Dad raises his gaze to mine again. “You should’ve told me you didn’t declare.”
“What difference would it have made?”
“A huge one,” he snaps. “It’s bad enough that I woke up the other morning wearing clean underwear and all tucked into bed like a fucking child, with the knowledge that my twenty-one-year-old son is the one who put me there.” His head shifts to Jeff. “And that my other son is running my business because I’m too much of a mess to do it myself. But now you’re telling me you’re passing up the chance to play for the goddamn Bruins so you can take care of my sorry ass?”
He’s breathing hard, his hands shaking so wildly the bottle is close to toppling over. He lifts it to his lips and takes a hurried sip before slamming it on the table.
Jeff and I exchange a wary look. Seeing him drink brings identical frowns to our faces, which causes Dad to groan in anguish.
“Goddamn it, don’t look at me like that. I have to fucking drink this, because the last time I tried to quit cold turkey I ended up in the hospital with seizures.”
I suck in a shocked breath.
So does Jeff.
Dad looks from me to my brother, then addresses us in a voice that rings with despair. “I’m going back to rehab.”
The announcement is greeted with silence.
“I’m serious. I spoke to someone at the state facility I went to last time and asked to be put on the waiting list, but they told me a slot opened up five minutes before I called.” He snorts. “If that’s not divine intervention, I don’t know what is.”
My brother and I remain quiet. We’ve heard this speech before. Many times before. And we’ve learned not to get our hopes up anymore.
Sensing our misgivings, Dad sharpens his tone. “It’ll stick this time. I’m going to make sure of it.”
There’s a beat, and then Jeff clears his throat. “How long is the program?”
“Six months.”
My eyebrows fly up. “That long?”
“With my history, they think that would be best.”
“In-patient?” Jeff asks.
“Yeah.” Dad’s features grow pained. “Two weeks for the detox. Christ, I’m not looking forward to that part.” Then he shakes his head, as if snapping himself out of it. “But I’ll do it. I’ll do it, and it’ll stick. You know why? Because I’m your father.”
Shame pours off him in palpable waves. “My kids shouldn’t be taking care of me. I should be taking care you.” He gives me a hard look. “You shouldn’t be giving up your dreams because of me.” He turns to Jeff. “And neither should you.”
“That’s all good and well,” Jeff says, sounding tired. “But what about the garage? Even if the program sticks, you still won’t be able to work because of your legs. You can handle the administrative stuff, sure. But not the labor.”
“I’ll apply for disability.” Dad pauses. “And I’m going to sell the business.”
My brother does not look pleased about that. Me, I’m still reeling from everything else he’s just told us.
“Kylie and I are only traveling for a couple years,” Jeff says unhappily. “I want to work here when we get back.”
“Then we’ll hire someone to run it until you’re ready to come back. But that someone won’t be your brother, Jeffrey. And it won’t be you, if you don’t want it to be.” He slides his chair back and gingerly gets to his feet, then reaches for the cane leaning against the wall. “I know you boys have heard this before. I know it’ll take a lot more than a few promises to prove I’m serious about this.”
He’s right about that.
“The center is picking me up in an hour,” he says brusquely. “I have to go pack.”
Jeff and I stare at each other again.
Son of a bitch. He’s really going to rehab.
“I don’t expect a hug goodbye, but it’d be nice if you boys called me every once in a while, let me know how you’re doing.” He glances at Jeff. “We’ll talk about the shop when I’m done packing. Not sure if we should close up while I’m gone, or if you want to stick around a while longer. If we do close, I’d appreciate it if you could finish up the current work orders for this week.”
Looking slightly dazed, my brother manages a nod.
“And you…” My father’s bloodshot eyes zero in on me. “You better make it to that Providence practice. Jensen said it’s pretty much a tryout, so don’t screw it up.”
I’ve been silent for so long it takes me a moment to find my voice. “I won’t,” I say hoarsely.
“Good. I expect you to tell me about it when I call you in two weeks. You probably won’t hear from me before that. Not during the detox.” His voice is equally hoarse. “Now get outta here, John. Your brother says you’ve got shit to do today. Jeffrey, we’ll talk shortly.”
A moment later, he’s gone, and we hear his labored footsteps in the hallway, heading toward his bedroom. Suddenly I feel as dazed as Jeff looks, and once again, we gape at each other for several long moments.
“You think he’s for real?” Jeff asks.
“Sure seems like it.” Old doubts creep in, bringing a cagey note to my voice. “Think he’ll manage to stay on the wagon this time?”
“Fuck. I hope so.”
Yeah, me too. But I’ve been burned by my father too many times in the past. Fooled by his promises and his supposed resolve. The cynic in me thinks we’ll be having this same conversation in a year or two or five, and maybe we will. Maybe he’ll sober up, come home in six months, and start drinking again. Or maybe not.
Either way, I’m free.
The realization slams into me with the force of a tidal wave, nearly knocking me out of my chair. I won’t have to live here in May. Won’t have to work here. Dad’ll be on disability, the garage will either be sold or managed by someone else until Jeff is ready to take over, and I’ll be free.
I shoot to my feet, startling my brother. “I have to go. My girlfriend’s waiting for me in the car.”
He blinks. “You have a girlfriend?”
“Yup. I’ll introduce you another time. I’ve really gotta go.”
“John.” His voice stops me before I reach the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“You’ll give me a signed jersey when you make the team, right?”
A smile stretches across my entire face. “Damn right I will.”
I leave the kitchen with the sound of my brother’s laughter at my back and sprint out of the house. From the porch, I see Grace in the pickup, her feet raised on the dashboard and her nose buried in her textbook. Her peripheral vision must have caught the front door flying open, because she lifts her head and turns it toward the porch, and I must still be grinning like a fool, because a little smile curves her sexy lips.
I quickly descend the porch steps and make my way to the truck. It’s still gloomy out. The trees are swaying ominously. The clouds are a thick, dark mass undulating overhead. The sky is more black than gray.
And yet my future has never looked brighter.
Epilogue
Grace