The new guitarist walks over looking excited but tentative since she doesn’t have the history we all share. “Hi,” she smiles, holding out her hand.
I shake it and notice stars working their way down her middle finger. “Hey, look!”
Her eyes warm as we inspect each other’s ink. “Are these Wren birds then?”
“Yeah, I’m that cheesy,” I grin. “What are the stars for?”
Kate confesses with a shrug, “I just like them, knew I’d never get tired of them.”
“Did you get a Phoenix yet?”
Biting her lips she shakes her head, eyes shining. “That’s next. I guess yours wasn’t for nothing then.”
A happy laugh rushes out of me as I comb my hair back with my fingers. “Out of the ashes here I come.” Addressing them all I shake my head in disbelief. “I think you just saved my life.”
Ginny grabs and hugs me. “You started this. I wouldn’t be able to sing without you.”
Lauren agrees, “We never would have met if you hadn’t placed that ad.”
Shriana’s speechless, face scrunched up with emotion as she nods. She pats her back where her tat is. Lauren does the same.
Inhaling sharply I grin, “Then let’s make some music!”
CHAPTER 35
ERIC
T he air in the locker room is thick with sweat and disillusionment. “You wanted to see me, Coach?”
I’m waiting for the ax to fall.
Let it.
Keeping his volume low he demands, “The fuck is the matter with you, Cocker?”
Banging my helmet against my thigh I answer, “Dunno.”
“Hell you don’t. Something changed and I want to know what it is.” He leans in, pissed off and impatient. “Someone die or somethin’?”
“No.”
“Then what’s goin’ on with you?”
“Just not in the zone, Coach,” I shrug.
Amidst the conversation I hear extremely familiar voices drifting into my consciousness. I glance over to my parents. Mom’s face first, then flick to Dad’s. Embarrassed they had to watch me play like I did out there today, I yank a hand through my hair.
Coach clears his throat. “Drew, good to see you. Hey Jake. You need something?”
“You reading my son the riot act?” Dad gravely asks, reading the situation as he crosses his arms.
“Can you give us a minute?” I ask them.
Mom starts to leave but Dad doesn’t budge. “Nah, I think we’ll stay. I want to hear this.”
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Her sweet southern drawl is impatient. “Eric, don’t swear at your father!”
“Wasn’t swearing at him,” I grumble, “Just cussing in general. Look, I had an off game. It’s not a big deal.”
“You’ve been dropping off for the past three, and now we’re nearly edged out of the playoffs,”Coach growls, eyebrows shooting up, “so I want answers! Your sheer talent has gotten us here, but not your enthusiasm, I can tell you that! There’s no skating to the Super Bowl. You either play big or lose! And you’re telling me to my face that it’s no biggie?!”
“Did you really just use air-quotes?” I mutter, eyes dull.
Coach’s face goes red at my mocking him, especially with witnesses he respects. “You’re sitting on the bench next game, Cocker!”
Fuck that hurts. My soul shouts no, but my hatred of authority and broken heart snarl, “Fine.”
He glares at me, throws his leathery hands in the air and storms off. Following his exit I discover Mott, Tony and Dion eavesdropping, half out of their uniforms and stretching the seconds before they had to hit the showers. My back hunches as I read their disappointment.
Glancing back to my grim parents I blink a few times. “You guys here to tell me how much I suck, too?”
Dad drops his arms, and Mom’s lips part. Neither of them speaks, so I head past them, mumbling, “I need to get out of this uniform. I’ll call you later.” Only instead I grab my keys from my locker and stride out.
I hear my father calling my name in the hallway as reporters try in vain to get a statement from me. Heavy footsteps jog up—him in his work boots as usual—until he’s at my side, matching my quick pace.
“You okay?”
Pain shoots into my chest. It’s the first time someone’s asked. “No.”
Walking backward he tells the insistent reporter who’s following us, “Hey, back off.”
“Who’re you?”
“I’m Jake Cocker, you nosy fuck. I’m his father, now beat it before I call yours!” He flips back around as the guy sulks off.
A smile flashes, and under my breath I tell him, “Thanks, Dad.”
“I got your back, little man. You know that.”
Chuckling I glance over to him, our steps echoing off the walls. “You haven’t called me that since I was a kid.”
“Since you grew taller than me you mean? Didn’t seem right…until now.”
I frown, “You saying I’m acting like a child?”
“No, I’m saying you need more love than normal. I can tell you’re hurting.”
Pushing the door open we walk out into a private parking lot, December sky thick with charcoal grey clouds. I chose the exit that the masses don’t know about. Press and players do, but since they’re all back there wanting to get the story about our loss, we’re alone. No fans rushing over. Just me and Dad.
After a beat of silence he adds, “It’s not easy for us men to talk, but so what? I’m here and I wanna listen. Confide in me, Eric. What’s goin’ on?”
I stop walking and struggle for how to explain it to him, and maybe understand it better myself. Tucking my helmet under my arm I confess what I can’t deny anymore, “I’m in love.”
Dad’s eyes flicker, eyebrows flying up before they relax and he hooks thumbs in his jeans pockets. “Well shit, I never expected this was gonna be over a woman. At least not with you.”
Reacting I ask, “You think I’m gay?”
Dad laughs, “No, Eric, I don’t think you’re gay. I think you’re obsessed with football and fucking anonymously, that’s what I think.”
Frowning I stare at the asphalt. “Fair assessment.”
“Yep.”
“But not anymore.”
“Tell me about her.”
Biting my