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I nod slowly. “Yeah, I did know that.” A lot of articles were written about that situation, particularly since Graham himself hailed from hockey royalty. His father, the abuser in question, was a legend in his own right.
“I think where his concern lies is that you weren’t fighting on the ice,” Gigi tells me, her expression serious. “It wasn’t part of the game, where you’re dealing with…controlled aggression. Athletes can let out their aggression within the confines of rules, you know? But you did it in the locker room.”
“Yeah, I did.” I keep talking before she can push for details, which I know she’s clamoring to do. “Maybe you can put in a good word for me with Connelly instead,” I say dryly. “’Cause I’m starting to think your dad is a lost cause.”
“Sure thing, kid. I’ll be seeing his family for the holidays, so I’ll make sure to talk about nothing but you.”
Hearing it brings a rush of envy that I try to ignore. Not because she’s surrounded by famous people. It’s the family part that activates something painful deep inside me. I didn’t have any of that shit growing up. Always wondered what it’d be like to have a real family.
It sounds nice.
She shifts in the tub. The water sloshes over her, and she shudders.
“God, this is cold,” she gripes.
“One might think it’s an ice bath.”
“Listen, as much as I’m digging the sarcasm. Can it.”
“I can’t win with you. If I don’t say anything, I’m a serial killer. If I do say something, you tell me to can it.”
“By the way, it’s your turn. I want to hear the North Carolina story.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Come on. Humor me.”
“I don’t know how much humor you’ll find in it.” I give her a sidelong look. “You sure you want to hear it?”
Gigi nods.
So I shrug and give her the bare bones. “One of my foster families in Phoenix decided it would be fun to rent a minivan, pile all the kids into it, and go on a road trip to Myrtle Beach. The mom had a sister there. We’d just crossed over the state line into North Carolina when we had to stop for gas, and—I think they made a movie about this, where they forget the kid at home? Well, they forgot me at the gas station.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Poor little buddy.”
“At first, I figured they’d be back in a few minutes. They’d get on the road and then realize I wasn’t in the van. So I just sat there by the door, playing a video game that their real son lent me.”
“Real son?”
“Yeah. Most of the foster parents had their own biological kids too. They just tacked on a whole slew of other children to get the money from the government. But the foster kids were always second-class citizens. Real kids come first.” I see Gigi’s features soften and hurry on before she showers me with sympathy. “Anyway, I’m playing his video game, waiting around. An hour passes. Then two, three. Eventually, the gas station clerk comes out for a smoke break, notices me there, and calls the police. Tells them there’s some abandoned kid out there.”
“Damn.”
“The cops showed up and took me to the station, where I waited there for two more hours. They couldn’t track Marlene down. Her cell phone was dead, and I didn’t know the sister’s name because it wasn’t actually my family, you know? Finally, seven hours after they drove off, Marlene and Tony noticed I was gone. And the only reason they noticed was because their kid was crying and complaining that I took his handheld video game. They returned to the gas station, and the clerk was like, The cops took him. They came to the precinct to pick me up, and Marlene started yelling at me for making her son cry.” I laugh to myself. “I got in trouble for taking his video game.”
“You got in trouble,” Gigi echoes in astonishment.
“Pretty bad too.” I keep my gaze straight ahead. “Her husband liked to use the belt.”
“Oh God. And you were only ten?”
“Yeah.” I lean my head back, closing my eyes.
“There’s no scenario where my parents wouldn’t notice if I was gone for hours and hours. One hour, tops, and they’d freak out and send the entire neighborhood on the hunt for me. I can’t even imagine how awful it would feel being completely forgotten by people who are supposed to take care of you.”
There’s a slight break in Gigi’s voice.
I open my eyes and look over. “Don’t,” I warn.
“What?”
“You don’t have to feel bad for me. It’s over and done. I’m an adult.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad for the child you used to be.”
“Trust me. That was one of his better experiences. Besides, it wasn’t all bad. The family I lived with after that is pretty much the reason why I’m going to be playing professional hockey. The dad was a huge hockey guy, and when he realized how good I was, he basically took it upon himself to foster that, no pun intended. Bought all my gear, drove me to all my practices and games.”
