I groan, but he’s right. The thought of lifting my giant hockey bag hurts. He allows me to carry my smaller bag—the one that had the clothes in it, but I note that he keeps hold of my lucky hat like he’s holding a piece of me.
He brings me out to the parking lot where some of my friends are already drinking beer. I desperately need one of those. We get a couple of funny looks when they see who I’m with. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing my clothes and that I’m still in my suit, which everyone knows I wouldn’t be caught dead in if I didn’t have to be.
Even when I die, I’m getting buried in my sweats. Here lies Jack, comfortable as fuck in his Adidas.
“Shower accident,” I say, and they assume—correctly—that we were fucking around in the shower.
Merc hands my hockey bag to Stacey. “Make sure he takes more pain medicine.”
Don’t know why he’s saying that. He must know that alcohol is perfectly acceptable pain medicine and I’ll be taking a lot of that soon.
“In the morning,” he clarifies as if he can tell what I’m thinking.
Merc hands me my lucky hat and I slide it onto his damp head instead of mine. “Hold onto it for me? You know I’ll be a huge baby if I lose it while I’m drinking my face off.”
He looks hot in my hat. I spin it so it’s backwards and kiss him.
“Behave yourself, trouble,” he says.
I laugh. “As if you’re not gonna be there making sure I don’t kill myself.” He couldn’t even leave me to shower on my own.
He smirks. “Guilty, but I’d appreciate it if you tried not to give me a heart attack.”
I salute him. “I’ll try, but I make no promises.”
“All right, Jack, time for you to come with us. Sorry, Coach. It’s our turn with this guy. We’ve got some celebrating to do.”
As Casey pulls me away, I look back at Merc apologetically. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of my sweatpants and in my clothes with my hat on him like that, I get a glimpse of a younger Merc. What would teenage Mercy have been like in love?
I wanna find out. I wanna give him all the comfort he never got. I wanna fill the rest of his life with the playful kinda love he deserves.
Giving him the doe-eyed-puppy look he claims to hate—but actually loves—I wave and blow him a kiss as I’m stuffed into a van filled with large hockey orangutans and shipped off to Rodney’s.
Chapter29
The Meyer-Leslie Bunch
Mercy’s Log
MERCY
Guess I don’t have to write in this thing anymore, but I got used to it. Life sucks without you, Jack. Nothing’s as shiny or as sunny. Sometimes I can’t breathe. I reached for you the other morning when I woke up. I was dreaming about us. I don’t remember what the fuck we were doing in the dream. Just your head thrown back, your rollicking laughter flourishing from your chest. I watched you, my heart full, wanting to touch you, but worried I’d break the spell. And that’s exactly what happened when I reached for you.
There were cold sheets.
Dark.
Nothingness.
My heart folded in on itself.
* * *
Iwanted to have this conversation when I wasn’t pissed anymore. Doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen anytime soon and I can’t put it off anymore. The baby will be here in just a few weeks and well, Dad’s right here. He came to watch the game with everyone, but he’s remained elusive. Bea said he has no idea how to approach me, which is classic Dad. It means I’m going to have to be the one to do it if I want the conversation at all.
Don’t know if I do want the conversation. It’ll just make both of us feel worse. I’ll say things that need to be said and he’ll feel bad, and I’ll feel bad that he feels bad. That’s how these things go and it’s why there are many conversations we don’t have.
I’m already standing in front of his hotel room door and I’m feeling extra shitty because of how I left things with Jack. Nothing makes sense right now and I’m running on instinct. The primal need to be here courses through my veins like whiskey. Vulnerability runs alongside that need, and I hate it. I work hard to eradicate weaknesses. Jack ripped open some secret door to them I didn’t know I had because I’m flush with them now. Drowning in them.
