“OH, MY GOD, BLAKE! What happened? Are you okay?” She drops everything and wraps me up in a hug, all the while keeping her eyes on my face.
“Just hockey stuff. But, and I mean this, I’m much better after seeing you, Mom.”
She steps back, concern written all over her face. “Umm... well, if you're sure. Luckily, though, you’re just in time! I made pear and eggplant soup.”
That's gonna make me feel better? I shrug mentally. Can't make me feel much worse.
The ladle tilts, and a thick, brown-gray sludge slaps onto a plate like it decided halfway through not to be soup after all.
Mariana walks in just as my eyes dart from the counter and, with a shocked look on her face, gives me a quick hug and whispers, “Just look at you. We’ll talk later. But are you okay?”
I nod. “I’m okay.”
“Come on. Let’s leave her to it. Brody’s in there.”
I trail Mariana down the hallway into the living room. Bill’s already sitting at the head of the table. Brody turns, lifts his brows, and shakes his head.
I take my seat and wait for the next round of damage.
The meal? Well, awkward doesn’t even scratch the surface.
Bill desperately tries to cut the silence, going on about how the Aces are falling apart, and how I'm going to need to step up as the captain to stop things from spiraling.
Mom kept trying to change the subject, begging Bill to take her to this performance at the Colosseum next week. Some ancient Greek tragedy, but he keeps waving her off.
And every time she starts to bring me up, my personal life, or the lack of it, he gives her a death glare that is so obvious it’s embarrassing.
I didn’t mention Cassy. Or the baby. Or the fight. Or why my face looks like it went twelve rounds with a bear.
And through it all, I try desperately to keep Mom's concoction down without vomiting.
Now it’s me, Brody, and Mariana out back at the picnic table. The air smells like dust and jasmine. She’s sipping wine. We’re draining whisky like the distillery’s going under tomorrow.
Brody tips back his glass. “Jesus Christ. So, it actually came to blows with Bishy after I left?”
“Yup.” I knock back another mouthful. The burn numbs the side of my face. Maybe the swelling, too.
“And what happened? Is he okay?”
“What happened?” I look at him, deadpan. “He showed up running his mouth. Said McCullum wanted to see me. Then started in with the smart-ass stuff, asked if I’d been a naughty boy. Next thing, he’s got his ugly fingers in my hair. I didn’t even think. I just hit him. He swung back. A couple of punches, a scuffle. But yeah, he’s fine.”
Mariana leans in closer, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. “I didn’t want to say anything, but your nose is a funny shape. You might want to see a doctor. I think it might be broken. You know I have to recommend it.” She glances at Brody, and they do that couple thing. That silent look that says they’re worried but trying not to say it out loud.
“Seriously. I’m okay. Actually…‘okay’ is probably not the best word.”
I pick up the bottle, twist off the cap, pour another round for me and Brody, then tilt it toward Mariana.
She shakes her head. “Well, you’ve really gone and done it now.”
Brody downs his shot and wipes his mouth. “Then what happened?”
I take a breath. Let it sit in my chest for a second. “Umm… not good. McCullum stormed in and broke us up. I tried to take another lunge at Bishy, missed, and—” I make a face, “Kind of caught McCullum instead.”
Brody leans forward, disbelief all over him. “WHAT? No way. You punched McCullum?”
“Yeah,” I rub the back of my neck. “Oh, and he told me he knew everything. About Cassy, the bet, and the baby.”
Mariana grabs the bottle. Doesn’t bother with a glass and takes a slow pull.
