Chapter 6

GRACE

NINE YEARS AGO

The first time I asked about Brady’s parents, Mom told me it wasn’t any of our business. When I’d tried to ask Brady himself, he’d scowled and had refused to answer the question.

The mystery behind it all just made me want to know even more. But at age thirteen, I also understood when to keep my mouth shut. I wasn’t a baby anymore.

Babies whined. I wasn’t going to whine to get my way. I would just wait and hope that someday, somebody would tell me about Brady’s past.

It was a hot, sunny day in the middle of summer when the phone rang. Mom was in the shower; Ben was in the yard. I was about to go pick it up when, to my surprise, Mom stepped out of the shower naked to answer it.

She was dripping water onto the carpet as she talked on the phone. Mom had never been shy about being nude around her kids, but she wasn’t the type to get water everywhere either. She always got on Ben when he left puddles in the bathroom after he showered.

“Uh-huh. Okay. Well, then.” Mom sighed and said something else before hanging up. She then turned and said to me, “Go get your brother.”

I knew that tone. I did as she said, telling Ben Mom needed him. By the time we were both inside, Mom had put on a robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. She told Ben that he needed to drive over to where Brady was and bring him home.

“What happened?” Ben asked, crossing his arms.

“I’ll tell you later. Just go get him,” Mom said.

Ben glanced at me. Then he shrugged, grabbed his keys, and headed out.

Mom sat down heavily at the kitchen table. She looked exhausted.

“Why didn’t you go get Brady?” I asked.

“Because I need to make some more phone calls. And Ben’s a good distraction.”

I waited for more of an explanation, but my patience was about to run out. What the heck was going on?

“Brady’s mom is in the hospital,” Mom said finally. “She’s really sick.”

“What happened?”

Mom just shook her head. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. That’s for Brady to decide if he wants to tell you and Ben. But I want to respect his privacy and his family’s.”

I wanted to argue, but the expression on Mom’s face told me not to push my luck.

Brady arrived home with Ben, and then before I could ask any more questions, Mom was driving Brady to the hospital. Ben went upstairs to his room.

Dad was working all day, so he was useless. I tried to find something to do, but I just channel surfed and waited for Mom and Brady to come home. By the time I heard the front door open, it was close to dinnertime.

“Brady wanted to go back to the rink,” explained Mom when I noticed she was alone.

“How’s his mom?”

“Stable, but it’ll be a long recovery.” Mom sat down on the couch with me and hugged me. “I’m so proud of you, Gracie.”

I blinked in surprise. I didn’t understand where this was coming from. “Um, okay.”

“You’re a good kid. I know we’ve been busy with Brady and hockey and everything, but I just wanted you to know that.” Then Mom kissed my forehead and went to start dinner.

Brady had started playing hockey earlier in the summer after getting into a fight with one of the neighborhood bullies. Brady had seen the bully pushing around a fourth grader, and Brady had intervened. Although I’d seen the whole thing, Mom and Dad hadn’t been happy.

“Fighting never solves anything,” Mom had said to Brady, exasperated.

“Trevor started it!” Brady had shot back.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Dad. He crossed his arms. “Violence never helps.”

“You coach fucking hockey!” Brady replied.

Dad made sure to tell Brady to watch his mouth. I wanted to defend Brady but knew it was a losing battle.

Later, I heard my parents arguing in low voices in the kitchen.

“I still don’t think it was fair to come down on him like that,” Dad said.

I heard Mom sigh. “You know as well as I do that with foster kids don’t get the benefit of the doubt. What happens if somebody calls the cops when he’s in a fight? He could get sent to juvie. And given how big he is already, somebody could mistake him for an adult.”

“So he should never defend himself? Or others?”

“He needs to learn to use his words, not his fists.”

I peeked around the corner. Mom was leaning against the kitchen island; Dad had his back to me.

“Or maybe he needs to channel that energy into something productive,” said Dad.

“I don’t want him playing hockey.”

“Why not? He’d be great at it.”

“You don’t know that.”

Dad sighed. “Baby, come on. I know you don’t like that hockey is more violent than other sports—”

“I hate it.”

“But at least hockey lets Brady channel his anger. And if he hates it, then he can do something else. Besides, he’s told me more than once that he’s interested.”

Mom’s mouth twisted. Then she laughed a little. “Fine. Fine! I guess you’re right. Better fighting on the ice than on a playground.”

“That’s my girl.” Dad pulled Mom into a chaste kiss, which made her laugh again.

So Brady started playing hockey. According to Ben, Brady was a natural. He learned to skate like he’d been born on the ice. And when Dad handed him a hockey stick, everything changed.

Now Brady spent all his time at the rink. I’d been a little hurt, which I’d known was stupid. But it felt like Brady was rejecting spending time with the family over hockey.

Or it feels like he’s not interested in hanging around a little kid like you, I thought. Even though I knew I wasn’t a little kid, Brady didn’t know that. He still treated me like a little sister on the few occasions he interacted with me.

Brady fascinated me. I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to think my jokes were funny. I wanted him to hang out with me like he hung out with Ben.

But despite my best efforts to attract his attention, it never worked. Despite me teaching Brady to swim when he’d first joined our family, our time together had been limited at best.

I noticed that when Brady found me alone, like when I was watching TV or inside the tree house, he always muttered something and let me be.

I then tried to watch TV shows I knew he liked . But no matter what show was on, Brady never stayed to watch. Even when I’d catch him watching the same shows later.

It made zero sense. But it must be because he thought being around me was embarrassing. That was what Ben had told me, at least. Boys like Brady didn’t want to hang around girls like me.

Going to my room, I sat down in front of my mirror, gazing at my reflection. I’d grown two inches this year. Everyone always liked to comment how tall I was going to be. I didn’t have chubby cheeks anymore. I was covered in freckles from being out in the sun, my blond hair lighter than ever. My breasts were bigger, although they were still shamefully small.

I didn’t know if I was pretty. I wished I was. I wished I was tan and fit and that all the boys were in love with me.

I started putting on makeup. I braided my hair and then wore a top that was too small for me now. I put on some jasmine-scented perfume from the mall and waited for Brady to come home.

But when I went down to dinner, Dad was the one who’d come home, not Brady. He gave me one look and said, “Go take that off your face and put something decent on, young lady.”

Brady didn’t come home that night. It was weird because my parents didn’t seem worried about it.

But I was worried about him. No matter how old he looked, I bet he didn’t want to be alone right now.

I got out of bed around eleven o’clock. I listened intently, but I didn’t hear anyone still awake. I got dressed quickly and managed to get out of the house without anyone noticing me.

Then again, I wasn’t exactly the type of kid to sneak out of the house. Ben had done it once or twice before my parents had put the fear of God into him. But it was most likely because Ben knew he had to keep up his grades to graduate with a hockey scholarship.

I got on my bike and started riding to the rink. It was only two miles away, and despite it being dark out, I wasn’t afraid. Our little suburban neighborhood was quiet. Boring, even. People didn’t even lock their doors at night. The worst crime I’d heard about was when some kids TP’ed Mrs. Jenkins’s house across the street on Halloween.

Dad had somehow gotten the rink owners to let Brady skate any time he wanted. I didn’t know how Dad had managed that, but he had.

When I got there, there was one car in the parking lot. When the single person working there saw who I was, he just sighed and waved me on in.

“If you could get the kid to go home so I could go to sleep, that’d be great,” he drawled, yawning widely.

I shrugged and didn’t promise anything. Going into the arena, I saw Brady skating at the other end. He was passing a puck back and forth, completely focused. He then proceeded to slam into the boards, like he wanted to fight the arena itself.

I’d never seen Brady like this. Sure, I’d seen him fight Trevor at the park, but that’d had a purpose. This just seemed ... self-destructive.

Only when he stopped to take a swig of water did he realize he had an audience. He scowled over at me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, skating up to the door that swung open into the bleachers. He eyed me up and down. “Where’s Ben?”

I stuck out my chin. “I came by myself.”

“In the dark? What the hell is wrong with you?”

I wasn’t going to let him rant and rave at me or intimidate me. He wasn’t going to make me cry, either.

“I’m fine. See?” I waved a hand down my torso. “I almost got into a white van but decided not to when the guy didn’t have my favorite candy.”

Brady blinked. Then he shook his head, laughing.

“Dammit, you’re crazy,” he said. He came up and sat down next to me. “You shouldn’t bike around at night by yourself, you know.”

“Since when? This neighborhood is safe.”

“Nowhere is really safe,” was Brady’s dark comment.

I looked especially broody. I stared at him from the corner of my eye. His eyes were red. Had he been crying?

“How’s your mom?” I asked tentatively.

Brady’s mouth screwed up. “She’ll live.”

“I’m glad.” I meant it.

“I’m not.”

I gaped at him. “You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re lucky. You have nice parents who give a shit about you. My mom only cares about getting drunk and finding somebody to buy her more booze. Do you know she spent money on beer instead of diapers when I was a baby?” Brady let out a harsh laugh.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. I’d been so curious about Brady’s mom that it hadn’t occurred to me that she was somebody like this.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Brady shook his head. “Why do people always say that? Why would you be sorry? She’s the one who’s a fuckup, not you.”

“But you said she’ll be okay?”

“Oh yeah. She’ll survive. She always does. Even though her liver is failing and her kidneys barely work. The doctors are always like, ‘you should stop drinking.’ And then she swears she’ll stop. But she never does.

“Last time she was in the hospital, she got caught drinking hand sanitizer. Fucking hand sanitizer! Who does that?”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know people did things like that.

“You look shocked,” Brady said. “You’re so naive. It’s cute.”

I blushed to the roots of my hair. “What about your dad?” I stammered.

“My dad? He’s in prison. Got caught dealing drugs three times, and now he’s there for the rest of his life. My mom always told me that she kicked him out because he liked to take me with him on his drug runs. Made the cops less likely to stop him. Until one time they did, and they found bags of crack in my stroller.”

Brady cracked his knuckles. “Yeah, so, my parents fucking suck. That’s the whole story, basically. My mom keeps wanting me to come back home, but why should I? She drinks her money away. At least in foster care, I get to eat.”

I felt like crying, hearing Brady’s story. But I knew he wouldn’t like me crying for him. I dug my fingers into my jeans, forcing my emotions under control.

“I’m glad you got to come live with us,” I said.

Brady was silent. I felt myself blushing again. He wouldn’t look at me, but then he said, “Yeah, your parents are decent, at least.”

Then his expression darkened. “But I don’t want to be a charity case my entire life. People always look at you different when they find out you’re some punk-ass foster kid. They look all sad and shit. It’s annoying.”

“You’re not a charity case,” I protested.

“I’m living off your parents’ dime when I’m not their kid. Pretty sure that’s the definition of charity,” he said wryly.

“They get paid for it.”

“Barely. Believe me, I know it’s a pathetic amount of money. My last three foster families never failed to tell me how little the state paid them to take care of me. My last foster mom always bitched that I ate too much food. So I’d have to sneak it and keep shit hidden from her.”

Brady gazed out on the arena. “No, I’m not gonna be a charity case forever. I’m going to be a pro hockey player. I’ll make so much money that I can swim in it. Everyone will know who I am. And it’ll be because of who I am, and that I’m a hockey player. Not because I’m some pathetic kid with shit parents.”

I could hear in his voice how serious he was. I had a feeling he was going to pursue his goal no matter what.

“Well, when you get famous, I’ll sit right here in the stands wearing your jersey,” I said.

Brady chuckled. “This isn’t a pro arena, kid.”

“Whatever. You know what I mean.” I shot him a smile. “I’ll be in the stands, cheering you on, until you get so embarrassed that you’ll make security kick me out.”

“Like I said, you’re crazy.” His expression turned somber. “But I bet you won’t remember me by then.”

“What? I’ll never forget you. You’re the crazy one.”

Brady didn’t say anything after that. But I could tell by his smile he was pleased.