So now he has a bad limp, constant pain, and two sons who have resigned themselves to the fact that they’ll be taking care of him until the day he dies.
“What do we do?” I ask grimly.
“Same thing we’ve always done. We man up and take care of our family.”
Frustration twists my gut, tangling with the pretzel of guilt already lodged there. Why is it our job to sacrifice everything for him?
Because he’s your father and he’s sick.
Because your mother had to do it for fourteen years and now it’s your turn.
Another thought bubbles to the surface, one I’ve had before, and which makes me want to throw up every time it enters my mind.
Things would be so much easier if he died.
As bile burns my throat, I banish the selfish, disgusting notion. I don’t want him to die. He might be a mess, he might be a drunk and an asshole sometimes, but he’s still my father, damn it. He’s the man who drove me to hockey practice, rain or shine. Who helped me memorize my multiplication tables and taught me how to tie my shoes.
When he was sober, he was a really good dad, and that just makes this whole situation so much fucking worse. Because I can’t hate him. I don’t hate him.
“Listen, I’ve been thinking…” I trail off, too afraid of Jeff’s reaction. Coughing, I fish another cigarette out of the pack and head for the door. “Let’s talk outside for a sec.”
A moment later, I take a deep drag of my smoke, hoping the nicotine will bring me a much-needed dose of confidence. Jeff eyes me in disapproval before releasing a defeated sigh.
“Give me one of those.”
As he lights up, I exhale a cloud of smoke and force myself to continue. “I’ve had some interest from an agent in New York. This really big sports agent.” I hesitate. “He thinks I’ll have no trouble signing with a team if I test out free agency.”
Jeff’s features instantly harden.
“That could mean a decent signing bonus. And a contract. Money, Jeff.” Desperation tightens my throat. “We could hire someone else to run the garage, a full-time nurse for Dad. Maybe even pay off the house if the contract is big enough.”
My brother barks out a derisive laugh. “How big of a contract do you think you’ll actually land, John? Let’s be serious here.” He shakes his head. “Look, we talked about this. If you wanted to go pro, you should’ve gone the Major Junior route. But you wanted the college degree. You can’t have it both ways.”
Yeah, I did choose the degree. Because I knew damn well that if I picked the alternative, I’d never leave the league, and that would mean screwing over my brother. They would’ve had to pry that hockey stick out of my cold dead hands to stop me from playing.
But now that the time for Jeff and me to trade places is drawing near, I’m terrified.
“It could be a lot of money,” I mumble, but my feeble attempt to convince him doesn’t work—Jeff is already shaking his head.
“No way, Johnny. We had a deal. Even if you signed with a team, you wouldn’t get all that money up front, and it would take time to get everything here in order. I don’t have time, okay? The second they slap that diploma in your hand, I’m out of here.”
“Oh, come on. You expect me to believe you’re just going to skip town at the drop of a hat?”
“Kylie and I are leaving for Europe next May,” Jeff says quietly. “We’ll be gone the day after your graduation.”
Surprise slams into me. “Since when?”
“We’ve been planning this for a long time. I already told you—we want to travel for a couple of years before we get married. And then we want to spend some time in Boston before we look for a place in Hastings.”
My panic intensifies. “But that’s still your plan, right? Living in Hastings and working here?”
That was the deal we’d struck after I graduated high school. Jeff mans the fort while I’m in college, and then I take over for a few years before he and his fiancée settle down in this area, at which point he’ll run the shop again and I’ll be free.
Granted, I’ll also be twenty-five by then, and the odds of playing professional hockey won’t be as favorable. Yeah, I might land in the AHL somewhere, but I don’t know how many NHL teams would be interested in taking me on at that point.
“It’s still the plan,” he assures me. “Kylie wants to live in a small town and raise our kids here. And I like being a mechanic.”