Bitter Sweet Heart (Lies, Hearts & Truths #2)(72)

Afterward, we go for brunch, and Kody and I end up beside each other, our dads talking pros and what we can expect with the new draft class this spring. Kody is excited, but it makes me stressed. BJ’s dad, my uncle Randy, is sitting next to Rook, Kody’s dad, half paying attention to our conversation. BJ is at the other end of the table with Quinn and the rest of the Buttersons. Even Laughlin, the only Butterson with dark hair and a black-cloud personality to match, is down there laughing and joking around.

Uncle Randy, who is sitting almost across from me, strokes his beard, gaze bouncing between Rook, my dad, me, and Kody. “You know . . .” He grabs the last breadstick. “It’s gotta be rough for you boys, always listening to these two wax poetic about hockey like it’s the only sport in the world.”

Both Rook and my dad frown.

“That’s not true,” my dad says.

“We played hockey for three hours, and you’ve been talking about hockey since we sat down at the table. These boys live and breathe it, and it’s only December. They’ve got a whole semester before they need to worry about this stuff. Give them a break.”

That seems to do the trick, and we shift topics, talking about holiday plans and mundane shit, like how Kody’s sister, Aspen, is handling high school and how she broke up with her boyfriend because her robotics program was taking up too much of her time.

Eventually we head back to the house, and I’m grateful when our parents finally leave to catch their flight, getting me out of any more talks with my dad—at least until they return from their getaway.





Twenty-Five





The Inside Out of It





Maverick





The next couple of days are low-key. I hang with Kody and the guys, not playing much hockey. I need the break.

Then when my parents get back, I’m immersed in family time. That means lots of time on the ice rink my dad has in the backyard. I miss having my older brother, Robbie, around. He’s been out in the wilderness of British Columbia for the past year with his girlfriend, doing pot research and living the life. I don’t think he’s going to be back this way anytime soon, other than a yearly summer visit. That’s unfortunate, because he’s good at occupying my dad’s time with things like Scrabble. Ironically, I also love Scrabble, but my dad’s default with me is always hockey.

I want to be in a better frame of mind, especially after that conversation with Lavender. I should be able to put the parts of my past that haunt me back in their coffins, but with everything that’s currently going on, I still feel like I’m skating at the edge of a cliff.

On Wednesday, Gram-pot and Grandma Daisy arrive, and on Thursday, Gigi and Grandpa Sid show up. The house is full of family and festivities, but I can’t seem to get into the holiday spirit.

Even with all the awesome food in the house, my appetite is for shit, and I can’t get a decent night’s sleep. I keep dreaming about getting lost, and when I find a staircase, it goes down, down, down, getting darker and darker. But I can’t go back up, because every time I turn around, there’s a wall behind me.

I want to reach out to Clover, but I don’t know if I should.

She’s all I can think about. From the moment I wake up in the morning to those semiconscious minutes before sleep pulls me under, she’s on my mind.

And I miss her.

I feel like I’m coming down with something. Food tastes wrong. Life seems like it’s shrouded in a gauzy film of gray.

I watch the way my sister and Kody are together, stealing secret glances and furtive touches, sneaking off when they think no one is paying attention and returning twenty minutes later, Lavender wearing a smirk and Kody looking even more jacked up than usual.

The night before Christmas Eve, we have a big dinner, which is basically the only kind of dinner we have around here during the holidays. But since my mom can’t actually cook, and Lavender, me, and River can’t be responsible for making a meal for thirty-plus people, we have it catered.

Gram-pot and I are playing a game of Scrabble—again, normally Robbie would play against him. Gram-pot glances around the living room to make sure no one is paying attention to us before he rummages in his pocket and produces a baggie. He slides it across the table. “You look like you need this.”

I glance down at the bag. Inside are two double-chocolate cookies.

“I’d only eat one of those, though. Otherwise, you’ll be drooling on the floor in an hour.”

“You speaking from experience?”

“Your grandma was not impressed when I passed out in my lounger so hard that I peed myself.”

I’m in the middle of a sip of scotch—I mixed it with ginger ale when my dad wasn’t looking because I can’t stand the taste of the stuff—and I start choking. I slam my fist into my chest a few times and cough, clearing my throat. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“You’re almost eighty, Gram-pot. You should probably stop using that phrase.”

He waves a hand around in the air. “Ack, we all go sometime. I hope my end is swift like a reaper in the night.” He makes a circle around his face. “What’s eating at you, Mav? You’re not your usual happy-go-lucky self.”

I focus on my tiles. “Just got a lot on my mind. Final semester of my degree, contract talks coming, and all that.”