Same Time Next Year

Pride bursts in my rib cage like a beer left in the freezer too long. Hot pressure pushes in behind my eyes, and I cover my mouth, locking gazes with him across the celebration in the kitchen. I’m so happy for him, I don’t think I could speak if I wanted to, so I just nod. I nod and let the tears roll down my cheeks and soak into the sleeves of my Bandits sweatshirt . . .

But the smile on his face is beginning to wane.

A trench forms between his eyes, the muscles working in his throat.

“AHL. The development team . . . ,” he says hollowly. “In Anaheim?”

One word. That’s all it takes to change the atmosphere in the kitchen.

Every head turns in my direction, but I’m only vaguely aware of the sudden scrutiny, because there’s an engine humming in my ears, my stomach tying up into knots. My legs feel like jelly, I couldn’t stand on them if I tried, and all I can do is sit here.

Anaheim. Sumner was picked up by Anaheim.

Why did I assume it would be on the East Coast?

That was shortsighted of me. Having him play near where we already live would have been too convenient, and there is nothing convenient about a career in professional sports. He’ll be living across the country. On the road constantly. I guess this is it.

I guess this is it.

“Thank you,” Sumner says, hanging up the phone. His hand falls to his side, and he’s not looking at anyone but me. “Britta, can I talk to you outside?”

“I’m happy for you,” I say, letting him hear my pride in every note of those four words, because that is genuine. I am so proud of him. “I really am. You know that, right?”

“Please. Outside.”

I shake my head.

He tosses his phone on the counter, takes three big steps, and plucks me up out of the seat, tossing me up into his arms so I’m cradled against his chest.

“Sumner,” calls his father. “You were taught better than that. You’re not supposed to use your size against a woman, son.”

“This is an exception,” Sumner shouts back.

And he kicks open the back door, shutting it in the same loud manner.

As soon as we’re in the middle of his backyard, a postage stamp with patchy grass in various places, he sets me down, but he doesn’t let me go.

He stoops down until we’re eye level, his big hands settling on my shoulders. “Don’t you dare check out on me, Britta. On us.”

I’m trapped in a weird place, stuck between elation and dread. “Why can’t you just let me be happy for you?”

“Because I know what you really mean when you say you’re happy for me. You’re telling me goodbye.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” I burst out, highly aware of the faces in the window observing the scene between me and Sumner. With an

effort, I calm myself back down and speak to him in a quiet, reasonable tone. “We accomplished what we set out to do. You needed to stay with the Bandits long enough to be signed—and it happened. We did it. You did it.

It’s your dream.”

“Yeah? But along the way, Britta, the dream started to include you. All right?” He impresses that on me with an intense look. One that leaves no room for doubt that he means what he’s saying. “Maybe my dream has included you since the beginning, but the more time that passed, it started to feel like an actual possibility. You and me, Britta.”

I don’t know what to say. Or do.

What does he want from me?

I’m afraid to find out.

Nevertheless, a moment later, I do.

“Come with me, sweetheart. Please. I know I’m asking a lot of you really soon. I know I’ve been asking a lot of you—”

“I . . . I can’t,” I sputter automatically. So cold. I’m so cold. “I can’t just pick up a-and move. Leave the bar. I’m an owner now. What would I do?”

“Go to business school, like you’ve been thinking about. I’ll support you and love you through anything. Anything. Don’t make me leave you behind, goddammit. Please.”

My throat is going to cave in from the pressure. My gut reaction, driven by fear and doubt and the pain of the past, wants me to scream no.

But my heart is demanding a yes, and the conflict they’re waging inside me is knee-weakeningly fierce. The only option I’m left with is to evade. “I mean, we can’t just take a few days and think about this?”

“Tonight is my last game with the Bandits. I have to be on a plane tomorrow.” He takes one look at my stricken face and paces away, hands on his head. “Goddammit.”

I’m frozen.

Am I the most selfish person in the world that I’m battling tears over this incredible opportunity for him? Am I so self-serving that I want him to stay so badly that my bones hurt at the idea of waking up tomorrow and watching him leave on a plane? I don’t know how I’m going to live without the possibility of him ducking beneath the doorframe of Sluggers at any moment. He won’t be able to when he’s across the country. Maybe when he’s on the East Coast, I’ll see him. We’ll meet up. But more than likely, we



won’t, because it’ll be too hard to keep saying goodbye over and over again.

But go with him? To California?

No.

Sluggers is my home. It’s the place that shielded and protected me when there was no other constant in my life. It’s a huge, scary world out there, and I will be vulnerable in the middle of it trying to chart a new path.

Won’t I?

“Britta.”

I shake my head no.

He closes his eyes.

Blindly, I speed back into the house, stammering apologies and goodbyes while gathering my purse, my phone, and car keys, bundling them to my chest while I head out the front door. But instead of getting into my Honda, I steer toward Sluggers and begin to run.

I’m sitting in the center of the quiet dining room of Sluggers two hours later when Bryce knocks on the locked door. And waits, his breath fogging up the glass.

Eventually, I stand, floating like a ghost to let him in. “Hey.”

He studies my face, nodding once. “Hey.” There’s a wrapped package beneath his arm, and he hands it over, saying, “Don’t open it yet.”

Weird, but okay. I don’t have the brainpower to process anything beyond. Breathing and blinking are about all I can handle. “I’m not really in a talkative mood.”

“I know. I’m coming in anyway.”

“Suit yourself.”

I set the package down and drop back into my seat. My half brother takes one on the other side of the picnic table, folding his hands in front of him. “So . . . he’s leaving.”

Those words make me want to curl into myself. “Yes, I know.”

Silence permeates the dining room.

“I guess you’re just going to watch him go.”

“I don’t have much of a choice,” I say with a humorless laugh.

“Nah, there hasn’t always been a choice for you, Britta, but there is one now.” Bryce shifts side to side. “You’ve been through some bad shit. I think about it every day. How you must have felt, being on the opposite side of . . . the life I was living. Being left behind like that. I hate knowing that I was happy, hitting pucks around with our father, while you were carrying all this baggage. You have every right to carry that weight however you want.”

We talked about the past exactly once—the first time we met in person