4. Smitty

Four games later, Toronto was out of contention and my career in the AHL was officially over. I'd like to claim it was a celebrated event, but at the end of the day, I was a footnote who'd been lucky to get a shout-out in front of the Seattle crowd we'd lost to and a retirement party back home.

I understood. Hockey was a business, baby.

I cleaned out my locker on a Monday, assured my agent over breakfast on Tuesday that I definitely was not interested in another year with a new team, and by Wednesday, I was ready to move on to my usual summer plans, helping an old friend run a camp for teens in the suburbs.

The drive from Toronto to Detroit took about five hours, which gave me time to regroup, catch up on my favorite history podcasts, and belt out all the wrong lyrics to whatever tunes popped up on Spotify.

One hour into the ride, the Gauls had just ransacked Rome when Darth Vader's theme song cut the action.

Call from Mom.

Fuck.

Conversations with my mother were always tense. For me, anyway. If it wasn't for Jimmy and his camp, I wasn't sure I'd bother coming home anymore.

I blew out a frustrated breath and accepted the call. "Hi, Mom. How's it goin'?"

"My hip is killing me and my arthritis is acting up," she replied, hacking a wicked cough before taking a telltale drag of a cigarette.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, yeah. I ran into Jimmy at the market. He says you're helping him again this summer. Don't you have a better job? You're a star. You shouldn't waste your time with coaching. Let him do that."

"Not really a star, Ma, but thanks."

"Sure you are and you're loaded. It's nice having a rich kid." She cackled, coughed, and sobered with a long sigh that had me bracing for the inevitable. "Speaking of money…I need to borrow a few bucks. Not much this time. A couple hundred will tide me over till my pension check shows up in my account. I'll pay you right back and?—"

"Got it. I'll take care of it when I get there."

"See? You are a star." She took another long drag, adding, "If you could move the cash over sooner, that'd be great."

"I'm driving, Ma."

"You could pull over and?—"

"I'll try. Hey, I got another call coming through," I lied. "I'll see you soon, 'kay?"

I didn't give her a chance to reply. I hung up, grinding my molars till my jaw ached. I had no idea why I let her money-grubbing ways get under my skin. I was her personal ATM, and I had been for years. If I'd known I was helping with something important like food or medication, I wouldn't have minded so much. But no…I funded her scotch habit.

And the crazy thing was that my best intentions had created a monster.

See, I'd bought my mom her house outright a couple of years ago. I rented an apartment in Toronto for myself, but I made sure she didn't have to worry about rent. She'd been over the moon when I'd explained that her pension would cover groceries and leave her with plenty of dough for fun.

Suddenly, I was the best son, I was the smartest, I was a star. My ego ate that shit up.

You'd have thought I was sixteen years old again, looking for my mother in the stands, wishing she'd fucking show up to my games when Dad couldn't. I'd needed a parent in my corner telling me everything would be okay, but she'd been nowhere to be found. Now, she popped up all the fucking time…for money.

Fucking Jimmy.

I adjusted my baseball cap and instructed Siri to call him.

"Smitty, baby!" he answered. "What's up, man? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's cool. Except the part where you told my mom I was on my way home. Fuck you very much. We had a rule, man. I get a week-long reprieve before we alert dear ol' Ma. Thanks for narcin' on me."

My best friend snickered unapologetically. "I'm sorry. She caught me by surprise, and I swear that wasn't even an hour ago."

"Hmph."

"Hey, congratulations. Have you been partying like a fiend, celebrating your storied career?"

"Storied? I don't know about that, but yeah…I've had some fun."

My brain immediately went to my night with Bryson a few weeks ago. Odd. I mean, yeah…that was a highlight for sure, but that definitely wasn't what Jimmy was referring to. And I didn't know why I was still thinking about Hot Dad anyway.

It had happened, and it was amazing, but it was over. Never to be repeated.

"Some fun?" he repeated, perking up. "Tell me all about it. Let me live vicariously through late night titty bars and tequila-fused hazes so I have something fun to think about while I clean dog puke and chauffeur my kids around."

I chuckled. "I have nothing exciting to report. Most of my teammates are ten years younger than me. I don't need to be their bad influence."

"Is this really Smitty Paluchek? The original good-time guy?" Jimmy huffed. "The same guy who encouraged me to break curfew and skate hungover on the regular?"

Hmm. Well, yeah. That had been me…a long time ago.

My childhood friend and former teammate gave a couple of examples of my younger self's debauched ways. Like the time I'd dared a rookie to moon everyone in our elevator, which had included a group of hockey-loving grandmothers or the time I'd instigated the raw potato eating contest…as one does.

I'd arguably had too much fun in the locker room back then, but if Jimmy had been hoping for any recent Smitty shenanigans to live vicariously through, he'd be disappointed. Or grateful he'd gone with his gut and retired at twenty-nine.

Jimmy gave up the high life to sell insurance at his dad's firm in Warren. I'd told him he was nuts and had begged him to reconsider, but his priorities changed after his first child was born. "I don't want to travel half the year and miss the important stuff. I want to be there for my kids." Now he was a father of three, raising his family in the suburbs with his beautiful wife while I was…wherever I was.

The certainty I'd made the better choice had faded, but I shoved that unwanted thought aside.

"Yeah, yeah. How's Christina?" I asked.

"She's great, and the kids are awesome. They've already been asking about Uncle Smitty."

That made me smile. "Cool. I officially invite myself over for dinner tomorrow. I'll even bring the beer."

"Nice of you," he snarked.

"No prob. Just remember…no beets, and if you try to kill me with a cauliflower pizza again, I'll have to hurt you."

Jimmy guffawed. "Oh, c'mon, it wasn't that bad."

"It was that bad." I switched lanes to maneuver around a slow-as-fuck Jeep. "I should go. I need to concentrate on the road. See you tomorrow, honey."

"Very funny. Uh…wait up. You have our new address, right?"

"What? No. When did you move?"

"A couple of months ago. I sent you a change of address card." Jimmy waited a beat, adding, "We live in St. Clair Shores now, back in the old neighborhood."

"Sweet. Gimme the deets and?—"

"It's closer to work and camp and…the schools are good." He paused, leaving a heavy vibe I couldn't translate on a cellular connection. Two seconds later, I understood. "And we live a couple of blocks away from Rachel."

Every muscle in my body tensed.

"Rachel."

"She and Christina stayed close, and when we were looking for a new home, the stars aligned. You know, she's remarried."

I cleared my throat and nodded. "Yeah, I heard."

"Ben's a nice guy and—" Jimmy's tone took on the ultra-cautious note of someone who was about to tell you something that was gonna hurt no matter how nicely they phrased it. I held my breath, my gaze fixed on the white lines blazing by in my periphery, and waited. "Don't worry. You won't run into each other, but if you do…I gotta warn you about something."

"What?"

I knew what he was going to say. Call it instinct, call it a sixth sense…

"She's pregnant."

And there it was.

The bomb I'd always known would drop someday.

Nonetheless, it rendered me speechless. My tongue felt numb and my gut churned ominously. I didn't want to feel anything about this. I didn't want to care. Unfortunately, I wasn't as immune as I'd hoped. The suddenness of unwelcome emotion knocked the air out of me.

"Oh," I finally managed, swallowing around the grapefruit lodged in my throat.

"I thought you should know. I don't want you to be blindsided if you bump into each other, but…uh, yeah."

Jimmy stalled out as if passing the proverbial conversation baton. Fuck. I had nothing. My brain was mush. I'd known this day would come. It was as if I'd been carrying a live grenade in my pocket for years. Yeah, there was a chance it would never blow up, but that wasn't realistic. And I was nothing if not a realist.

But as my creaky bones and aching muscles reminded me, I was also human.

"Well…that's cool," I choked out after what felt like twenty minutes of static silence.

"Yeah. Okay, well…call me tomorrow, man," he barreled on with forced cheer. "We'll talk shop and get organized for camp. We've got a huge enrollment this summer and…"

I tuned him out.

Ontario signposts passed in a blur and fluffy summer clouds shaped like balloon animals floated on the horizon. This was the way home. I'd driven this interstate so many times, I was sure I could do it blindfolded.

The journey home was symbolic of so many memories. I willed myself to concentrate on the good ones, but my brain was already spinning in the opposite direction.

The sad drives home to visit my sick father in the hospital. The angry drives, like the time my brother called to tell me Mom had passed out at the DMV and he was done, moving to Florida. The nervous drive home to see my wife, who'd sounded so…resolved on the phone.

This road always led to endings, but like a true glutton for punishment, I steered my truck homeward, hoping for the best, bracing for the worst.

Like I always did.

I was right.

About everything.

The camp kids were awesome, Jimmy and his family were amazing, and my mother was a pain in the ass. I spent my days at the local rink, a few miles away from the run-down one where I'd skated as a kid, and spent my nights popping Advil and icing my knee while avoiding my cell. Sure, I caught up with my old high school buddies and hosted a barbecue or two at my lakefront rental, but I didn't drink like I used to and I had nothing much to add to conversations anymore.

I didn't have a family—no kids, no wife, no girlfriend. I knew hockey—nothing else.

The guys thought it was insane that I didn't have a posse of women on speed dial. They looked at me like I was nuts. Hockey players scored. What was wrong with me? Nothing at all. It was just that I was tired and…maybe a little hung up on something I couldn't have.

And that right there was a disturbing overriding theme in my life.

I spent six solid weeks of summer in a confused, agitated state, freaked out that I'd accidentally bump into my ex or worried about my mother. The only place I was truly happy and content was on the ice, surrounded by a bunch of goofy teens who loved hockey. And the only time my thoughts were light and positive was when I let myself think about the hot dad I'd met in Syracuse.

I jacked off to memories of fucking Bryson more often than I wanted to admit. Hot Dad riding me, ass clenched around my cock. Hot Dad grinning, smiling up at me, pinching my nipples while I pumped my hips double time. It was one night, but it stuck with me.

Thinking about him kept me sane on lazy summer nights when my brain tried to torture me with all my fucking failures. Jesus, this was why I'd waited till I was practically hobbled to retire. I couldn't stand being in my head. I couldn't stand being home.

It was harder than ever to pretend I was having a grand old time with buddies I'd outgrown years ago.

Jimmy was the exception, but that was probably because we'd gone through the trenches together. We'd met in third grade and were the best of friends through high school, and teammates until our freshman year of college. We were drafted at the same time, and though we'd never played in the same league, we stayed tight. I was best man at his wedding; he was best man at mine.

Hockey was over, my marriage was long gone, yet our bond was still strong.

But I was a bad friend.

I passed on every invitation for dinner. I couldn't make it to his hot dog cook-off, I was busy on July fourth, I had a thing the day of Sarah's sixth birthday party. In short, I didn't want to go to his house. Yep, that one passing mention of my ex living in their neighborhood spooked me.

There. Fine. I admitted it.

But…Jimmy's clan was welcome at my pad anytime. He brought his family for picnics at the lake. We took the boat out, went swimming, and yeah, I had fun.

Jimmy never gave up, though, and eventually, he wore me down.

"One beer, Smitty. Come on. Christina is out with her friends, and I'm not schlepping three kids and a dog to your place."

"Fine."

That was last week.

One beer later, I'd ended up staying to let Sarah paint my nails while her little brother rolled his tow truck over my bare feet. And it was nice and just the right kind of distracting. I came by again on Monday for dinner 'cause I forgot to go to the store and Christina was making chili. That was fun too.

And maybe it was just what I needed. It wasn't healthy to avoid a whole section of town on the off chance I might see my ex. I didn't live in Michigan anymore. I was passing through, and nothing here could hurt that bad anymore. The worst was over years ago.

So tonight, I stopped by Jimmy's on a whim after practice.

We were holed up in his basement, watching our Tigers demolish the Royals. I wouldn't stay long, but I loved his kids and it was nice to be with people who felt like family.

"Aren't you gonna change your clothes? You look fancy. I'm feelin' underdressed here," I griped, gesturing between us with my beer.

"Yeah, yeah. It was a long day. I'll get to it," he grumbled.

"How'd your meeting go?"

"Fine. Thank fuck you're here. I couldn't run the camp without your help."

"You're welcome, but I'm not the only coach you have."

"No, but you're the best. It's been fun, huh?"

I nodded 'cause yeah, I liked coaching. I liked the kids. I liked molding the next generation of twelve to fifteen-year-old hockey fanatics into real players. I liked that they were rabid enough to happily sacrifice summer days at the lake to run drills and play scrimmages with a few local pros. The way Jimmy and I had in our youth.

We'd both grown up attending Ice Jam, and I had fond memories for sure, but Jimmy had loved it so much that when the owner wanted to retire four years ago, he'd bought the business on a whim. He'd wanted me to go in on it with him too. Fifty-fifty. No thanks. The thought of being tied to home with a contract gave me the heebie-jeebies.

I'd invested as a silent partner, but didn't want anything to do with running the camp. I had a very finite fuse with this town. Eight weeks for Jimmy…okay. Anything more made me itchy as fuck. It was worse than ever this summer.

Jimmy set his beer on the coffee table and pushed his fingers through wavy dark hair. In his rumpled suit with his sleeves rolled up and his belly resting on his lap, he reminded me of his dad. It was funny how seamlessly he'd followed in his father's footsteps. I thought of my dad for a moment, and my heart squeezed painfully.

Yeah, it was definitely time to move on.

"Do you like selling insurance?" I asked during a commercial.

My friend shrugged. "Pays the bills. It's not my dream job, but I never got the sweet contract you did."

"Did I get one of those?" I snarked, pointing at my chest.

"You know you fuckin' did."

"I did okay, but contrary to what my mother thinks, I'm not rolling in dough."

He quirked a brow. "How is she doing?"

"I don't think I've seen her sober the entire time I've been here."

"I'm sorry, man."

"Me too. Every time my phone buzzes, I tense up. Is she okay? Did something happen? Or…does she just want more cash?"

Buzz buzz

And what do you know?

Jimmy and I gaped at each other with matching "yikes" faces. I grabbed my cell from the coffee table and frowned at the caller ID.

"Is that her?" Jimmy asked.

"No, it's Riley Thoreau."

He bugged his eyes out incredulously. "Riley fucking Thoreau is texting you? What the actual fuck? What does he want?"

Congrats on your retirement, Smitty. Hey, I know it's a long shot, but the coach I hired just pulled out and I'm desperate. If you know anyone who might be interested, call me. Thanks!

"He needs a high school coach." I pocketed my phone, intending to text him later.

"Doesn't he know you're going to be a fancy analyst?"

I snorted. "Yeah, something like that. Not me. He wants me to keep an eye out."

"Oh. Well, you're a good coach. Just sayin'."

"Thanks. You'd have been proud of the boys at the scrimmage today. Defense was looking awesome. Chase was sitting at the goal twiddling his thumbs, waiting for action that rarely came."

Jimmy held up a hand for a high five. "Well done."

"The little twerps can be taught. It's rewarding for sure, but…in October, I'll be wearing suits like you. Shoot me now."

He threw a bottle cap at me. "Why don't you stay here and get a job with the Red Wings?"

"Thanks, genius. Why didn't I think of that?" I huffed sarcastically. "I'll walk into headquarters tomorrow and tell 'em to put me in."

"I don't mean on the ice, asshole. Get yourself a cushy desk job. You know, the Red Wings might have a shot at the cup next season." He kicked my shin at my eye roll and scowled. "Don't tell me you're rooting for some Canadian team. I don't think I can forgive that."

I snickered and was about to tell him to fuck off, but a commotion from the top of the stairs had us both on our feet. A dog barking, a toddler shrieking, a door opening, and?—

"Dinner, Daddy!" Jimmy's six-year-old called at the top of her lungs. "Dinner, Uncle Smitty! We have more people and we need more chairs."

"We'll be right there. I didn't know we were having company. Probably Christina's sister." He gestured toward the empty beer bottles littering the coffee table. "Do me a huge favor and dump those in the bin off the kitchen, will ya? I want to change into jeans before I'm on chair duty."

"You got it."

I gathered the bottles and trudged upstairs, opening the side door and closing it quickly when the family retriever came racing up behind me. I didn't want to be responsible for accidentally letting the dog out and theoretically, this wouldn't take long.

But I couldn't find the bins at first glance. I stared at the blank space where they should have been and wandered to the end of the narrow path to the street. Bingo. I flipped open the top and deposited the bottles, nodding a greeting to the neighbor collecting her mail. Then I turned back to the house and did a double take.

A woman with long blond hair pulled something from the passenger seat of the minivan parked in Jimmy's driveway. She closed the door with her hip, laughing at something the guy wearing a Michigan ball cap said.

Blood drained from my face as recognition hit me like a freight train cruising out of a tunnel at top speed. My heart thumped against my rib cage, reverberating throughout my body. My mouth was dry, my palms clammy. It was as if my body were preparing me for the kind of blow I couldn't shake off and skate away from.

Fuck.

"Smitty?"

I opened my mouth to say…something, but nothing came out. I was frozen in place. And if she hadn't moved to greet me, I'd probably still be there.

"Rachel."

I swallowed hard and finally braved a glance at my ex-wife's swollen belly. Jesus Christ. She really was pregnant. Shock rendered me speechless for a beat too long. Jimmy had warned me, but seeing her in person was a jolt to the system. I didn't know what to say.

"How are you, Smitty?"

"Fine. You look good," I rasped.

That was true. Rachel Lindstrom Paluchek…whatever her last name was now—was a pretty blond with warm blue eyes and rosy cheeks. She was small but fierce, the kind of woman who could handle rough times and a little adversity. Thanks to me, she'd had plenty of that, but she'd deserved more. And I supposed she got it.

"Thanks, I'm doing well." She smiled tentatively, angling her chin toward the man who approached and set a proprietary hand on her shoulder. "Smitty, this is my husband, Ben."

"Nice to meet you." I barely looked at the guy. Nothing against him, but I couldn't take my eyes off his wife's stomach. My ex-wife. "So…wow?"

"Yeah. I have a few months to go, but it's going well."

Her smile wobbled and I could have sworn her eyes welled, but I wasn't gonna stick around for that. No fuckin' way. I was not going there.

"Glad to hear it. Good luck and…take care of yourself." I pasted a friendly expression on my face as I dug into my pockets, grateful I hadn't left my keys or phone in the house.

And like the coward I was, I turned on my heels, leaving a vapor trail in my wake.

Yeah, big bad me. The D-man with a rep for casual violence on the ice was quaking in his boots. I couldn't get away from the five-foot two pregnant woman fast enough. It was embarrassing.

My fingers trembled as I sent a quick "Sorry, had to run" text to Jimmy and revved my engine to life.

I didn't want to explain my angst to Jimmy. He knew.

Rachel knew.

I knew.

And there was nothing left to say. I couldn't do anything but drink the pain away.

I wokeup with the mother of all hangovers the following morning and five missed messages from my actual mom, who wanted more money.

Fuck my life.

Three days later, the constant stab of pain wasn't going anywhere with Advil and ice baths.

Five days later, I felt as if I were bleeding and I couldn't find the wound. I hurt all over—my knees, my hips, my knuckles, my eyes. Everything.

It wasn't just physical, though. It was inside and out, radiating in my skull, making it difficult to hold conversations for long. All I wanted to do was skate…freely. Like I had as a kid before my dad got sick and my mom started drinking. I wanted to go and go and go.

The day after summer camp was officially over, I wasted no time packing up my shit and pointing my truck toward Toronto. My shrink said healing happened with time and distance. She probably didn't mean literal distance, but I couldn't wait to put some miles behind me.

I rolled out of St. Clair Shores, passing Nine Mile Road, Eight Mile Road, the skating rink in Morningside, and the aquatic center as I headed into the city. I neared the Ambassador Bridge, ready to cross into Canada just as a vicious wave of déjà vu hit me like a hammer to the skull.

It was just like it had been on the drive here, reliving the bleakest memories…except in reverse. I remembered the thin ice on the roads the morning after my dad's funeral. I remembered clenching the steering wheel, fighting tears.

And I remembered the drive on the day after Rachel's last doctor's appointment. It was winter and the roads were icy again. I remembered thinking bad things always happened when the ice was too thin. I hadn't bothered fighting tears then. They'd cascaded down my cheeks like someone had turned on a damn faucet. I'd sobbed, guttural and ugly…sorrow like I'd never felt.

Christ, I wanted to cry now. And what the fuck was that all about?

There was nothing wrong with my life. Those chapters had been closed years ago, and obviously, Rachel was doing well. I didn't have to worry about her anymore.

I wondered if this was a delayed reaction to retirement. That was understandable. The life I'd driven to for so many years was gone now, and no one needed me until October. It was normal to feel disassociated, right? I didn't have a place to be or anyone who'd give a fuck if I got there safely.

That should have felt liberating. I didn't need those ties. I could do whatever I wanted, go wherever I pleased.

It was still August. I had months of freedom. It was summertime, baby. I could turn this truck around right now and head west. I'd never been to Death Valley or Yosemite. I could cross the Golden Gate Bridge, go hike Mount St. Helens.

Or…

I could go to Vermont. What was that town called? The one with the quaint streets and church steeples. Elmville or Elmtown or…Elmwood.

I pulled into a gas station and scrolled for Riley's message. No, I wouldn't stay. But it would be cool to check it out. Maybe I'd bump into Bryson. I hoped so. I could use a friendly face of someone who didn't know me all that well, and I definitely needed a change of scenery.

Only for a night or two.