ONE
Jack
“Not to be unkind, but is this really all your stuff?” I stared around the last two boxes of hockey memorabilia at my sister, Fiona. She was the prettiest thing, and no, that wasn’t me being biased because I’m her older brother. Long strawberry blonde hair, bright blue eyes, slim and fit, and the owner of two dimples that flashed when she smiled. I nodded as I put the boxes of old sweaters, milestone pucks, and skates as old as Fiona onto the kitchen counter. “Christ, Jack, that’s fucking depressing.”
Oh, and she was also brutally honest, but thank the saints she’d learned to curb that, or her job as a private flight attendant would have ended on day one.
“I wanted Paula to be well-settled,” I mumbled, knowing full well my darling sister would come unglued over that comment.
“‘Settled’ is one thing. Giving her the house, the cars, the dog, and everything else she demanded is another.”
I’d heard this all before. A hundred times. Maybe five hundred. And while I loved that my sibling was on the defensive about me even though she was a hundred pounds lighter and eight inches shorter than me, she was known to get in a person’s face to stick up for me. My ex-wife Paula was one of the biggest examples. Fiona and Paula had never gotten along. The divorce had not improved that strained relationship. Fiona called my ex a horse, and my ex called Fiona an ogre. The two of them fought way more than Paula and I did throughout our marriage. You have to care to fight, and Paula didn’t care how it turned out.
“Fi, please, I’m not in the mood,” I said, then sighed as I looked around my brand-new bachelor pad. One bedroom, one bath, a spacious but empty living room, a kitchen, and a tiny laundry room. All very nice, quite expensive, and overlooking the Walnut Street Bridge, a famed bridge that’d been closed in the seventies but was now used by pedestrians and bikers for access to City Island. It was home now. Not exactly the sprawling three-bedroom, two-bath, two-thousand-two-hundred-square-foot with a two-car garage I’d bought for Paula after our wedding ten years ago in Elizabethtown. I mean… not even close. But it was mine. Empty. Which was kind of how my chest felt whenever I thought about how I’d failed my wife.
“Do keep in mind that she did cheat on you so that should have earned her nothing over the fifty-fifty split the state says she was owed,” Fiona fired back as she shimmied up to sit on the smooth white counter, her long red/gold ponytail sliding over her shoulder. A nice summer breeze blew in through the window over the sink. May was already warming up nicely. “Not sure why you felt that she deserved so much in the settlement when all she did was sit around, and sleep with her yoga instructor.”
I rolled my eyes. “For the last time she wouldn’t have gone looking for another man if I’d been home more,” I repeated clearly and slowly in the hopes she would absorb it.
She reached out to flick my forehead. With a porcelain nail painted soft pink. It stung. “Jonathon Patrick Killian O’Leary, you’ve taken too many hits to the head if you really believe that. Loads of spouses are faithful when their men or women are on the road. She was just using that as a reason to do a double down dog split up the ass with Sage Happy Hatha for three years while you were out bleeding all over the ice.”
“I rarely bleed all over the ice, Fiona Katherine Margaret Shillelagh O’Leary. I make other men bleed all over the ice.”
She flicked my brow again. “Do not add that walking stick moniker to my name. The three plus the surname are bad enough.” I snickered. “And it will not dissuade me from talking about the nag who now owns your dog and drives your cars.”
God, she was tenacious. “The dog was hers, a gift, and the car was also hers. I have my truck. I don’t need or want a pink Audi. How would it look for the captain of the Railers to pull up to the barn in a bright pink car with fake eyelashes over the headlights?”
“Seriously, why does she have to be such a real-life Barbie?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. Paula had been a few years younger than me, yes, and so stunningly beautiful that I’d never quite felt fit to be with a young woman of such incredible beauty. She’d modeled in New York before we got married. I’d never found her fondness for pink or her affinity for tiny purse dogs odd. She’d been bubbly and fawned over me. For the first few years. Then it all started to go wrong. I was away too much, she was lonely, life wasn’t as glamorous as she’d expected, and on it went.
“You’re too nice.”
I shrugged. Yeah, maybe so, but when I loved someone, I showered them with affection. That was how men were supposed to act around their heart’s desires. Our father had spoiled our mother terribly. Forty years of wedded bliss they’d had before they’d lost their lives to a drunk driver one dark winter night back home in Montpelier. God, I missed them. They would have been heartbroken and so disappointed in me for allowing my career to ruin my—
“Ow, fucking hell, stop doing that,” I snapped after another hard flick to my forehead. “I’m going to dunk you in the Schuylkill if you do that again.”
Fiona gave me a soft push on the chest. She knew I was full of hot air. I’d throw myself into the river that flowed through Harrisburg before I chucked her in it. Now, when we were kids…
“Okay, I’ll drop it. For now. Do you want me to call a designer to come in and add some life to this place? It has nice bones, Jack, it just needs some color and maybe a picture on the wall that isn’t of a hockey rink?” I leaned my ass on the counter. The place was sparse, but I really didn’t care about all that silliness. “Right, I see that pucker on your forehead so what I’m going to do is make sure you have things like drapes, a nice bedding set, as you left all the sheets and towels in the house for your horse of an ex—”
“Fiona…”
She flipped her ponytail, then winked. “Sorry, it’s her teeth.”
“Her teeth are fine.” They should be. I’d spent tens of thousands of dollars on them. Not that she had modeled again once we’d gotten married, but she liked to be pretty. I liked to look at pretty women, and some men on occasion, and I had the cash, so why not give her what she wanted?
Fiona waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll outfit the place for you because I love you and know that if I don’t get you set up properly, you’ll be drying yourself on paper towels after a shower.”
You do that one time in college, and your sister never forgets.
“I also wanted to talk to you about taking a vacation.” I must have made a noise as she tsked me instantly. “No, no, do not make that Dad sound. He always did that when he disliked something. Sucked air between his teeth. You need to get out into the world, Jack, meet new people, maybe have a wild affair.”
“Nope, I… no, I do not want to have a wild affair with anyone.” I walked out of the kitchen to the living room, folded my arms, and planted my feet. This was my captain’s stance. Next, I locked my jaw. My captain’s expression. Men of great size and meaty fists would see me like this and not push.
Fiona, on the other hand…
“Honey,” she cooed as she followed me into the cavernous room. I really did need a couch to soak up the sound. “I’m not saying you have to propose to anyone. Please, don’t. But just get your willie wet with some bouncy beach babe or surfer dude. Flush that rancid memory of Trigger from your mind and heart.” She came around in front of me, tipped her head back, and met my glower with a loving look before snuggling close for a hug. I kept my arms crossed for about a millisecond before opening them and embracing her. She smelled like vanilla and a flowery scent. “I want you to be happy again. You’ve been so sad since the divorce decree. I know it was a letdown for the team to get knocked out in the first round, too, so all of this is sitting on your chest. Let me see if I can find a nice sunny destination for you. Somewhere packed with singles, where you can lounge on a beach, sip drinks with paper umbrellas, and reacquaint yourself with how damned charming and handsome you are.”
I tucked her head under my hairy chin. I’d yet to shave my red playoff beard. I tended to cling to things for far too long. My marriage, for example. My beard. My old running shoes. My ten-speed. My skates and sticks from my days at Bowling Green. My ragtag collection of Timmy Horton hockey cards. Several pairs of boxer shorts.
“Not sure I’d say handsome,” I mumbled as we hugged it out. My nose was off-center from being broken in a game against Pittsburgh five years ago, then again against the Raptors two years ago. I had surgery scars on my left shoulder, a knee that swelled when the atmospheric pressure dropped, and a jagged white line on my jawline from an errant stick to the kisser that had resulted in ten stitches just this year. Hockey was a tough game.
“See, that right there is your ex talking.” She gave my side a pinch then tilted her head up to gaze at me. “You’re very handsome. Some would say rugged. Beefy, tough as nails, sweet as a honey roll—”
“Do not say that honey roll crap anywhere near the barn or the Railers locker room. The kids like Gunny and Trick need to know that I’ll grind them into paste if they don’t play up to their potential.”
She smiled up at me. “I think they know that you’re a goober belly.” She jabbed my gut, which was not goober-bellied at all but nice and tight. I worked out every day. I even had abs under the thick pelt of reddish-blond hair on my belly. “But I’ll be sure to extoll your pasting abilities when I see them next.”
Which wouldn’t be until September. The season was over, our lockers cleared out, our hopes dashed. Sure, we’d made it to the first round, but then we’d tanked. I’d told the press I was sorry for letting the team and the city down. I’d been so into my own personal shit that I’d not given the team my full one hundred percent on the ice. Our failure was on me. I was the captain. It was down to me to talk the guys up, keep the locker room pumped, and ensure the team stayed mentally on track. I’d failed at that. Just like I’d failed to keep my wife happy and—
“Ow!” I winced at the nail flick.
“You had that I-suck-and-want-to-wallow-in-my-suckiness look on your face.” She reached up to rub my brow. “Sorry, but you need someone to keep you from sliding into that pit of self-loathing that your ex kicked you into with her infidelity. And since we only have each other now, that person is me.”
“I love that you’re my pit person,” I confessed. She nuzzled in for another hug. “I’ll think about a vacation.” I couldn’t see it as her nose was smushed into my chest, but I knew she was smiling her smug smile of success. “I said I’ll think about it. Do not make reservations.”
A week later, I was rolling my boxer shorts that didn’t have elastic showing into tight little logs because Fiona had made reservations and lined up a round-trip flight to Belize. Caye Caulker to be exact. She listened about as well as the Yorkie Paula toted around in oversized bags and called Bapsi-Boodles.
After hurriedly shoving my clothes into my suitcase, I sat on it and shouted at it because I was in a bad mood and couldn’t bring myself to yell at Fiona. Deep down, I knew she was only trying to pull me out of my funk. She loved me and thought a couple of weeks on a Caribbean island would help me feel better. Which, sure, it probably would to some extent, but if she thought I was going to go wild and jump into bed with the first man or woman who looked at me, she was very wrong. Yes, it had been over eighteen months since I’d been with someone intimately. My hand didn’t count, although even using that had started to decline.
I just wasn’t interested. Mom used to say that I loved with my whole being. I guess that was true because ever since Paula and I split, my sex drive has been pretty low. I’ve never been the type to go for one-night stands. I prefer some emotion, or at least for the person I was with to know my name, as silly as that sounds. I’ve had two girlfriends, and I married one. In college, I also dated a man for a few months, but the pressure from school and hockey was just too much. Plus, it was much easier to ask out girls. Not that I did that much. That first girlfriend was my steady from junior year through graduation. Then she moved west, and I got drafted by the New York team, where I met Paula. I fell pretty hard.
We’d gotten married, and she had packed up to move several times before we settled in Pennsylvania when the Railers picked me out of the reduced-for-quick-sale bin. Turned out to be the best thing for me, and the Railers, as I thrived on the ice and was named captain in my third year. The move to the Keystone State did not do my marriage any good. Paula was dour by then, complaining steadily about the dullness of this state, how she longed to return to Manhattan, and how I was unable to meet her emotional needs when I was away so much. Obviously, I wasn’t satisfying a few other of her needs. And if that wasn’t a kick in the balls to a man’s ego, I don’t know what was.
The alarm on my phone rang out, pulling me from the memories of the past. I latched my suitcase, grabbed the handle, and made my way out of the bedroom to the living room. Over the past week, Fiona had flown to Paris with a wealthy businessman in a private jet and had been tipped five grand for her exemplary service. Seemed she knew how to make a dry martini just the way the rich dude’s mistress liked them. Guess no one really cared about vows or fidelity anymore. Anyway, the tip had been blown on my condo. I now had furnishings, plates, pots, a few plants that I would kill sure as hell before the snow flew, and a TV set with a PlayStation. Among all the things delivered here, I used the TV and game console the most. And the bed. The new sheets and duvet were nice; I had to give my sister that.
A text arrived while I was shoving my wallet into my back pocket. Fiona reminded me not to miss my flight, or she would hire a boat to float me to Belize. I hit her back with a kind and loving reply.
I’m 37 yrs old. I know where the airplanes are. – J
I got a row of big eyeballs as a reply. Yeah, yeah, she was always watching me. Shouldn’t I be the one keeping an eye on her? I was the oldest after all. Not sure how our dynamic had changed so drastically. I made a last check of the condo, patted my ass for a wallet check, stuck my cell into the front pocket of my jeans, and grabbed my suitcase. Down the elevator I went to the lobby to find the ride Fiona had arranged—she wasn’t taking any chances that I would not get to the airport—waiting outside the tall tower I now called home. No one waved goodbye, no one kissed my cheek, no one wished me a safe flight at the door.
Being single sucked.
The ride to Harrisburg International was pleasant enough. I’d left my beard on my face, just neatened it a bit, so fans would be thrown off if they spied me at the airport. Not that I didn’t love our fans, I did, but man they could be rough. If one more dude bro came up to me to inform me we’d shit the bed last month I just might run out onto the I-83 and be done with it all. My driver was pleasant but not overly chatty. I arrived with two hours until boarding, checked my bag, went to the bathroom, and bought a soda that I downed. I took my time, no rushing, and made my way with ease through the TSA checkpoint. On the other side I found a seat facing the runway, my sight locked on the planes being readied for their flights. I’d flown a lot in my years. I mean a lot. I had no idea how many miles a hockey player logs in his life, but it was enormous. I’d flown into snowstorms, thunderheads, and the tip of a hurricane. I’d landed on ice strips where the plane went sideways after landing. Once we were blown off-course on a takeoff from Chicago-O’Hare. One time we lost an engine and had to turn around over the Canadian wilderness.
As my group was called to board I ambled forward, carry-on resting on my shoulder, without a care in the world. While some others around me were chatting nervously. I was plotting out my nap. When you’ve flown into a flock of birds and lived to tell the tale there was little that was going to make this flight to paradise anything other than mundane. Since Fiona had booked me in first class—on her—I settled into the large seat in the middle with a seat on my right and one across the aisle. I loved it. Seriously, a guy of my size did not do well in coach. Knowing I could stretch out without getting dirty glances from the people in front of me was everything.
The plane filled quickly. I texted Fiona a selfie of me all tucked into my fancy nook. The doors were closed then, and I found myself scanning the cover of the book I’d picked up in the airport when there was a commotion up front. The door was reopened. Glancing up from my phone, I watched as a man hurried onto the plane, his dark hair windblown as if he had raced through the airport. When the guy glanced my way, my stomach dropped. His dark brown gaze locked with mine for a second. He nodded at the flight attendant and then made his way to his seat. On my right. The smell of citrus and sweat curled around me as he rushed to stow his carry-on down by his feet. I stared. I couldn’t help it. He was perhaps the handsomest man I’d ever seen.
He flashed me a smile that made that turbulent feeling reappear. I hurried to buckle my belt before I did something stupid like gasp and tumble into the aisle. Team captains didn’t gasp at sexy men.
Original Review May 2016:
