Brothers. I have brothers. Three of them, from the sound of things. After practice, I drive home to sit in my still-nearly-empty apartment, staring at a wall.
My entire life I have hated my father, barely respected my mother’s decision to keep his name from me. I could have done what this reporter from the Post did or like Coach suggested…I could have hired someone to dig. I could have done that any time. I didn’t bother because I thought I was just ignoring the existence of a man who wasn’t worthy of knowing my name.
But I could have had brothers.
I pick up my phone and pull up a web browser, typing Stag Pittsburgh into the search engine. Whatever I expected to find there, the results are a thousand times more surprising. My brother Tim owns Stag Law. I knew this, but didn’t realize what a big deal it is. His law firm represents all the professional sports teams in the city, handles their endorsement contracts, all of it. And Tim is big into philanthropy and community service so there are hundreds of news articles about him.
No wonder that reporter looked like a bear discovering a honeycomb. I feel a twist of rage in my guts that the reporter seems out to besmirch my brother’s name. I hated how he brought up my contract negotiations like that.
I scroll down to a picture of Tim with his arms around two other guys that look like him. He apparently runs marathons with his brothers Tyrion and Thatcher. Like, a lot of marathons. “Timber, Tyrion and Thatcher Stag.” I practice saying their names out loud, not knowing if I’ll ever have cause to do so again.
Tyrion, who goes by Ty according to the news, was a pro hockey player who retired to be a stay-at-home dad for his four sons. His wife is some kind of big-deal trial judge. Four sons. I guess that means I have…nephews. I drag my fingers through my hair. I’ve never had family. It’s just been me and my mom my entire life. Her extended family wasn’t too keen on maintaining relationships with the daughter who flunked out of college to become a junkie and a pregnant teenager.
Our community in Loudonville consisted mostly of Mom’s friends from church and my soccer teammates. Brothers and nephews were things my teammates had, things I felt bitterly jealous of every holiday and every regular weekend day when everyone else had huge cheering sections in the stands for them and plans to suck down family dinner after our weekend matches.
My brother Thatcher is an artist. There’s a big shift in the media coverage of him, showing his maturity from a playboy to a family man. He’s got a wife and kids, too.
I throw my phone down on the sofa next to me. The three of them had each other to lean on, to talk to. And I’m some dirty secret they never had to think about. I remind myself that if it’s true what my mom says about my father’s alcoholism, chances are pretty good he was a shit dad to them. But they knew he was shit. They never had to wonder, never had a big black hole sucking up half of their identity.
“FUCK,” I scream into the empty apartment.
And then, like it heard me, it beeps at me. No, it’s not the apartment beeping, I think. It’s the intercom. Someone’s at the door. I’m sure as hell not in the mood for company, but I flick the button on the video doorbell to see who it is pushing the button. My eyes widen when I see it’s no other than Tim Stag. “What are you doing here?” I don’t bother with small talk.
“Just let me up,” he says, treating me with the same attitude. I buzz him in, propping the door open and leaning against the frame while I wait for him to emerge from the elevator.
He steps out a minute later, still wearing his suit and tie, but looking frazzled. He twists his wedding band around his finger rapidly and his eyes dart side to side like he’s looking for spies or something. “Can I come in?”
I step back from the door and close it behind him when he enters. I’m still not settled in so the apartment is still pretty sparse. We sit on the pair of stools that came with my counter and I stare at him, my brother. It’s going to take me a long time to get used to thinking that.
He stares back at me. “We need to talk,” he says and I spit out a laugh.
“No shit, brother.” I emphasize the last word like I’m not sure whether it’s a curse.
Tim sighs. “I don’t know what you know. I’m guessing not much.”
I breathe out through my nose. “All I knew was that I was born in Pittsburgh and my teenaged mom got knocked up by some drunk who she says wasn’t worth telling about my existence.”
Tim strokes his growing stubble while I talk and I realize I’m doing the same thing. I snap my hand down into my lap. Tim takes another deep breath. “Our mother died when I was a teenager. It was very sudden and my father…did not take it well. He abandoned us for the bottle.” I glare at him. “I mean that literally,” Tim continues. “I’ve been my brothers’ only parent for a long time.”
“So you don’t know where he is?” I realize that I sort of hope the man died and as I’m listening to Tim talk about how hard his life was having to raise himself and two little brothers, I don’t even feel bad about it.
“We know,” he says. “Now. Thatcher found him a few years ago when he was dying.”
I scoff. “That’s awfully convenient. For him.”
Tim grins at me. “That was my reaction at the time.” He explains that Ted Stag finally got sober and has gradually been easing back into their lives. He tells me his brothers are quicker to forgive than he is. “I don’t know if you have any interest in connecting with him,” Tim says, and then leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter and staring into my eyes. “But I’d really like it if you could meet Ty and Thatcher. My…our…brothers.”
I swallow a huge-ass lump in my throat. “I’d like that, too. But I’m not, you know, ready to meet … Ted.”
Tim grunts. “I’m not ready to see that fucker again any time soon, either. Don’t tell my wife I called him that.”
“I haven’t met your wife, man.”
Tim grins. “You should. She’d help shape your perspective on everything. It’s annoying.”
I nod. “Sometimes a man just wants to sit and brood about things.”
Tim squeezes my leg. “We’re a lot alike, Hawk.”
I stare at my big brother some more, not sure what to say.