Zack Read online

  Mark was a classmate of mine, and he graduated last summer. We were pretty tight as friends, and when I got booted out of the dorms, he opened up his couch to me until I could get on my feet. I'm so thankful this job came along, as I was feeling immensely guilty for squatting in his house without paying any rent. I had only about two hundred dollars left in my bank account, which I had been rationing for food items only over the past few weeks. Now that I had this job, though, I was going to leave Mark about fifty bucks as sort of a thank-you for his hospitality.

  I unlock the door and swing it open, immediately walking through the small living room, where my suitcase lies packed up next to the TV. My only other belongings are two medium-size boxes filled with all of my old class notes from my psychology courses, which I figured may help during my master's program, and a few framed photos of my family.

  "What's going with us?" I hear from behind me, and spin to see Zack and Ben standing in the doorway.

  "Is this where you live, Kate?" Ben asks as he runs over to the coffee table and grabs the Xbox control sitting there. "Can we play a game?"

  "Not now, buddy," Zack answers for me. "Kate's going to come stay at our house for a bit, so we're just here to grab her things."

  I walk over to the suitcase and pull the handle up. It's big and thankfully has wheels, so I can easily move it. "Just those two boxes," I say as I point to them. "If you can grab one, I'll come back and get the other."

  Zack doesn't acknowledge me but walks over, bends at the knee, and easily picks both boxes up. He's wearing a long-sleeved black sweater that fits him like a second skin, and I can actually see the muscles in his chest flexing with the effort. Wow...um...just wow.

  He turns toward the door and calls for Ben: "Let's go."

  Ben trots after him and I take a quick moment to dig into my backpack for my checkbook. I write a check out to Mark and a quick note of thanks, promising to catch up with him soon for a beer to update him on how the job is going.

  When I get back out to the Range Rover, Ben is buckled securely in the back and Zack is standing at the rear with the tailgate opened. I drag my suitcase over to him and he takes it from me, easily lifting it in. "Thanks," I say quietly, and turn to head toward the front passenger door.

  "How come you're not going to your graduation?" he asks, and it catches me by surprise. Nothing about Zack Grantham so far has even hinted at him having a remote curiosity about me.

  When I look back at him, his eyes are impassive, as if he truly doesn't care what the answer is.

  "Can't afford to," I tell him with a shrug. "Too much for the cap and gown. They'll just mail my diploma to my daddy's house for safekeeping. I suppose I'll get it framed and hung one day, once I get settled into a place of my own."

  Zack merely nods at me, his eyes now muddied with consternation. I shrug--mentally this time--and head around the SUV to get in. Not sure what's so confusing about my story. It's not that unusual...poor kid from a poor family. People like me are a dime a dozen, but I suppose Zack travels in circles that may not deal much with my kind.

  Zack is sliding into the driver's seat as I'm hauling myself in. The differences between us are obviously glaring. He's a professional athlete who can afford this expensive SUV, designer clothes, and a haircut that probably costs more than my food budget for a month. I'm wearing Mark's hand-me-down sweatshirt because I don't own a winter coat, and jeans that I'm sure came from either my sister, Kelly, or a thrift store, I can't remember which, but are certainly at least five years old themselves. I guess it might be hard for him to understand me and my background.

  I understand him well, though. He's a man grieving, I can see that. I expect I'm intruding on his life, which has already been fractured and turned upside down. I'm also being brought in to provide a critical role for his son, and that has to provide him angst as well. Add to that I'm kind of dorky and I speak my mind, which I know is an odd combination. I definitely get why Zack probably isn't very keen on me coming into his life right now.

  Chapter 3

  Zack

  "And how does that make you feel, Zack?"

  Motherfucking cliched motherfucker.

  I wish I didn't have to use my inside voice for that sentiment, but I expect voicing it out loud would not be conducive to me getting back out on the ice.

  I sit in Dr. Armand Pannaker's cozy office in downtown Raleigh. The walls are painted in light blue and decorated with framed degrees and awards. I'm not here by choice but rather at the insistence of the Cold Fury's management, who wants to make sure my mind has healed as well as my wrist. One visit with a psychologist, they said, so we can make sure you're ready.

  I don't need a fucking shrink for me to know that I'm more than ready to move past the wallowing pit of sadness I've been immersed in, and I'm more than ready to get back into the game. In fact, I'm thinking getting back into the lineup is going to help save my sanity by giving me something more positive to focus on. I guarantee playing hockey again will alleviate the pervasive numbness that has swallowed me whole.

  "Zack," Dr. Pannaker says again, "how does that make you feel?"

  I slouch down in my chair and raise one leg to rest an ankle on my opposite knee. Putting my chin in my palm, I answer him with candor. "How does it make me feel to have to sit here and talk to you before management deems me sound enough to play again? Pisses me off, that's how it makes me feel."

  The man doesn't react and I expect I'm not the only unwilling patient he's ever seen. He merely nods at me in affirmation and says, "I understand. Am I the first professional psychologist you've seen since the accident?"

  "Yup," I answer, point-blank, and hope he gets the message that I don't want to delve into the reasons why I didn't feel the need to talk to someone professionally. Actually, I didn't feel the need to talk to anyone about it.

  He doesn't cut me any slack, though. "Why is that?"

  "Because I'm working through everything on my own," I tell him simply.

  "What exactly are you working through?"

  Taking a deep breath, I sit up straight in the chair and place both my feet on the ground. Leaning forward, I look him directly in the eye. "I'm working through the guilt. Guilt that Gina died and I didn't. Guilt she didn't have her seat belt on and I did. Guilt I didn't take a different route home. Guilt I didn't get a chance to tell her one more time that I loved her before she died..."

  My words trail off, hover in the air, and then dissipate before I get to what's really bothering me. Something I haven't quite started to work through yet.

  "There's something else," Dr. Pannaker observes. "What is it?"

  I shrug, not quite ready to admit out loud that one thing I'm still having a hard time even thinking about. Dr. Pannaker waits for me patiently, but when I don't say anything more, he takes a different route. "You and Gina weren't married, were you?"

  I tense up, the muscles in my jaw locking tight. "No."

  "Why is that?"

  My eyes involuntarily drop away from his gaze. "Just never seemed to be the right time. I was always so busy with hockey, and she was so busy with Ben and our home."

  "Were you two engaged?"

  "No," I answer tersely.

  "Ever think about getting engaged?"

  "No."

  "Make any tentative plans in your mind about getting engaged?"

  "No," I blurt out, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.

  "Why not?" he asks me quietly.

  Taking a deep breath in, I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and then let the air out slowly. This is confidential...no one will ever know what's said in here except the two of us, and I don't intend to ever come back. So I decide to just go ahead and unload, because the sooner I do, the sooner I can get out of here. "Because I wasn't sure that she was the person I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with."

  "You sound bothered by that admission."

  "Yes, I'm fucking bothered by that. She was the mother of my child. What if I was wrong?"
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  Dr. Pannaker's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Many couples never get married nowadays. They have solid relationships, share everything legally, and even raise children together. They do all of that with a great deal of love and without the need for a piece of paper to validate it."

  I swivel my jaw back and forth, trying to loosen the stiffness out of it caused by this subject. He's making me think about things that I've pushed away and buried under denial and fear. It's bad enough that I feel guilty that Gina is dead, but I honestly don't think I can handle the additional remorse I'll be made to feel if I give any validity to these suppressed feelings.

  Tipping my head down, I stare at the ivory-colored carpet for a moment before looking back up at Dr. Pannaker.

  "Look...I loved Gina very much. And by that I mean that whatever was in my heart to give to the woman you love, I gave one hundred percent of it to her. I miss her today the same amount I missed her the day after she died. That hasn't diminished. But what bothers me...what really makes me feel like fucking shit, is that I just didn't have this knowledge, you know, deep down in my heart"--and here I pause to rap my fist on my chest--"that she was the one for me. I mean that one soul mate in all the world you're supposed to have. That's why I didn't marry her."

  There...I said it out loud. It's been acknowledged. I finally said what was in my heart, and what I never had the courage to ever say to Gina for fear of destroying her.

  For the first time since this session started, Dr. Pannaker actually looks at me with empathy. He understands exactly what I'm saying. "Zack...it's not unusual to have doubts like that. Many, many couples go through their relationship sometimes wondering the very same thing. Gina may have even had the same doubts you're suffering now."

  Shaking my head, I deny what he's saying. "No, she didn't have those doubts. She was sure."

  "Even so," Dr. Pannaker points out, "it doesn't mean that you are wrong to have them. Marriage is sacred...it's not something to be entered into lightly."

  I nod, because what he just said is the fucking truth. It was something I didn't take lightly or treat with a lack of respect. In fact, it was so serious to me that I just couldn't make the move to take those vows, even though I knew Gina wanted to.

  And that is where the true guilt lies. It's because I withheld something from Gina that would have made her happier than anything else in the world. She was a wonderful mother, a beautiful woman, a fantastic lover, and a trusted friend and confidante. She was everything a man should want in a woman, and she deserved to have someone commit his life fully to her. Gina died thinking that I just didn't love her quite enough to give her what she deserved, and I feel wretched about it, because she may have been right.

  Even worse, I'm now doubting myself and all of the reservations I had. In thinking back over my life with Gina, there isn't one thing that I can think of that should have caused me hesitation to marry her. Not one fucking thing she did wrong in our relationship. Sure, we had our fights, but who doesn't? Outside of that, our relationship was pretty much as perfect as one can be, so for the life of me, I have no clue why my gut instinct was to avoid marriage with her.

  I don't voice this out loud, though, and if Dr. Pannaker presses, I'm not going there. This is my burden to carry and I'm going to keep it with me. I'm going to let it weigh on my conscience as a reminder of how I failed the woman I loved and the mother of my son.

  --

  Pulling my SUV into the double garage of my home, I cut my eyes over to Gina's Mercedes. It's a two-seater convertible and completely impractical. I haven't driven it since Gina died and I need to work on getting it sold. I might see if Delaney wants it first, though, as I'd gladly give it to her for all she's done for me since the accident.

  Without Delaney, there's a good chance I would have succumbed to a complete breakdown following Gina's death. My parents were able to stay with me and Ben for a week after Gina died, but then they had to return to work back home in Nova Scotia. Delaney had the freedom to work remotely for her job on Wall Street, so she stayed with me for the first month after the accident, letting me ease into routines and helping me care for Ben and a broken wrist filled with metal plates and screws. Thereafter, she flew back and forth from Raleigh to New York regularly to continue to help me transition into life as a single and very heartbroken parent. I can never, ever repay her for what she did.

  Getting out of the car, I head in through the interior door that leads to the laundry room, noting the soft chug of the dryer spinning with clothes. I hadn't yet sat down with Kate to talk about her duties, but much like she took it upon herself to cook breakfast yesterday, she is having no problem stepping into the household chores.

  The kitchen is empty, but I smell something delicious emanating from a Crock-Pot on the counter. I walk over and take a peek, pleased to see a pot roast starting to bubble inside. While I'm competent enough not to give Ben and myself food poisoning, I still hate cooking, so I will have to say that is one thing that will go into the benefit column about Kate: having meals served without the work or effort on my part and, more important, without them being burned or overcooked.

  The first floor is entirely quiet, so I head up the stairs. I immediately hear peals of Ben's laughter coming from his playroom, which is actually the bonus room over the garage that we had converted.

  "Sing it again, Kate," he yells.

  When I look through the doorway, Ben's back is to me as he sits cross-legged on the floor, facing a small couch that was up against one wall. Kate apparently moved it out a few feet and is currently hiding behind it, and I know this because I can see her hand sticking up, holding one of his stuffed animals, which is a dilapidated old skunk that he's had since he was a baby. Gina hated that thing, but I thought it was kind of cute.

  "Okay, are you ready for it again?" I hear Kate's voice from behind the couch as she makes the skunk bounce up and down on the back edge.

  "Yes," Ben cries out, and claps his hands in excitement.

  I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms over my chest, giving a hard rub right in the center with my thumb first. Watching Kate play with Ben brings back a flood of memories of Gina playing with him, which causes my heart to ache. She was a stay-at-home mom and all of her time was devoted to Ben. Countless times I stood just where I am now and watched mother and son as they played games, read books on that very couch, or sang songs.

  It fucking hurts to watch someone else do it with him, but I remain quiet because he's enjoying himself and the kid deserves that in spades.

  The skunk starts moving back and forth on the back of the couch, Kate making it dance all around, causing Ben to giggle.

  Then she starts singing in a nasal voice. "Oh, I stuck my head in a little skunk's hole, and the little skunk said 'Well a-bless my soul.'

  "And what did the skunk say, Ben?" she calls out in her regular voice.

  "Take it out, take it out, take it out, remove it," he sings.

  Kate laughs and starts singing again while making the skunk dance. "Well, I didn't take it out and the little skunk said, 'If you don't take it out you will wish you did.' "

  "Take it out, take it out, take it out, remove it," Ben sings at the top of his lungs.

  Then the skunk disappears and I hear Kate blow the biggest, wettest fart sound I've ever heard, which causes Ben to roll onto his back and hold on to his stomach while he laughs. Kate's head pops up and she's holding her nose while she grins at Ben. "Phew! I removed it."

  Ben thrashes on the floor giggling, and Kate immediately sees me standing there, her eyes cutting to me with a sheepish grin. "Look who's home, Whipper Snapper Zapper."

  Ben lifts his head to look at Kate, who nods toward me. Ben then tilts his head backward to look at me from upside down. When he sees it's me, he immediately rolls, jumps to his feet, and yells, "Yay! Dad's home."

  He runs on his little legs across the room, and by the time I uncross my arms from over my chest, he's launching himself at me. It's a feeling that e
very person should experience just once in his or her life...having your child running toward you with unfettered joy to be in your arms.

  I pick him up, hoist him in the air, and blow a raspberry on his neck. His hands come up to clutch at my face as he tries to push me away because this always tickles him mercilessly. "Stop it, Dad."

  Lifting my face away, I look over Ben's shoulders and see Kate has come out from behind the couch and is now pushing it back against the wall. She's dressed no different than yesterday, except today it's a baggy pair of khaki pants and a navy blue sweatshirt that swallows her up. Her hair is wrapped in a tight bun, and when she turns to me, she actually pushes her glasses up her nose with the tip of her finger.

  Christ, she's such a nerd, and I hope that shit doesn't rub off on Ben. I want my kid to hang with the cool kids when he gets older.

  "Do you want me to fix you a late breakfast?" Kate asks.

  When I left to see Dr. Pannaker this morning, I didn't have time to eat the eggs and bacon she was making. I shake my head, though, declining her offer. "I actually need to talk to you. We need to lay out some ground rules and go over your duties."

  "Sounds super-duper to me," she says with a cheesy grin, and I wait for her to push her glasses up her nose again, but she doesn't. "And after, if it's okay with you, I thought I'd take Ben to the little neighborhood park you have. It's going to be pretty mild outside and it's such a beautiful day. I love that gorgeous blue Carolina sky. It's a deeper shade of blue in the winter, but it just makes me itch to be outside."

  She says all of this without pausing to take a breath, and it's done in such a singsong, joyous way, I can't help but just stare at her. I have to wonder if she exhibits this much happiness and enthusiasm all the time, and if so, will it make me want to strangle her at some point? I've been stuck in a gray funk for so many months, her bubbly personality actually grates on me a bit. It's like being in a dark room and coming out into the sunshine...the bright light welcoming, but painful at the same time.