The Long Way Home (3 page)

I watched him not look me in the eyes and felt like I would
vomit. I nodded, “I see.”

He frowned, “What’s that tone for? Am I being accused of
something?”

I shook my head, “Nope.”

“Are you mad?”

“I’m fine.”

He smiled and dropped to his knees in front of me, “Fine is
the worst thing you say, ever.” He lifted my face up to his, “J.D., I love you.”

I nodded.

He frowned, “It wasn’t anything, I swear. It was just some
investments.”

“Are you attracted to her?” I had no fury, anger, or pain. I
was numb from the pill.

He shook his head, “No. It’s not like that.” He leaned in,
kissing my nose, “I love you.” His dark hair, cool-blue eyes, and handsome face
had tricked me hundreds of times, but the little blue pill prevented me from
buying it that time. I could see him clear as daylight for what he was. Guilt
was smeared across his face.

And as far as I was concerned, two could play at that game. I
kissed his lips softly, “I have to go out.”

He stood between my legs, pushing me back onto the bed. He
kissed my neck, but I reached under the pillow, clutching the napkin, and
shoved him off. “I can’t; I have to go see if Muriel is alright.”

He sighed, “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

I looked back at him, hating the version of him that I was
stuck with in my mind. How did my mom and everyone else just look the other
way?

I got into the car and drove from the house. I dialed the
number on the napkin and hung up instantly. I took a deep breath and dialed a
different number instead.

“Yeah?”

I swallowed, “Hi, Mike, it’s me.”

It was silent for a second, “Jack?”

I nodded, “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

Tears formed in my eyes, regardless of the fact I felt
nothing, “Yeah, I just wanted to see what was new with you." I pulled the
car over to the side of the road next to a large home. My hand was shaking as I
held the phone.

“Not much. I’m hung over as fuck. We came in second in the
playoffs a couple nights ago. I know that’s almost like speaking Greek to you,
but in hockey lingo that’s good, babe. Second place is pretty good.”

I smiled, “I know, asshole.
I sent the case
of champagne
,
didn’t you get it
? I even hand
wrote the note about being the first loser.”

“Oh shit, I did. Sorry, we’ve been drunk for days.”

I laughed, “I can tell. You have that whiskey-burnt voice.” I
closed my eyes and missed everything about him.

He yawned, “I haven’t seen you in a while.
Wanna
come over? I can show you
the
pics
and shit from the games.”

I shook my head again, “No. I’m busy. I just missed your
voice. Is that okay?”

He laughed, “Yeah, of course. Why are you being weird? Come
over. I’m home for the day and then I’m heading to the beach house for a few
nights. We’re having a massive end-of-year party. If you don’t come over, I’m
going to abduct you and drag you to the beach house. Me and Phil can fight in
the front yard over you.”

I laughed, “Be there in ten.” I loved the fact he played NHL hockey.
He was so chill and easygoing and still the same person he had been a million
years before, when we met in school. I smiled, remembering the face of the
scholarship kid who everyone sneered at until they saw him play. Then he was a
god.

To me he was just always France. He was never the famous Mike
France, lead scorer for the New York Rangers. The money never changed him the
way it did other people.

I put the car back in drive and sped to his place. I sat in
the driveway, looking at his modest house. He was funny with his houses. He
bought the one I was in front of because it was homey and reminded him of the
one his mom bought, when he was a teenager.

Mike opened the front door and pointed at
me, "Get out of the car."

I nodded and got out. I knew he could see
the stress and worry on my face. He stopped mid-step, “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head, climbing the stairs
alongside the driveway, “Nothing.”

He gave me a look of disbelief, “You're
such a bad liar.”

I stopped, “You think so?”

He folded his arms over his chest, “I know
so. I've played strip poker with you. You have too many tells to count, which
is why I always win strip poker. The way you’re bending your left thumbnail is
one, the way your lips are white all around the edges because you’re pinching
your lips is another. That one causes wrinkles too." He took a step
towards me, "The main one though, is that haunted look in your eyes.”

I snorted, “That’s the wine and Xanax.”

He gave me a look, “Why are you taking that
shit?”

I shrugged, “Sometimes I just need to.” I
pointed at him, “This was a mistake. I better go.”

I backed up a step but he was too fast. He
lunged and grabbed my hand, pulling me into him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

I shook my head, “Sometimes I just miss
you,” I whispered into his huge chest. The feel of his cotton tee shirt was
like a
blanky
I had as a kid. He was my soother.

He wrapped around me, “Stay calm,
crazy—no more weird pills. I’ll order pizza and we’ll chill, ok?”

I shook my head, “I can't.” I struggled
from his grip and backed up another step, “I need someone to touch me and it
can't be you.”

His dark eyes narrowed, “I offer every
chance I get. Stay.”

I hurried back down and opened the car door
with him hot on my heels, “No. I love you. It would hurt us both too much.”

He stepped close to me again, spinning and
pinning my back against the car, “Stay.” His dark eyes were like tools a
hypnotist would use. They sucked me in with their dark lashes and intensity.

I shook my head, “I shouldn't stay.”

He bent his face close to mine, “Let me be
the one who touches you. Please don’t let someone else touch you.”

The second type of silence I hated to be
caught in was the tense awkwardness of longing. The stolen glances at one's
lips and eyes as the act was played out in the mind of both parties. They'd
lean into one another but neither moved the last ten percent, and the air was
filled with all of the things neither would say. The guilt of the act was
already a thing. It had energy and consequences without the actual crime being
committed. A forbidden kiss and the desire one built within it, created
expectations that could never be met. There was no kiss that was as great as
the one you could never have.

We were stuck there, leaning against my
car, unable to move the last ten percent. I lifted my face but pressed my lips
against his cheek, “I love you,” I whispered into his rough playoffs beard.

He shook his head, “You love torturing me.”

I nodded and laughed, “I do.”

He stood up, pulling back from the awkward tension, “I want
you to come to South Carolina with me.”

I shook my head, “No.” I pulled the napkin from my purse and
passed it to him, “Destroy this.”

He looked at the number and the dirty words drawn next to it,
“Are you fucking kidding me? Is this some random guy’s number?”

I nodded.

He sighed, “What are you doing? I didn’t get why the fuck
you're getting married in the first place; Phil’s a douche and now this?”

I passed him my phone, “Delete the calls I made, so I can’t
press redial.”

He growled down on me, “What are you, five?”

I nodded, “Something like that.” He deleted and tossed the
phone into the car. He grabbed my face in his huge hands, “Jack, stop this
okay? You’re taking drugs with alcohol and numbers off dudes you don’t know. This
isn’t you anymore. Is Phil hurting you? I’ll kill him. I’m cool with
prison,
I got a lot of fans in there. We won the cup last
year and made playoffs this year—I’m golden.”

I blinked at him, feeling lost in the buzz from the drugs and
wine. “I just need to go shopping. I’ll feel better.”

He pulled me to the passenger side of the car and shoved me
inside. He slammed the door and got in the driver's side. He threw the car in
reverse and lit the tires up. I sighed and closed my eyes. I felt his warmth
next to me and curled towards him.

When I woke up, he was sleeping too. Both our seats were
back. I looked at his messy, dark hair and beard, and smiled. He looked
homeless. I lifted a hand and ran my fingers through the beard. He moaned and
shook his head, “That’s sleep assault. It’s a sex crime.”

I laughed and tried not to sigh when he grinned. He was
handsome, but he was more. He was comfortable and sweet and fun and mine. He
was always mine.

He opened a dark eye, “Run away with me.”

I nodded, “Okay. One day, I swear.”

He pointed, “I’m holding you to this.”

I narrowed my gaze, “Would you ever want kids? Like if you
got married?”

He smirked, “Are you asking me to impregnate you?”

I shook my head, “Not even close.
Just
curious.
I think I want kids one day, maybe. I don’t think Phil does
though.”

He laughed, “Yeah, I want kids. I actually thought Denise and
me might have kids last year. When we broke up, it hit me that I’m
twenty-eight, I want that, and I’m running out of time. The older guys on the
team who are having kids and whatever, they all seem exhausted and stressed.
They keep telling me not to do it, not to settle down, but I want it. I just
don’t want to be forty when I finally have a kid.”

The smile that crossed my lips was fake and hateful. I hated
the idea of him with anyone but me, and yet, I never chose him. I yawned, “I
need to go home.”

He put a finger to my lips, “No yawning. I still have to fly
to SC tonight.”

“Why?”

“
Gotta
get the summer house ready
for summer. The whole family starts arriving at the end of June. They stay the
whole damned summer. So I told the boys we’ll have an impromptu party there in
two nights for the end of the season and then I may head on vacation before
summer training.”

I frowned, “It’s almost the end of June now.”

“I know. I don’t have a lot of free time. I have a couple
weeks off and then it’s summer training and shit.”

I smiled, “Okay. I still need to go home.”

He leaned forward, making the awkward moment where we
wouldn’t kiss again and brushed his lips against my cheek, “Thanks for the
uncomfortable nap.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him to me, “Thank
you for making me feel safe again.”

He moaned into my neck, “You can’t say shit like that. That’s
not fair. You’re getting married; you
gotta
keep that
locked up or start putting out.”

I laughed into his neck, “You’re nasty.”

He pulled back, shooting me a shit-eating grin, “I’m serious.
You and me together are hot. You remember the first time?”

I rolled my eyes, “We were fifteen, I barely remember.” That
was a lie. I recalled every detail of the first time it happened. I recalled
the millions of times it nearly happened and the few it had since then. I
remembered everything about him. The weight of his muscled body on top of mine
was still my go-to fantasy when Phil was on top of me.

He looked hurt, “You remember. What about the time, when I
came back from Los Angeles and you were practically engaged? Worst summer of my
life.”

I winced, “You know the choice I had.”

He ran a finger along my jaw line, “I know you had a choice,
Jack. You chose the wrong thing.”

I nodded, “I know, France.” I pulled back and smiled, “I
still need to go home.”

He made a happy sound and smiled wide, “I like it when you
accidentally call me France. Makes me remember you before you and the
Xanex
and Phil the douche.”

I swatted him, “I meant Mike.”

“Sure you did.” He sat his seat up and started the car. He
looked too big to be in my car. He wiggled and shot me a look, “This is a shit
car. Next time we take a beach nap, we do it in my truck.” When he was sleepy
his South Carolina accent was thicker. No matter how long he had been away from
it all, he was still a country boy.

“Okay. Your seats are comfier anyway.”

His lips curled into a sly grin, “They feel better on your
back than bucket seats.”

“Not going to happen.”

His voice changed to a low tone I took seriously, “You’re not
the kind of girl I’d fuck in my truck anyway.”

“Gross.”

He laughed and drove back to his place. We got out at the
same time. He wrapped around me, “Say hi to Phil for me.”

I laughed, “Say hi to the puck fucks for me.”

He pulled me back, giving me a stern
look,
“I don’t like it when you swear. It’s like my fantasy of you being all classy
and shit is ruined. Then you become the tree-climbing little slob you were when
we were little.”