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“The Titans have a strong power-play unit,” the announcer says, “but the Wildcats’ penalty kill has been on point this series.”
That’s the cold, hard truth. They’ve been on fire and I don’t know all that much about hockey. I don’t know what’s making them so much better in the last few games.
Stone passes it to Coen who whips it over to Boone. He spies an opening at the same time Bain screens the goalie. Coen crashes in and Boone winds up a hard slap shot at the goal. It catches the Wildcat goalie off guard and bounces off his shoulder. The puck falls to the ice and a mad scramble happens as the players converge. Sticks slap at it and players elbow one another until finally it pops free.
Right onto the damn stick of a Wildcat player who sends it careening down ice. Boone and his mates make a hasty exit, letting the second line come in to take the rest of the power play.
♦
The buzzer soundsending the game and I sigh as I look over at Aiden. He’s sound asleep. The Wildcats scored at the beginning of the third period and it took all the energy and fight out of Aiden. He nodded off within a few minutes and never woke up to see the Titans lose.
While I tried to follow the rest of the game and was fervently throwing up prayers for the Titans to pull it off, when the game was over I was relieved I didn’t have to split my attention between Boone and Aiden. It makes me feel guilty as hell to acknowledge that, but I know Boone would understand.
I know it’s something he’d tell me not to obsess over. He’d rightfully tell me to put my worries on Aiden and not a hockey game.
“What are you thinking?” my dad asks, and for an embarrassing few seconds, I forgot he was in the room. After the Wildcats scored, it sapped our energy and we didn’t say much for the rest of the game.
“I’m thinking that I’m scared Aiden fell asleep during the game.”
Dad nods, his gaze going down to his hands clasped over his belly.
“How are you doing?” I ask him quietly. This isn’t an out-of-the-blue question. I check in with him constantly because I have plenty of worry for him and his sobriety.
I was fortunate enough to talk candidly with Boone’s dad, Thomas, when they visited for the first two games of the second round. I wanted his perspective on what worked and didn’t work for him, especially from his family. I don’t want to be smothering or overbearing with my dad, but I want to keep on top of him at the same time. Thomas told me it never hurts to ask, “How are you doing?”
My father doesn’t look up at me and his voice is hushed with shame. “Wishing there was an AA meeting about to start right now.”
I say nothing. It’s not the first time he’s voiced his weakness. The first time he did so, I jumped in with a litany of affirmations and solutions. I did that time and again, but my dad stopped me and said, “Sometimes… I just need to say it out loud. I don’t need solutions because I know what they are.”
I’d like to say that cleared things up for me on how to handle my dad’s demons, but it’s all mud. I don’t know what to say, when to say it, or even if it’s correct.
But right now… it seems like one of those times he wants to say it out loud with nothing needed in return.
So instead, I focus on some positives that have nothing to do with my alcoholic father. “There were genuine improvements today.”
Dad’s eyes cut my way and it kills me to see the desperate hope within. As if he wants to believe that but is afraid to. I give an encouraging smile. “His appetite was back on track and no fever. He had energy today.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, gaze going back to his hands. “All good signs.”
“All good signs,” I repeat, standing from my chair.
I clean up the rest of our mess—Aiden never did try a cannoli and I’ll leave the leftovers at the nurses’ station on the way out. Dad pulls out sheets and blankets from the pressed-board armoire to make up his recliner to sleep in. We’re silent until it’s time for me to leave.
I hug my dad long and hard. Press my lips to his cheek and wish him good night.
“Love you, kiddo,” he says as he walks me to the door.
“Love you.”
I ride home in silence and before locking myself into the apartment, I stoop down to slip a key under the mat. Pulling out my phone, I text Boone as requested.
See you in a few hours.
CHAPTER 28
Boone
Lilly and Ihold hands from the moment we exit my car in the hospital parking garage and only break apart briefly as we enter the elevator. As soon as those doors close though, her hand is back in mine.
