Anton (Chicago Blaze 1)

Lily’s nostrils flare with aggravation. Clearly she heard the comment, too.

Anton fills the awkward silence, saying, “Thanks, Lily” and patting her on the shoulder. Jonah hugs him and extends his condolences then, and the line moves on.

As I greet the other wives and girlfriends who come through the line with the players, I wonder which one—or ones—are giving me fake smiles. One of them made that shitty comment. The Southside scrapper in me wants to put whoever it was in her place.

I can’t, though. I hold in the resentment and think about Dix instead. Today is about him.

He slipped away quietly, which felt very un-Dix to me. If he’d had his way, he would’ve exited this world with some colorful words followed by something he chose. I can picture him saying, ‘fuck you motherfuckers!’ and then extending both middle fingers as he jumped from a cliff.

Dix would’ve wanted a memorable death. Something that made the world say, ‘that was one badass old man’. Instead, his body wasted away over hours and days, his flesh sagging and his strength failing. Watching him struggle for breath at the end was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I wanted to breathe for him, console him, tell him it was okay to let go. Anything but just look on helplessly as my dear friend slowly left me.

I cried buckets when Anton and I had to return to his apartment without his uncle. His wheelchair sat empty in a corner and his favorite afghan was still draped across the back of his recliner, just waiting for him.

Dix would’ve told me not to give a second thought to what the other girlfriends and wives think. And he would’ve been right. I often repeat his advice to me about Anton: he’s the lucky one.

I know in my head that I have a lot to offer Anton. But the bruises Adam put on my heart with words like whore and worthless are still there.

Finally, the line of visitors reaches its end. A funeral home employee leads us to a private back room for some quiet time before the funeral starts. Martin, Laura and Lindsey sit together on a couch and Alexei goes outside to make a phone call.

Anton and I are alone in a corner of the spacious room. He takes off his black suit coat and lays it over the back of a chair, then sighs heavily and reaches for me, holding me close.

The faint woodsy smell of his cologne has become familiar to me. I close my eyes and breathe it in, pressing my cheek to his broad, solid chest. Comfort envelopes me.

“Thanks for standing with me,” he says in my ear, his tone low.

“I’m glad you wanted me there.”

He pulls back a little and looks down at me, one hand low on my waist and the other cupping my cheek. “You belong there.”

His eyes are warm and his tone earnest as he says it, his gaze not wavering from mine. I nod, and his brow furrows with concern.

“Don’t you believe that, Mia? Are you not sure if you want to be beside me? I can tell something’s going on with you.”

I lay a palm on his chest. “I do want to be there. I just hate the stares and the judgment.”

“Fuck ‘em. All that matters is you and me.”

I exhale softly and look down. “I want to be with you, Anton. Very much. But I need to take care of myself financially. That’s important to me.”

Understanding dawns on his face. “You’re worried about money now that Uncle Dix is gone.”

“I’m not worried…yet. I’m still in shock that he’s gone. But the time will come when I have to get another bartending job.”

“We’re together, though. That should mean I can take care of you. I have more than enough, Mia.”

“I know you do. But I’ve been down a road like this before. I got swept off my feet by an NHL player who said he wanted to take care of me forever, so I quit school. That was a big mistake.”

Anton keeps his tone low since our conversation is private, but there’s aggravation in his voice now.

“You haven’t been down a road like this before. Don’t fucking compare me and Adam. I’m nothing like him.”

“I know that. But I never want to be completely dependent on a man again. Any man.”

“So you want to keep me at arm’s length because Adam was a sonofabitch?”

“No,” I say firmly. “I want to finish school and support myself financially. I didn’t feel like I was taking a handout from you when I was taking care of Dix, it was a job.”

“And now you’re off my payroll?” he says with a note of bitterness.

“So to speak.” I shrug. “I’ll never be any man’s little woman, okay? I want to do things by myself, for myself, that I’m proud of. Just like you do with hockey.”