Page 2 of Wild in Minnesota

I grabbed tissues to clean off the blood from her fingernails.

WTF, right? Luckily my light beard hid some of the damage except for a good gash beside my eye and a few on my cheeks; she could’ve blinded me for God’s sake.

And the eye was already bruising. A black eye from the crazy chick down the hall. Perfect.

I knew Novots was a fighter. Clearly, his sister was too. Holy shit, I’d never been in a scuffle with a woman.

The girl must’ve gotten her sight back as I heard the shower in the hall bathroom running. I wondered if water would help or hurt when it came to her face.

I changed into sweats and lay on my bed watching ESPN. I opened my door in case she needed something, but it was silent out in the hall.

I Googled mace in the face , and it sounded like she was going to be okay. But was she still in pain? I knew my words were harsh, but in my defense, I hadn’t expected a brawl in the kitchen.

After a quiet hour more, I walked to her door and tapped on it. “Hello? Fern?”

“Yes.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“Uh, I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay? Do you need anything?”

A pause. “I’m fine.”

I stood for a moment, not certain why I wanted her to open the door. “Are you hungry or anything? I’m having groceries delivered tomorrow, but?—”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. Well, I’m turning in.”

“Night.” It was short and quiet.

I groaned as I remembered the disastrous milk bath I’d given Fern in the kitchen, milk being the most effective way on hand to stop the sting of the mace.

My education on that consists of seeing rioters on the news; yes, I know lots of stuff.

I went downstairs and cleaned off the floor with paper towels and nearly killed myself rummaging through the storage closet from Hell to track down a mop.

I swept up what seemed to be thousands of fake white flowers on the other side of the kitchen and unplugged two glue guns before grabbing the bottle of Jack from the cabinet, the only decent sleep aid I’d found.

It was getting late, and I knew I needed to go to bed, but I dreaded the darkness every night. I dreaded sleep. That was when she visited.

I went back upstairs, turned off the TV, and climbed under the covers.

I bought the cabin a year after she died, seeking peace.

It brought me some, but even here, night would sometimes hold me hostage with dreams of her lifeless body over and over again.

I took several deep breaths, praying for rest as I dozed off.

The frigid air bit at me as I walked through the dark cemetery.

I found her rose-colored tombstone and brushed the snow off the top of it.

I leaned in close to see the photo with her blonde hair and brown eyes smiling back at me.

I dropped to my knees in front of her and traced the butterflies under Amy Wolkowski, Beloved Wife and Daughter with my finger.

“Hi, baby girl.” The back of my eyes burned.

“I can't believe it's been three years today. Three shitty, wasted years. Not what I imagined the day I married you.”

Like a movie I'd seen a million times, images filled my mind. Hauntingly clear, as I could smell her perfume and feel her hands on my arms. I looked up, and there she was, standing next to her grave, that smile piercing my heart.

“Do you remember that day? I honestly didn't think your old man was going to let go of your hand, but he did. He somehow forgave the times in high school he caught me pulling my truck up under your window so you could climb down and sneak away with me for hours.” She stared down at me as my vision blurred.

“Listening to old Van Halen while cruising down Robert Street was amazing.

When it came to you, all I needed was a miracle, and I got it.

When you said you'd marry me, I promised to protect you.” My breath hitched in my ribs.

“If I hadn't been late, if I'd come to get you, everything would be right.”

The pain poured out while I fought the lump in my throat.

The years had gone by in slow motion. The only relief from thoughts of her was the saving grace of hockey.

“I miss you so much. I feel alone all the time.

It's supposed to get easier, or at least that's what everyone says.” But they’re wrong.

I've had the love of my life, I'dhad it all, and it was gone. There was nothing for me.

I despised my quiet apartment in the city, the place where my mind ran in dark circles, not letting me escape.

Night would strangle me with dreams of her over and over again relentlessly.

Hockey and being on the Minnesota Wild, along with booze, were the only things that kept me from imploding all together.

I trace her smile with my finger. “I don't think things will get better.” I looked over to see her walking away and disappearing into the night.

“I don’t think I want to be here anymore, Amy. I think I'm done.”

My words hung in the frozen air for a moment before a gust of wind came out ofnowhere.

A large branch from the tree above dropped onto my head with a kurplunk.

My laughter followed, echoing around me.

“Are you kidding me right now? How can you still make your point better than anyone?” I stood and looked down at her photo.

“I hear you, and I'll try. But help me, Amy.

Show me a sign. Send me something so I know I can find the light at the end of this thing.

It's been so dark for so long. Please show me.”

I awoke with the familiar restlessness as the dark cloud that followed me was already by my side.

The one person who could’ve pushed me through was my mother, the one who adopted me when I was her foster kid, but she died of breast cancer the year before Amy’s accident. The women who loved me always left me.

But it was time to channel her energy. She and Amy were strong, and I needed to be that.

I had to do something different. It was a new day, and I was pushing forward.

I needed to stop medicating myself with alcohol.

I’d managed to keep all the balls in the air, professional hockey and life, but I wouldn’t be able to pull that off forever.

Jack Daniels had become my bestie and confidante, but it was time to shut him down. Last call.

I hopped in the shower and was a little hesitant to go downstairs. I’d always assumed I’d live out most situations in my life, but I didn’t know how to react to a woman I was pulling around my kitchen floor on her stomach after she threw fists and maced herself.

I quietly entered to see her working on some large foam flowery thing with her back toward me.

White flowers were everywhere again, and she was using a hot glue gun to stick them on the foam boards.

My eyes took in the way her black leggings hugged her ass, and the jet-black hair that hung past the center of her back.

She stomped her hot pink slippered foot as she whisper-yelled, “Questo cazzo di merda fa schifo!”I held in a laugh.

I’d been friends with Novots even before we were on the Wild together and had met Fern’s mother many times.

She was a full-blooded Italian and a firecracker at that.

Dave had used some questionable Italian in dealing with opposing hockey players and even a few refs, but without a translation dictionary, he’d just skate away with a grin.

I took a step in her direction when a siren went off in my brain, reminding me that startling this one was a bad idea. I cleared my throat and put my hands in the air to ensure I was no threat.

She whipped around, and I was almost as startled as when she hit me. Her bright blue eyes almost seemed to glow in contrast with her dark hair. She had a cut above her lip and a small bruise above her eyebrow from our brawl, along with her skin being slightly pink. You know, from the mace and all.

Through all the punching, kicking, scratching, and milk pouring last evening, I hadn’t gotten a good look at the woman I was fighting with.

Her blue eyes bore into me as she stood with the hot glue gun in one hand and a flower in the other. There was no smile as her eyes traveled my face. “Oh my gosh. I did all that?”

I nodded. “I’ve made a mental note that I need to wear a bell when around you.”

She cracked a smile. “I apologize. I thought Dave would’ve let you know I was coming a few days before this weekend.” She looked shy. “While we’ve never met, I’d know Lucky Number Thirteen anywhere.”

Lucky Number Thirteen . After about a year, I chose the therapy of women and liquor to help me cope with Amy’s death. Both shitty options. The press referred to me as that during my time entertaining some actresses and models era, and it’d stuck.

Her grin slugged something in my middle as I took a few steps and extended my hand. “Gabe Wolkowski.”

“I’m Fern. I’ve been out of the country during hockey seasons the past few years so I catch what I can on TV.”

Her hand slid into mine, and I swear her cheeks grew a few shades pinker before she pulled it away quickly.

“I’m a nurse and not used to causing injuries. I feel awful.”

I leaned against the counter. “No worries. I startled you.” I pointed, “I’m sorry about your cut. I guess we were both caught off guard.”

The following silence made her nervous as those blue eyes shot around the room.

“I, uh, I know I said I was leaving this morning, but I have several bridesmaid things I have to do for Tawnee’s wedding in a few weeks. That’s why I came here before the weekend thing.”

I could’ve made it easy on her, but I stood silently looking at the pretty girl.

“I’m in a real bind here, and since I unloaded all this crap?—”

“I can help you load it back up. No biggie.” I was enjoying this way too much. Why was I trying to push her buttons?