Word came today at the end of practice that Jesper—who is cool as a cucumber in all instances—will get the primary slot, and Patrik will be backup. He wasn’t happy about it, but that was just by reading his expression.
“How are things going with you?” Gage asks. The question surprises me, because by his tone, he’s talking about my personal transition here, alluding to my inherent battle with ghosts he assumes I’m suffering in the wake of my brother’s death.
“Going good,” I reply automatically, not once considering that I’d give him the truth. I slide a twenty-five-pound plate onto the bar on my side as Gage matches on his side.
“I’m just asking because I know how intense the pressure must be on you to make your own way, all the while knowing you’re being compared to Brooks.”
I blink at Gage, momentarily stunned by such a direct statement regarding my brother. No one on the team has so much as breathed his name in my presence.
I thought I’d be mad about it, but oddly… I find I’m relieved that someone is interested.
“We weren’t close,” I admit. “At least not for the last few years. I find myself not knowing a lot about Brooks and whether comparisons between me and him are even valid. It sucks living with that regret… that he died with some stuff left unsaid.”
“Not for the last few years implies you were close prior to that,” Gage says, leaning a shoulder against the rack and ignoring the plates. “What went wrong?”
I shrug, not because I don’t know, but because I’m now suddenly not sure if I should share. This is some fucked-up stuff.
But Gage patiently waits me out, and finally, I admit the ugly truth. “My father drove a wedge between us. It was pretty calculated on his part.”
Gage frowns but leans forward a bit, captivated. “That’s shitty. Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s a narcissist. Thinks the world revolves around him. When I was a star with the Eagles, I was the golden boy, and his attention was on me. When I got sent down, I became a nonentity in his life. Not worthy of notice or effort. Then Brooks became the shining star in the family when he joined the Titans. That’s the short story, but it was years in the making, or so I’ve recently learned.”
Gage tips his head, curiosity evident on his face.
So I explain to him about Brooks leaving his estate mostly to me and about the journals. “I stayed up all night reading them. My dad started his head games back when I left for college and Brooks was still finishing high school. He systematically drove us apart, playing us against each other, and while I can’t speak for Brooks, I was an idiot for letting it happen.”
“I’m sorry, man,” Gage says, his tone heavily laced with sympathy. “I’m really close to my parents… think they walk on water. I can’t even imagine a parent doing that to their kids. It’s got to be hard on you.”
My laugh is mirthless. “In the journals… I learned things about Brooks. Private things, but he wanted me to know them. I always thought my lot was the worst, because I was down in the minors and our dad was a dick to me. But really, I didn’t have half the pressures Brooks had, so I truly don’t have a right to be pained about much.”
Gage’s eyes lock with mine. “Your brother died. I’d say you have plenty to be pained about.”
I nod. “Yeah. So many regrets. Wish I would’ve made more of an effort… you know?”
“Yeah,” Gage replies in a low voice full of commiseration. “But… you learned something important in those journals.”
My smile reflects gratitude that Brooks left me those notebooks. While that last entry I read ended with him giving up on me, I’d read enough elsewhere to know there was still love. “I learned he loved me as much as I loved him. Despite everything my dad tried to do to us, it wasn’t enough to accomplish his goal of destroying that. It’s made me feel a little settled. All of this is still a little too surreal for me.” I extend my arms, indicating being here, in this facility, in this arena, playing for this team. “I still wait for it to be taken away. For the rug to be pulled out from under me.”
I stop short of admitting to Gage that I have some abandonment issues. My father dumped me once I went down to the minors; Brooks became detached and then died. It’s not easy to form attachments, and I’m still not willing to admit this new lease on a professional hockey life could be my star rising again.
“You know what you need?” Gage pushes off the rack and pulls a plate from the side peg. He puts it on the bar. “You need to solidify your connection to this city… to the people who live here. Form some relationships… on this team and off.”