Epilogue

STICKING A SECOND CHANCE

Eli Lewis

“I can’t believe you got me here to watch a ballet.” I tug at the bow tie around my neck. “In a tuxedo even. And Shakespeare?”

“Shut the fuck up, Eli.” Cam says in the seat to my left. We’re at the ice arena in Vegas, and Becca’s show is about to start. “Besides, this is a ballet on ice, and I didn’t twist your arm to get as dressed up as me.” His voice is harsh, but I chalk it up to nerves.

When he said he planned to wear a tux for the opening night of Becca’s debut in Romeo and Juliet, I figured I would dust off my old suit from the back of my closet. The last time I wore it was on my wedding day, which ended in a very expensive divorce. Thank you very much.

I should have burned this, but the custom suit cost me so much, I hated for it to be a waste of money in the end. Although I could afford to buy myself another at any time.

“How long is this performance?” I check my watch. A Rolex I bought myself several years back, the day after I received my first lottery payout. Although, I don’t wear it very often either.

I may be worth millions, as the single highest lottery winner ever in Denver, but I rarely look the part. More comfortable in jeans or shorts or sweats and hoodies, I’m a casual guy. Some might call me a slacker, if they don’t know me.

Not on the ice. In skates with a stick in my hand, chasing a rubber disk around the arena, I’m on fire.

I play hockey because I love it.

Off the ice, I waste time doing nothing much, just waiting for the next chance to practice or play, itching to tie up my skate strings.

My fancy cars collect dust in the enormous garage.

My custom-built home in Denver I share with some guys on the team because I can’t stand living in an empty house.

I have an accountant who keeps track of my banking because I can’t stand to look at the amount of money I have.

I grew up with nothing, the product of parents with nothing. Sure, at first, I went a little crazy after winning the lottery buying a fancy home, fancy cars, and a hot rod motorcycle. But after my divorce, I realized there are things that mean more to me than money.

Sometimes the money is more of a burden than anything.

“Sit back and relax. You could use a bit of culture, don’t you think?” Cam chides me with a sideways glance.

“What I could use is a night of debauchery in Las Vegas. But I come to visit you here and all you offer me is a night of ballet on ice. Of course, you’re so whipped by Becca now, it isn’t even funny.”

“Shut it. Here we go,” Cam warns as the music swells and curtains rise.

There’s his woman, Becca, dancing in the role of Juliet for the new Vegas Ballet on Ice Company. She and Cam started it up themselves. I’m a silent partner in the venture as well, and with a sell-out crowd like this, it’ll be a tremendous success with four major shows planned per year.

We’re sitting right on the edge of the ice. Cam’s eyes are on a constant lookout for Becca. I have to admit, it’s a beautiful performance. But what do I know about ballet on ice?

At one point, she skates up to us, pausing before us. Her arms outstretch in a graceful line, her fingertips almost touching Cam’s cheek. Their eyes meet and sitting this close, I can practically feel the love and desire and heat dripping off of them.

Fuck me. Cam’s a lucky bastard.

Never have I felt a woman look at me that way. Maybe at my bank account, sure. Like my ex did. My divorce from Bunny—yeah, I should have known with a name like that—turned me into a skeptic about love.

The thing is, I want love. I want to be married, to have kids, to have people to provide for and care for. I want to fill my home with an entire team of kids, because I have a big enough house for it now. I want to give them all everything I didn’t have growing up.

But not with someone who only sees me as a ticket to fame and fortune.

The constant loving eyes between Cam and Becca passed during the performance are like their own show, and it only brings me down. Before the first intermission, I quietly leave Cam’s side and wander around the concession area with my hands in my pockets, sad about my state of lovelessness as usual.

I spot a table of t-shirts and souvenirs on sale, so I have a look. The logo on everything is of a star with hockey skates in front of it. Then something catches my eye. A sign reads, “All proceeds go to the Wish Foundation’s Skate with a Hockey Player Program.”

“What’s this wish program?” I ask the attendant, a college-age looking kid with the name Reggie on his tag.

“Cam Castillo, one of the hockey players here, started this up as a nonprofit foundation. We give underserved kids a chance to skate with hockey players. We give them the gear, and some players teach a few classes. It really helps give the kids confidence and a chance to do something their families would not be able to afford,” he says, and points to his chest. “I wish this had been around when I was growing up. I love hockey, but our family couldn’t afford much.”

“Wow.” I can’t believe Cam didn’t tell me he’d started this. I know a little of his background, so it makes sense he’d give back now that he’s a famous hockey player. It makes me feel even more like shit.

Sure I donate every time I see those sad animal commercials on TV. Or during those times of the year when they have the telethons for St. Jude’s. But I know my money could do so much more than rot in a bank.

I whip out my Amex Black Card so fast. “I’ll take everything you have.”

The guy’s jaw drops. “Everything?”

“Yep. Can you have it shipped to Denver?” As I watch the guy start ringing things up, I couldn't care less what the total will be. I did something good with my money and that’s enough for me.

Only it fires off something in me to do more. I’ll have to ask Cam about this, maybe help him expand what he’s doing into Denver. Maybe across the states. Yeah, that’s it. Something useful to do with myself when I’m not on the ice.

Eventually, I return to my seat and settle in. Becca is a beautiful woman twirling around the ice. And the performance by the entire company is so good, they get a standing ovation at the end.

Cam finally gets to set his plan in motion. The one he called me about a few weeks ago, the whole reason I’m here. I’m the videographer.

“Ready, big buy? This is your moment. Don’t blow it.” I chuckle. But he’s so suave; he’s got this.

He takes the covers off of his skates, then picks up the bouquet of two dozen red roses that’s so huge. He had to buy the seat next to him for it. The crowd is still clapping on their feet, the performers still taking their bows, when he steps onto the ice.

In his tuxedo on skates, he’s one slick guy, gliding over to Becca. Her face freezes in shock at seeing him skate up to her with the flowers. Then she breaks out into a smile that splits her face as he takes her in one arm and twirls her around, away from the other performers.

I start filming; he’s had this all perfectly arranged with the arena staff. The guy manning the spotlight follows them until they stop near me.

Cam takes a knee in front of Becca, and the crowd goes wild.

Her hands fly to her mouth as he pulls a velvet box from the flowers and holds it up to her. No one can hear what’s being said, what he’s asking her, because of the decibel of the crowd noise, but everyone can guess.

Judging by her reaction, flinging her arms around his neck, it’s clear what her answer is as well.

Looks like I’ll have another reason to wear this tuxedo—to their wedding.

I catch the proposal all on camera, and jealousy spikes within me like a green monster on steroids. I’m happy for them. But I want what Cam has found. I want true love.

Too bad that’s something my money cannot buy.

Courtney Branch

Where is that damn polar bear? Grr. I’m as growly as one, only because Aiden should have been in bed an hour ago, and I have at least three hours of homework to power through. I seriously question whether an online school to finish my degree is worth it.

Tonight, he insisted he had to watch the end of the Denver Aspens hockey game on TV—that went into overtime—and I let him so I could get a few things done. TV sometimes is a mother’s best friend and babysitter.

His obsession with hockey lately, though, drives me crazy. No thanks to his after-school program taking the kids to the first game of the season last week with free tickets donated by the team.

I’ve managed, all these years, to avoid having sports on our TV at home. I’ve never even enrolled Aiden in Little League, soccer at the park, or basketball at the Y, and definitely not hockey or football. The cost to be involved in those isn’t in this single mom’s budget. But for a week straight, hockey is all he’s been talking about.

“I’m positive I had Nuk on the couch this morning,” he claims. We search everywhere for the bear. Of course, I kneel by his bed and find it underneath.

“Here he is. Your precious Nuk-Nuk.” I smile through my exhaustion, and pull out the stuffed animal I bought him from our visit to the Denver Zoo when he was four. It used to be snowy white, but is dingy now, being so well-loved and well-traveled since he used to tag along with us everywhere. As a third grader, Aiden keeps him only to snuggle at night as he falls asleep.

“Mom, I’ve been thinking about my birthday.” Aiden finally settles in under the covers, his fingers fidgeting with a foam hockey puck that was a freebie from the game.

“Your birthday is a couple of months away yet.” The bed sags under my weight as I take a seat beside him and sigh. I reach a hand up to swipe the dark hair out of his eyes; it’s already grown out from his back to school cut.

“But you always say we should plan ahead.”

Oh, no. He’s only eight and using my words against me. I’m not ready for the next ten years to fly by. I’m afraid to blink, finding him suddenly eighteen when I lift my eyelids.

“You’re right. I do. So tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Well, all my friends are signing up for skating lessons. They’re going to learn to play hockey and shoot the pucks, and I want that, too.”

So much for the latest super hero robotic action figure he said he wanted last month that I’d been saving for. In my head, I list and quickly calculate an estimation of the costs associated with this, from the skate rentals to the lessons, to any particular gear. And a mouth guard, definitely, because I don’t need my son to lose any teeth.

It seems hardly fair to any child born on Christmas Day to have their birthday compete with Christmas. So we always celebrate his birthday at Thanksgiving.

Out of my mouth comes my usual, “I’ll think about it.”

“But Mom, please. It’s all I want. In fact, you can forget about buying me Christmas presents, and only get me this for my birthday.”

Sly boy. “Me? Buy you presents to unwrap on Christmas morning? Don’t be silly. You know Santa brings them.”

His eyes perform an exaggerated roll. “Right. But I have yet to find proof of the big man from the North Pole visiting our house on Christmas Eve, don’t I?”

I hold back a grin at my smart kid and all the things he’s tried for the past two holidays to catch Santa in the act, from hiding under the couch table hoping to surprise him, to setting up a trip wire across the fireplace hoping he’d fall. Of course, I humored my child in his experiments, knowing full well he would fall asleep long before midnight.

“And um…well…I um...” He chews his cheek and casts his eyes away from me.

“What is it?” He doesn’t budge. “Tell me, or you get a tickle monster.” I have my hands up, fingers poised and ready above his tummy to tackle him.

He giggles, then blurts out. “My friends were all talking about the skating lessons today, and I felt left out, so I sort of told them I’d be having a birthday party at the rink where we can all skate and have fun together.”

“What? Aiden Michael Branch. You shouldn’t have done that.” I scowl. Rarely do I need to get mad at him; he’s a pretty good boy, but this stunt of his puts me in a bind. There’s no way I can afford to throw him a party. Not unless Mom’s Crafty Corner Shop has a sudden windfall, but in our small town outside of Denver, I doubt it will.

“I’m sorry. I’ll take it back. Just please get me skates for my birthday. That’s all I want.” Alligator-sized tears form along the brim of his eyes. His bottom lip quivers, and my heart breaks for him. For me. For us.

When I left his father, I knew the path ahead of us would be tough. I thought I was doing the best thing, but really, Aiden is the one who has had to suffer without a father and without some things his classmates have, like fancy birthday parties and clothes and fun things to do.

I pull him into my arms and hold him tight. Rubbing his back helps soothe him, and well-placed kisses along his forehead don’t hurt either. Once he calms down, I reach for the tissues from a box on his side table so I can dab at his eyes and nose.

“It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll figure something out, okay? It’s been a long day and you need to get to sleep. I love you bunches.” I lean in and give him a peck on the cheek.

“I love you more bunches.” He yawns. Before I even have his nightlight turned on, I hear his soft snores. With one last look at my growing boy, I finally leave his room and pad to the dining table, which has become my little office where I do all my schoolwork.

I open my laptop and try to get into a report I need to finish and send to my professor in two days, but all I can think about is how much skates cost and lessons and everything. With a good old Google search, I soon know everything he wants is more than my budget can allow.

Of course, I could call Jerrod and ask him to send more money for his son’s birthday. It’s the least he could do as the sperm donor.

“Staying up late? Need some tea or coffee, honey?” Mom’s appearance in the kitchen behind me startles me out of my thoughts, which is odd, since in the one-bedroom apartment we share above her Craft Corner you can hear everything, but Aiden’s birthday wishes weigh heavily on my mind.

“Sure. Coffee, thanks.”

“I heard you two talking. I meant to warn you how he was jabbering nonstop about his party from the minute he got home.” She shakes her head, her gray hair hardly moving from so much spray in it. Birthday parties were never her forte. I think I maybe had one the entire time I grew up.

“Yeah, a little notice would have been great.” I snap at her, but I’m grateful to her for taking us in a couple of years ago. We live with her, and I practically manage her Craft Corner Shop by myself, but after her hefty expenses and mortgage payment, money can be tight for all of us.

I’d get a second job if I could, but between dealing with Mom’s situation, my schoolwork, and caring for my son, I just don’t have the time.

“I hate having to disappoint him,” I lament and go to her side in the kitchen to put cream in my mug.

“He’ll get over it, Courtney. I’m sure your father and I disappointed you over the years, and you turned out okay. I’m going back to bed. ‘Night.” I watch her gray head of hair and purple robe disappear around the corner like she floats on a pink cloud above her own little island in a big world. She’s always been self-centered.

Now I’m the petulant child, rolling my eyes behind her back. This is only temporary, I repeat to myself. Another year and I’ll be done with school, then I can try to find a read job with benefits, some place where I can rebuild a future for Aiden and me.

I get through a couple of hours, making headway on my homework. As I stifle a yawn, ready to close my laptop, I click one more time into the search. I recall overhearing some mothers in the grocery store talking about a place to get used sports equipment for their kids.

A few clicks later, I find a location in Denver who might have gear for Aiden’s size. The prices are less than buying new, and I breathe a little easier. Perhaps there’s a way?—

Suddenly, a pop-up message appears in the center of my screen.

“The Wishes Granted Hockey Program?” I read the words on the notice, and click into it. The organization would provide skates, gear, and lessons to kids like Aiden, whose families don’t have the money to otherwise do this for their children.

“Worth a shot.” I yawn and quickly work through the application, typing hurried answers, dying to get to bed as soon as possible. Despite my tired eyes, I realize this could be the answer. I click submit. “If only wishes came true.”

I’d certainly had plenty of those that hadn’t in my life so far. But I also had one thing I never wished for. But so glad to have been blessed with him—Aiden. I’m just a mom who would do anything for him.

Sticking a Second Chance is coming soon.