Chapter 27

brADY

PRESENT DAY

The day Grace stopped texting me, I knew something was wrong.

She’d given me space for about two days. Then she’d started texting and calling me, telling me she wanted to be there for me no matter what was wrong.

I didn’t reply to any of her messages. I felt like a complete piece of shit, ignoring her, but I didn’t know what to say. Every time I started to text her back or call her, I could hear Coach’s words in my head.

It didn’t help that I kept dreaming of the night Ben had died. Sometimes it was just the actual memory of seeing Mrs. Dallas’s car wrapped around that fucking tree.

Sometimes it changed into where I was in the car with Ben. I kept begging him to stop driving, that he was drunk, but Ben would just laugh and tell me to chill.

The worst dreams were the ones where I was the one driving. Sometimes I was drunk; other times, I couldn’t get control of the car for whatever reason.

Ben would be in the passenger seat, and then we’d slam into the tree. Sometimes Ben would fly through the windshield; other times, he’d have his seat belt on, but he’d be unconscious.

I always woke up not knowing if Ben was dead or alive. Maybe that was actually the worst part, because I’d wake up hoping that Ben was still alive.

Then reality would crash in, and I’d realize that he was still dead. And it’d been my fault entirely.

I’d given him those keys. I’d seen him drinking. I’d told myself he’d be fine, even when I’d been around my mom when she’d try to drive after she’d been drinking.

I’d known better. I could’ve stopped Ben from dying, but it’d been easier to say nothing. I’d taken the easy way out because I’d been a coward.

When I was awake and no longer dreaming, my mind still replayed that night over and over again in my mind.

Sometimes I’d be driving, and I’d see a tree that looked like the one Ben had hit. Panic would overwhelm me, and more than once, I’d had to pull over to get myself together to keep driving.

Why had I thought Ben wouldn’t drink and drive? I knew the signs. I’d drunk a beer with him, for God’s sake, which meant he’d probably been drinking all evening.

And I’d seen Ben drunk before. We’d been high school kids, experimenting with drugs and alcohol on occasion. I’d caught Ben stealing his parents’ booze, and he’d sworn me to silence before inviting me to whatever party he was attending that night.

All the hockey guys partied, me included. So seeing Ben drinking at the bonfire hadn’t been out of the ordinary. Although he wasn’t yet twenty-one, he’d somehow managed to get a fake ID that had miraculously worked when he’d go to buy booze.

It was a Friday evening, and I was home alone, trying to distract myself. I’d considered going out, but nothing appealed to me. Mac had texted me about doing something, but I’d declined.

I’d then considered going to the Scarlet Rope, but that only reminded me of Grace.

What are you doing right now, Grace?

Did she miss me? I missed her, that was for fucking sure. It was like a physical ache in my chest not being around her or talking to her.

With my previous relationships, I’d never really missed them. Sometimes I’d get bored and text them for a hookup, but once they’d left, it was like they didn’t exist.

But with Grace, she was present even when she wasn’t around. It was like she was haunting me.

“God, I’m getting so pathetic,” I muttered to myself after I’d turned off a show that I couldn’t get into.

I never would’ve thought a woman would bring me to my knees. I guess Mac had been right: I was in for it with Grace.

I went back and forth, but my resolve finally broke. I texted Grace, asking her to meet me at my place.

To my relief, she agreed. My heart beat with anticipation that I’d see her soon.

After she arrived, though, I knew something was seriously wrong when I saw her tearstained face. A wave of guilt slammed into me.

Had she been crying over me? That thought nearly sent me to my knees.

As she stepped inside, I went to hug her, but to my surprise, she just shook her head and even put up her hands to stop me.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice hoarse.

A chill went down my spine. I knew she’d be angry, but something was wrong.

“I’m sorry I’ve been radio silent,” I said. “Your dad talked to me and freaked me out. I didn’t know what to do. I had to think about it by myself. I shouldn’t have stopped talking to you.”

I knew I was rambling. Grace was just staring at her feet and biting her lip.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” I added, at a loss now. I desperately wanted to hold her, but I could tell she still had a wall up.

“Did you give Ben the keys to Mom’s car? When he was drunk?” Grace asked, her gaze direct and searing.

I couldn’t breathe. I felt a whooshing sound in my ears.

“Grace . . .” I whispered.

She just shook her head. “Don’t. Just tell me the truth, for once in your life. Please.”

“At least sit down first.”

Grace hesitated, but then she sighed and sat down. When I went to sit next to her, she shook her head. “Please. I need space,” she said.

I did as she asked. Then I said heavily, “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry I never told you.”

Grace’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh my God. Why would you let him drive?”

After the accident, I’d gone to Coach and confessed that I’d given Ben the keys. I’d seen him drinking, but I hadn’t thought it was a big deal. Coach looked grim and told me to keep that information to ourselves.

“It’ll just hurt the girls more,” he’d said. “Because they’ll never forgive you for it. And the last thing we need is to lose another son.”

So I’d kept that secret. I’d kept it and buried it like we’d buried Ben. When I’d held Grace at the funeral, I’d reminded myself that telling her that I’d been responsible for her brother’s death would only cause her pain.

And if it hurt me? So what? I deserved worse. I didn’t deserve absolution or forgiveness.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Grace cried. She was sobbing now. “How could you not tell me? All these years, and you said nothing!”

I wanted to die. I wanted to pull her into my arms. But all I could do was watch as she cried.

“Who told you?” I asked.

“Does it matter? Because the person who should’ve told me was you .”

“I’m so sorry,” I murmured. I closed my eyes. “Grace, you can’t know how sorry I am.”

“That’s it? You’re sorry? You’re sorry that Ben is dead and you’re not?”

The words were a punch to the gut, but I couldn’t deny them, either.

Grace wiped at her eyes. “You knew he was drunk? You knew, and you gave him the keys? Why?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. I wished I did.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“That’s not good enough. You should’ve called him a cab. You know about drinking and driving, so don’t tell me you don’t know what to do. I guess you thought it’d be okay if my brother hurt somebody or if he hurt himself? That’s fucked up, Brady.”

Grace rose and went to the front door, but I stopped her. “Wait, you can’t leave like this—”

“So, what? Are you going to hold me hostage?” Her eyes glittered with rage and hatred. “Maybe you should’ve been more concerned about stopping Ben instead of me.”

I held on to her for a moment longer, but then I let her go. I had no right to keep her here.

I had no right to her, period. I’d known that since Ben had died. Why had I been stupid enough to think I could change fate?

“Are you okay enough to drive? Should I get a taxi or Uber for you?” I couldn’t help but ask. I knew that driving while sobbing wasn’t a great idea, especially in LA traffic. And it was getting dark, too.

Grace laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Seriously? Now you care about getting an Uber for somebody? Fuck off, Brady. We’re done.”

Then she left, slamming the door behind her.

I stared at my front door for what felt like hours. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t believe that’d just happened.

Then the pain hit, and it was unbearable. I staggered up, grabbed my wallet and keys, and started walking.

I had to get out of that apartment. But as I walked, I could only see the anguish on Grace’s face. The way she wouldn’t even let me touch her, or console her, or explain myself.

What is there to explain? You killed her brother.

I grabbed a tree and forced myself to take a few deep breaths so I didn’t vomit all over the sidewalk.

I’d feared this day for so many years, and it was worse than I could’ve imagined. Had I really hoped that Grace would understand? That she’d tell me she didn’t hate me for what I’d done?

I had to get away from this feeling. I found the nearest open bar and collapsed onto a stool. The bartender gave me a strange look but didn’t balk when I ordered three shots of whiskey.

“Hard day?” the bartender asked as he pushed the shot glasses toward me.

I downed one, then another. “You could say that,” I croaked as I finished off the third.

I was drunk within ten minutes. It didn’t numb the pain completely, but it helped. It made it feel like I might survive this ordeal.

I didn’t care that my mom had just died from drinking herself into oblivion. I didn’t care that Ben had died because he’d been drunk and gotten behind the wheel.

I didn’t care that alcohol seemed to be the cause of every hurt in my life. At that moment, it was my savior. It was the only thing keeping me from falling into a dark pit that I was terrified I’d never get out of.

I somehow ended up in a nearby booth. I’d lost count of how many shots of whiskey I’d drunk. It got to the point that the bartender actually cut me off, the asshole.

“Should I call you a ride?” he’d asked.

I had my head on the table, and it took all my strength to lift it. “Nah,” I slurred. “I didn’t drive, anyway.”

“Well, that’s good, at least.” The bartender sighed and took away the empty glasses.

I was about to order from a bartender who’d just started her shift when a guy came up to my booth. He leered down at me, reeking of cigarette smoke.

“Is that you? Carmichael? Shit, never thought I’d see you in a place like this,” he said.

“Whaddya want?”

“Man, aren’t you dating your coach’s daughter? Damn, she’s a fine piece of ass. I can’t blame you there. I’d fuck her, too.” He laughed like he’d made the most hilarious joke ever.

Grace. He was talking about Grace. Red filled my vision. Before I knew it, I’d grabbed the guy by the collar and was punching him. I punched him again, not caring that blood was running from his nose, not caring that there were hands trying to pull me away from him. I just wanted to keep punching him until he knew he could never, ever talk about Grace like that again.

The cops arrived soon after. I’d been unlucky, apparently, because a cop car had parked across the street after pulling somebody over for speeding. Then I was on the ground and being handcuffed, my head whirling, feeling like I was going to vomit and desperately hoping that I wouldn’t. The last thing I needed was to puke all over myself and be stuffed into a police car.

I was in the back of the police car for a while, my arms aching as much as my head. I tasted blood on my tongue.

Then one of the cops returned, opened the door, and said, “We’re taking you in for assault and drunken and disorderly conduct.”

I didn’t protest. I didn’t even give a fuck that I was being arrested. I just sighed and closed my eyes.

I was processed, fingerprinted, read my rights, and tossed in a cell to await my bail hearing. The only thing fortunate about my situation was that the judge could probably see me later that afternoon.

I knew I needed to call somebody. The Blades had an attorney on hand. But I was too drunk and tired to care. Besides, until I saw a judge, I wasn’t going anywhere.

By the time I’d gone before the judge, I’d sobered up enough to know I was in deep shit. Sure, I could afford almost any bail the judge set, but my reputation with the team was already hanging by a thread.

I also realized that I didn’t know anybody’s phone number. Who did when everybody had a cell phone these days?

Ironically, the only number I could remember was my mom’s landline when I’d been in foster care. I’d called her often right after I’d been placed in that first foster home, but eventually, I’d stopped trying when she never picked up.

I was too tired to care after that. I ended up puking up the rest of the alcohol in my system and fell into a fitful sleep.

“Carmichael,” a man barked, jerking me awake. “Somebody’s here for you.”

It took me a second to remember where I was. “Who is it?”

“Some woman. Come on, she just bailed you out. Lucky you.”