Page 26 of Best Things in Life

“Fuck.”

“Language, Nate. But I agree. She was a sweetheart. Sarina loved her old aunt. You should go to her and make her feel better like I know you can.”

“It ain’t that easy or simple, Mom.” I try to keep my cool, keep my voice down. Sweat stings my eyes and I swipe a towel across my face.

“I know that—don’t you think I know? But sometimes… you need to follow your heart.”

“I’ll be there for the wake. When is it?”

“In two days. Three to six in the afternoon and the funeral is the next morning. You have to stay for it. It’s the right thing to do.”

“I will.” I understand the heartbreak I heard in Sarina’s sobs now because she adored her Zia Rosaria. The older woman was her champion and her confidant all her life. Fuck. I can feel a crack in my own stony heart. I take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Nate, sweetheart. I know you loved Rosaria too. But even though it was sudden, it was painless, a massive stroke. Now she’s where she deserves to be with the angels.”

“I know, Mom.” My voice croaks with my less-than-convincing attempt at stoicism as the locker room buzzes around me with NHL talk. “I gotta go.” Ending the call with my mother, I shove the phone back into my locker and start pulling off my pads.

“What’s wrong with you? Your puppy die?” Whiskey sits next to me, a goofy grin on his face and I snort, pulling myself out of my head and into the here and now.

“Something like that. An old family friend passed.”

“Shit—I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Don’t worry about it.” I slap his shoulder to relieve him of guilt, forgiving him in a papal gesture—as if. When I finish dressing, I work up the stomach to face Bigsby as he comes into the locker room.

“Bigs,” I say. “Got a minute?” I lead him to a quiet corner past the showers and he follows me. I turn to face him and he has his arms folded, a guarded look in his eyes.

“And he talks,” Bigs says. “I swear I thought I was dead to you, Nate. Glad to see you’ve—”

“Shut up, Bigs. I wanted to talk to you about Zia Rosaria—”

“Who? What the hell are you—”

“Sarina’s aunt who just passed away. My mother told me about it. I—we knew her. She was an old family friend.” His face relaxes and he nods.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Shit, Sarina’s really broken up about it. I’ve never seen her so upset. I’m not sure why—”

“You don’t know why? Because Rosaria was special to her. They were close. Sarina loved her and I know she must be hurting. Bad. You need to—”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do. I…” He shoves a hand through his hair. “I’ll deal with consoling her, don’t you worry about it—and don’t for a minute think you need to do any consoling. She has me now. She doesn’t need you.”

His words slam me like a wall and I want to punch his face in, to break his self-important nose and see the blood spurt all over the filthy cement floor, but I fist my hands, dig my nails into my palms and keep control because I know the impulse is beyond fucking irrational.

Because he’s fucking right. I gave up my right to console Sarina when I left her for hockey. I take a long deep breath into my lungs, getting my fill of the disgusting and familiar hockey locker room air and it centers me. Nothing like the scent of sweat and raunchy leather to calm the nerves, to keep it real.

“She’ll be all right,” he says as I step away. “I’m sorry if I was harsh, but you… scare me.”

“Good,” I say and I turn away because I know he wants to talk more and I’m not ready. I head straight for the door, picking up my duffel along the way. Whiskey follows me out like he was waiting for me, the little shit.

“You’re in a hurry,” he says. “How about a ride?”

“Sure, but I need to talk to Coach first.”

“I’ll wait. About what?”

“You’re nosy for an underclassman,” I say as we turn the corner to Coach’s office.

“That’s your answer?”