and found—”

“Why don’t you butt out and let me live my life?” My voice was low, threatening. I managed to keep myself from shouting only because of my niece and my nephew, but I felt heat creeping up my neck, my molars grinding.

Once again, Mom jumped in to smooth things over before the situation escalated. “Blake doesn’t need to rush into anything,” she said firmly. “He’s got a lot on his plate with work right now. ”

Dad opened his mouth to say something but winced, like someone had just dug their nails into his arm. He made the smart choice and shut up.

“That’s true,” Tim added, eager to shift the conversation. He had always been uncomfortable with confrontation. “I heard you’re doing great with the team. Didn’t you say one of your guys made it to regionals?”

“Yeah,” I said, grateful for the way out. “We’ve got a strong line-up this year.”

“What’s it like coaching?” Ellie asked. “Do the kids listen, or are they little terrors like you were?”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re not kids, El. They’re college athletes. And they listen—mostly. It’s actually more fun than I thought it would be. It’s different, though. Rewarding, but not easy.”

The conversation turned to lighter topics after that—Noah’s school play, Mia’s new obsession with dinosaurs, Tim’s disastrous attempt to hang Christmas lights last weekend. The awkwardness soon faded, replaced by laughter and the clinking of silverware.

But as I sat there, watching my family’s faces lit by the warm glow of the chandelier, my mind wandered. To a different table, in a smaller, quieter house. To a grin that made my chest feel tight and a laugh that echoed in my head long after it was gone.

After dinner, I helped my mother wash the dishes while the rest of the family retired to the living room. She chatted about neighborhood gossip, her voice lilting with warmth, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Tyler—the taste of his lips, the way he leaned into me like he trusted me to hold him steady.

I missed him. More than I wanted to admit.

And that realization hit me harder than I expected.

* * *

The next morning, after the gift unwrapping and breakfast, I went to meet Adam at a downtown coffee shop. The place was packed despite it being Christmas day, the air thick with the smell of espresso and hot chocolate. Adam was already at a table, sitting near the window, his gray hair poking out from beneath a Red Sox cap.

“Blake,” he said, standing to shake my hand. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” I said, sliding into the chair across from him.

We made small talk for a while—how I was handling the coaching gig, how his kids were doing in school. Adam had been my AA sponsor for the past year, ever since I finally admitted that I couldn’t outrun my demons alone. He was steady, unflappable, the kind of man who could see through bullshit without calling it out. At last, I made myself say what I dreaded to say the whole time.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” I forced the words out before I could second-guess myself .

Adam raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

I nodded, tracing the rim of my coffee cup with my thumb. “It’s… new. But it feels good. Like I can actually be myself around them.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me with the calm, measured gaze that had always unnerved me. If he noticed my careful use of neutral pronouns, he didn’t show it. “You know the rule, right? No dating for the first year of recovery. It’s not about punishment; it’s about focus. Staying grounded.”

“I know,” I said, my chest tightening. “But I thought… Actually, I didn’t think. It just… sort of happened.”

Adam shrugged. “Every situation is different. I’m not saying you can’t handle it. Just make sure you’re being honest—with yourself and with them. Relationships can be a lot, especially when you’re still figuring out how to stay on solid ground.”

We didn’t discuss the matter any further, and soon we shook hands and bid each other goodbye.

The snow crunched under my boots as I walked back to my car, each step echoing louder than the last in my mind. The air was crisp and biting, numbing my face, but it was nothing compared to the nagging doubt creeping into my chest. Adam’s words rang in my ears, circling like a hawk that had found prey. No dating for the first year of recovery. It wasn’t a command, but it might as well have been .

Tyler’s face flashed in my mind—his smile, the mischievous glint in his eyes when he teased me, the way his body had fit against mine as if it were molded there by some cosmic force. I couldn’t deny my desire for him. But the thing was, it wasn’t just desire, though that burned brightly enough to leave me sleepless most nights. It was more than that, deeper, scarier. He made me feel like the man I’d forgotten how to be. Like someone worth trusting.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Tyler trusted me. He’d given himself to me in ways I hadn’t dared to hope for, and I had taken it—greedily, selfishly, knowing full well I couldn’t keep it. I couldn’t keep him.

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, my breath misting in the cold air. A part of me wanted to turn around, to march back to the coffee shop and demand Adam take it all back. Tell me I was different. Tell me I was strong enough for this, for him.

But I knew better.

Being with Tyler wasn’t the real problem. The real problem was what it might cost him .

He had his whole life ahead of him—school, wrestling, a future so bright it hurt to think about. And here I was, a widower carrying the weight of too many mistakes, too much baggage. How long would it be before he started resenting me for it? Before he realized I was just an anchor dragging him down? What happens in a few years when he gets bored of me or meets someone else and wants to move on?

The thought gutted me.

I forced myself to move again, each step heavier than the last. My hands were shoved deep in my pockets, but I couldn’t stop them from clenching into fists. The rational part of me knew what I had to do. Adam was right—relationships could be a storm in the calmest of seas, and my waters were anything but calm. They were treacherous, riddled with jagged rocks just waiting to tear us apart. I couldn’t put Tyler through that. I couldn’t risk pulling him into my chaos.

And yet, the thought of letting him go felt like ripping out a part of myself and leaving it behind in the snow.

I imagined his reaction—those bright brown eyes dimming, the corners of his mouth falling into that rare, heartbreaking frown. Tyler didn’t do sadness often, but when he did, it was like watching the sun vanish behind a total eclipse.

I reached my car and started the engine, but instead of driving I just sat there, lost in thought, until another car honked, looking to park at my space. The ride to my parents’ house felt longer than ever before and yet somehow too short. And all too soon I was facing the front door, staring at the worn wreath my mother hung every year. In another life, I’d be inside that house right now, surrounded by my family, old and new, happy and pure. A husband and a father, undamaged by years of loneliness and heartbreak. But this wasn’t that life.

This was a life of restraint, of rules, of putting the pieces back together carefully, deliberately, one at a time. Tyler wasn’t a piece of my recovery; he was something far more precious. He was the light at the end of a tunnel I wasn’t sure I’d earned the right to walk.

He deserved more than I could give him.

I tightened my grip on the doorknob, swallowing the lump in my throat. And as I stepped into the warmth of my childhood home, I knew the hardest part was yet to come .