End Game: Gracie

𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝄠 Teenage Dirtbag – Wheatus

“PE-TER PAN! PE-TER PAN! PE-TER PAN!”

From the friends and family box, I sit with my eyes locked on the tunnel.

Waiting.

Seething.

Ire building.

Patience draining.

The fans are chanting for “Peter Pan,” aka Liam Donnghal, a guy who billeted with us from sixteen until he left to play for the Montréal Mounties when he was drafted into the NHL.

Next, they start singing for my brother, Kow, because they’re a power duo that’s had the talking heads beaking up a storm this season.

Neither of them has left the locker room yet, but they’ll be on the ice soon.

I can’t goddamn wait to see them.

Beside me, Mom, Dad, Trent, Noah, Cole, Gray, and Matt are waiting in the wings. The whole family, billet boys and all, have never made it to a game before, but this is the first time that if Liam and Kow win, they’ll be in the Stanley Cup final.

Trent and Gray, eighteen months older than Liam and Kow, are still in the minors, making this the first big-deal NHL game the Bukowskis have ever played in. Hell, even Liam’s absentee dad, Padraig, traveled from Québec City with his mom to watch!

It’s an important occasion.

Huge.

A lifetime of familial support got them here. The fans aren’t calling out the moms’ and dads’ names, though. They’re the ones who scrimped and saved for endless stick purchases and paid hundreds of bucks a week to fill those bottomless pits they have for stomachs.

For almost two decades, life has centered around the ice like it was our church…

The god of the NHL has finally heeded the Bukowskis’ call.

My teeth grit as I wait with the rest of the stadium, which practically glows red for the home team, until finally, the lights stop dancing like we’re in a nightclub and blare on for the players to start stretching.

“I can’t believe it. We’ve waited so long for this moment,” Mom cries, her hands clapping together like a seal.

Dad grabs one of them, presses her knuckles to his lips, and, in his thick Polish accent, declares, “Boys good. They win. We take Stanley Cup to print shop.”

Because Dad said it, I don’t roll my eyes, just duck in my seat.

“Furball, you get any lower, you’ll slither onto the floor,” Gray rumbles, scuffing a hand over my tuque, tugging at my hair, and prompting me to glower at him as I right it on my head. His gaze sharpens when he takes in my expression—he’s the first one to realize something’s wrong with me. “You okay, sis?”

There’s an irony to that—he calls me ‘sis’ and treats me better than my biological brothers do.

Along with Liam, Gray, Matt, and Cole have billeted with us for years—they’re found family. Trent, Noah, and Kow were mistakes the stork brought along to make me suffer.

“I’m fine,” is my wooden response.

His focus turns concerned. “You look like you’ve been crying. Has Kow said something to piss you off again? Someone had to tell him, Gracie,” he assures me. “He needs to cut out the drinking and he only ever listens to you.”

Oh, yeah, he really listened.

“I don’t cry over that loser.”

“Gracie! Don’t call your brother names. What’s gotten into you?” Mom chides, her voice high enough that the people in front of us twist back to stare.

What’s gotten into me?

Ha, more like what has my brother gotten into.

My best friend, Charlotte, that’s who.

Or, should I say, ‘so-called’ best friend who’s only ever hung around with me because of Kow. Go figure.

If it didn’t hurt so much, I’d laugh it off because it’s creepy as shit.

But it does hurt.

I thought we were like sisters.

Honest-to-God BFFs.

Yet, I learned she was stringing me along to hop into bed with my skank ho of a hockey-boi brother who only fucked her to get back at me.

How dare I tell him that he was partying too hard and that it was affecting his performance…

How dare I care when our whole family has waited years for this opportunity that he’s pissing down the drain…

What an asshole.

Matt gets into my face. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.”

“Little bit, you forget that we know when you’re lying,” Cole says, sticking his nose in.

I glare at him and repeat, “Nothing.”

They glance at one another.

“What did you do?” Gray asks slowly, like he’s approaching a ticking time bomb.

This time, I smile.

Cole grunts. “Fuck.”

“Fryd!” Mom cries. “What on earth—”

Her gasp snatches my attention. Quickly, I study the ice, but I don’t have to hunt for long.

There, amid the bright red jerseys, are two teens with green grapes for heads.

A choked chuckle escapes Matt. “You didn’t!”

“You dyed them green? How—” Cole sputters before he almost rolls off his seat he’s laughing so hard.

“Fuck, Gracie. FUCK. That’s just cruel.” Gray cackles. “My God, they look like the Philly Fanatic’s twin brothers—”

With vengeance served, I get to my feet.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Mom barks, but then she sees my glee. Her eyes widen in horror. “Gracie, you didn’t—”

Dad demands, “What they do?”

God, I love him.

So. Much.

He’s always on my side.

Always.

“GRACIE AGNIESKA BUKOWSKI! What did you do?!” Mom shrieks as my green-as-grass brothers, Liam and Kow, start skating around the ice.

Payback, that’s what I did.

Which is when Kow makes my decade by kicking off a fight with one of the Lumberjacks, who are obviously giving him shit for doing a four-leaf clover impression.

Before my delighted eyes, he gets tossed from the game.

Satisfaction slides through me, warmer than hot cocoa in the winter and more delicious than iced tea on a summer’s day.

Though Liam isn’t to blame, he kind of is for being my brother’s best friend.

For choosing him over me.

But then, why am I surprised?

Everyone chooses my brothers over me—even girls I’ve known since I was little.

If he’d have loved her, I’d have understood and accepted them getting together. But Kow is incapable of that; he only loves himself.

Mom tries to snag a hold of my hand to stop me from leaving but I snatch it away and head for the tunnel. There, I shake off the day’s misery and grief and betrayal as I rush toward the outer hall.

I can hear Gray and Cole as well as my dad shouting my name, but the stadium’s buzzing. People who were taking the last-minute opportunity to grab snacks before the game starts are rushing for their seats when the news that Kow got tossed spreads around like a game of telephone.

Taking advantage of the chaos, I slip among the crowd to elude them.

A few minutes of keeping my head low and I’m through security.

Gaze locked on my phone, I snap off a text in the family chat, telling them I’ll loop them in when I get where I’m going—Vancouver—so they can call off the search.

“Ms. Bukowski?” Erick from security calls before I leave. “You okay? You look like real upset.”

For the past year, I’ve been the resident ghost, shadowing my brother and Liam, so the stadium staff knows me.

As I swipe at my cheeks—I didn’t even realize I was crying—I shoot him a weak smile. “I’m fine, Erick.”

“You sure?” he pesters.

As I head outside, I turn back to nod at him. “You won’t see me again, Erick.”

His brows lift. “Do you need me to call someone—”

I hold out a hand. “I’m moving to Vancouver so I can go to college in the fall.”

“You are?”

“I am.” I suck in a breath. “It’s time I started living for me and not hockey.”

He looks more confused than ever, but that’s the funny thing—my mind is clear. Like crystal.

At that moment, I don’t realize I’ll make history for what will become known as the ‘green dye affair.’

Nor do I know that Liam will, from here on out, cease being known as ‘Peter Pan’ and will be called the ‘Leprechaun’ for scoring his first hat trick.

Nor do I realize it’ll be almost eleven years before I set foot in a stadium again.

All that matters is… I’m out of here.