The Defender: A Single Dad Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) Page 7

  James turns toward the doctor as I press back against the wall. I wish it would swallow me up, make me invisible, and take me away from this wretched place where my greatest sorrow lies.

  Dr. Leeds speaks with James but I can’t hear the words. I can’t hear anything except the frantic beating of my heart, the anger in Jerry’s tone, the sounds of my wailing when I learned the truth.

  No heartbeat. Stillborn.

  “Bella.” James touches my arm.

  I blink slowly as Jerry disappears and James comes back into focus. He frowns at me, his mouth thinning. “You can leave. I’ve got it from here.”

  I nod but his words rip scabs off my still healing wounds. I failed Mason. I failed Miles. I failed Jerry and James and myself. Again.

  “Milly’ll want to see you,” James adds in a low voice.

  But I know he doesn’t mean it. He just wants me out of here. Gone. Because I brought his son to the hospital, swore he was okay, and then watched as his little body shook in a series of convulsions and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  “You can go now,” he says again.

  I shake off his touch and gather my belongings. “You’ll call when—”

  “Yeah,” James says, sitting down in a chair and pulling out his phone. His gaze darts up to mine for a flicker before he starts tapping on his phone. “I’ll check in with you in a bit.”

  “Okay.” My voice is small and thin. Fragile. Like those shavings of wood, reeds, that I used to need for my saxophone. I always thought I’d have a child who flourished in music. The way my dad did.

  When I don’t move, James raises his head again and lifts his eyebrows.

  Right. I’m dismissed. I avert my gaze and leave the hospital room with my head down, my shoulders rounded, and the feeling of failure heavy in my chest.

  The whole way home, I can’t shake the old inadequacies that surfaced tonight. James snapped at me the same way Jerry used to. The feel of the hospital, all loss and grief, rolled through me the way it did three years ago. But worse than that is the way my heart broke all over again.

  Whatever progress I’ve made the past few years, the past few months, evaporates in an instant. I send Dr. Carlisle a message.

  I was fooling myself in thinking I’d ever belong to a family again. My family is ruined. Gone. And I’m the only one to blame.

  Mason returns from the hospital two days later. He’s a little paler, a little weaker, but his spirits are high. His fever broke nearly as quickly as it had spiked and with his febrile virus and seizure behind him, the doctor released him.

  Physically, Mason is fine. But the emotional and mental anguish the Ryan family suffered as a result makes it clear they are still gripped by grief from Layla’s passing.

  “I’m off.” James gives a nod on his way to the front door, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Have a good game.” I lift a hand in farewell, glancing surreptitiously at Milly and Mason.

  Both kids stare after their father, waiting for him to kiss them goodbye or tell a silly joke the way he usually does. But the door closes firmly behind him and I catch the confusion on Mason’s face, the disappointment in Milly’s eyes.

  Knowing firsthand just how much a health scare, any scare, can eat up all the progress a person has made in the wake of tragedy, my heart goes out to James. But the twins are my priority and their father’s checked-out mental state and clouded-over eyes frustrate me. On top of that, his shortness with me, his snapping at me, aches more than I’d like to admit.

  “Come on, guys. Want to go to the park? We can shoot hoops before supper,” I say with more enthusiasm than I feel.

  Mason yawns and Milly gives me a look of disbelief. Right, that was way too ambitious. Mason is still recovering. Aren’t we all?

  “Or,” I stall, wracking my brain for a bright idea. Luckily, one springs to mind and I snap my fingers. “I got it! Let’s make s’mores.”

  At this, both kids perk up. “S’mores?” Milly asks, letting the question dangle.

  “Yes, ma’am. You’ve got a firepit, right?”

  “Out back,” Mason confirms.

  “And we have all the ingredients,” I hurry on.

  “We do?” Mason asks.

  I roll my eyes. “As if I’d not be prepared for s’mores. Don’t insult me, Mase.”

  Milly snickers. I move to the kitchen and gather up the necessary ingredients. “Now you guys bundle up warm and I’ll get the fire going. And then, dessert before supper.”

  The twins grin, their eyes twinkling. A surge of excitement runs through me as well. Not that this is walking on the wild side but it’s definitely breaking the rules I try to stick to. “Sometimes, rules are meant to be broken,” I continue. “Tonight, we’re going to throw caution to the wind and have some fun.”

  “Okay!” Milly cries out, racing to the front closet for her winter gear. Mason follows, shooting me a grateful grin.

  Once the fire is going and the twins are bundled up, we trek outside and sit around the firepit. I pass out sticks and we place marshmallows on the ends, leaning over the fire. The flames flicker and dance, casting the twins’ faces in rosy glows and shadows.

  “This is fun,” Mason says after a beat.

  “And it’s a school night,” Milly adds.

  They look at each other and laugh, their faces giving away the innocence of their ages, the delight they’re experiencing.

  “You sure Dad won’t mind?” Milly asks after a moment.

  Even though I’m not sure how James will react, I know that I’ll deal with him if he’s angry. Something tells me he won’t be. Right now, the twins need something fun, something to distract their concerns away from their father’s worried expressions and stretches of silence. “Nah, he’ll be okay,” I say gently. Removing the marshmallow, I press it between two graham crackers, already coated with chocolate. Then, I pass the s’more to Mason and make one out of his marshmallow for Milly. When we all have a s’more, we tap them over the fire in cheers and take a big bite.

  “Oh my God,” I groan, the melty marshmallow fluff sticking to my lip. “This is good.”

  “So good,” Milly adds.

  “Remember that time we went camping?” Mason asks his sister.

  She nods, her face beaming. “Mommy stepped through a log.”

  “Fire ants!” Mason exclaims, his laughter bubbling up. “It was the worst,” he says to me.

  “Mommy’s leg was burning.”

  “And she had little red dots everywhere,” Milly says, demonstrating by poking all over her leg.

  I wrinkle my nose. “Oh man, that sounds brutal. Did you guys keep camping?”

  Mason nods. “Oh yeah, Daddy fixed Mommy up and we made a campfire.”

  “And s’mores,” Milly adds.

  “We told scary, spooky stories,” Mason recalls.

  “Daddy’s was the scariest,” Milly tells me. “It had a dragon in it.”

  I grin. “That sounds like a fun trip.”

  The twins nod again, old memories filtering through their eyes as they stare at the campfire.

  “Did you ever go camping?” Mason asks me.

  I shake my head, not telling him I’d rather get a root canal than go camping. “I’m more of a city girl.”

  “I like shopping, too,” Milly says, as if that sums it up.

  I laugh and nod. “What’s your favorite camping memory?”

  “Stargazing,” Milly says without hesitation.

  “See there?” Mason points to the sky, dragging his finger in a line. “That’s the Big Dipper.”

  I squint and look up, trying to follow his movements. Slowly, the shape he’s tracing appears and I exclaim, “I see it!”

  “Pretty cool, huh?” Milly asks me, popping another marshmallow on the end of her stick.

  “Super cool,” I agree, listening as Mason points out additional constellations.

  Sitting under the stars, eating s’mores with Milly and Mason makes my ches
t ache. While I revel in the time I share with them, their happy expressions and wistful memories dip my personal loss in heartache.

  As November 8 nears, so does the restlessness coursing through my limbs. I push myself to run every morning before the sun rises until my body edges on total collapse. While Milly and Mason ease a lot of my pain, they also cause me to confront it head-on.

  On the morning that Miles would have turned three, I wake up earlier than usual, a dull throb in my temples, an itchiness in my palms, a restless energy that won’t subside.

  I step out into the chill of a Boston autumn morning and run too many miles to count. Slowly, the sun peeks through the clouds and the neighborhood stretches awake, but in my mind, there’s only room for darkness. I’m back before the twins wake, preparing their breakfast when James enters the kitchen.

  He glances at me warily, as if surprised to find me in his home, his kitchen. Things have been strained since Mason’s hospital stay and while I tried in the immediate aftermath to make things right, I gave up when I was met with silence and indifference.

  Today, of all days, I don’t have it in me to put myself out there. Not when my heart feels so tender, my emotions so raw and close to the surface. Today, I feel like one of the burnt orange leaves curling in the street—fragile, thin, and dying inside.

  I butter Mason’s toast and don’t even look up when James clears his throat.

  “Good morning, Bella,” he says, stepping around me to pour a cup of coffee.

  “Morning,” I manage to reply, snapping the lid back on the butter.

  He fixes his coffee and I hear the spoon clink against the side of the mug. I feel his gaze on my back, settled right between my shoulder blades.

  A heavy sigh falls from his mouth. I cut Milly’s toast into four squares.

  “How are you doing?” James’s voice is gruff, still layered with sleep.

  “Fine. You?” My voice is controlled, direct. My fingers tremble and I feel brittle, weak enough to shatter right here. Swells of grief rise in my chest and I glance at the clock.

  How is it only 7:38 a.m.? How am I supposed to endure this day? Survive it?

  But I have. I’ve already done it several times. All I’ve learned is the people who say time heals all wounds are liars. Because how the hell can a mother ever move on from this type of devastation?

  “What are your plans today?” James asks, shifting closer.

  I feel the heat of his body at my back, not quite touching, but near enough that I could sink into his warmth if I let myself. I don’t. The last thing I need right now is kindness. Because kindness will shatter me and I don’t want to shatter before 9 a.m. when I have a job to do. When I have a memory to honor.

  “Going to run some errands,” I say noncommittally, mentally running through the list of items I need to buy. “I told the twins we’d do a craft this afternoon.”

  “A craft,” he murmurs, neither a statement nor a question.

  I don’t say anything else. Instead, I give a jerky nod and leave the kitchen to wake the twins up for school. Right before I exit, I turn to look at James.

  He’s staring directly at me. His eyes are turbulent, churning with emotions that I both recognize and despise. Heartache, loneliness, grief…pity? His expression is severe, his lips thin. I can tell he wants to make things right between us but today isn’t the day for that.

  I sever our connection by taking the stairs, calling out for Milly and Mason as I go.

  I focus on the routine, on the things I have to do. I force myself to move forward, to put one foot in front of the other. I smile when Milly wishes me good morning; I help Mason style his hair. But the entire time, breathing feels like having a knife plunged in my chest. Every single thing about today hurts.

  The text messages from my family, the calls I ignore from Colton and Selina, checking in on me.

  The lack of a message from Jerry acknowledging the loss of our son.

  On days like today, even the best of intentions, the thoughtfulness of loved ones, the comfort my parents and big brother offer, burns me from the inside out. Kindness aches just as deeply as indifference.

  Milly squeezes me extra tight before she bounds down the steps for breakfast. Three years ago, her mom was diagnosed with cancer the same week that I lost Miles. Maybe she remembers that time, maybe she feels the hopelessness in the impending winter.

  Or maybe she saw my face and sensed that I needed a hug.

  Whatever the reason, I decide that the three of us will make memory wreaths today. To honor. To remember. To accept. And maybe, to begin to heal.

  7

  James

  “How are the twins holding up?” Austin asks as I slam the door to my locker closed.

  Practice today was brutal but I welcomed the intensity. I even welcomed the hits. Ever since Mason was hospitalized, my head has been all over the place. It’s like I was plunged back into the darkest days of Layla’s illness.

  Now, with the anniversary of her cancer diagnosis just days away, I feel the same helplessness grip my throat. This time of year is always hard for me but this year, I think it’s affecting the twins too. I know I haven’t been there for them the way I need to be, the way I want to be. It’s another failure that’s difficult to swallow.

  I look up at my captain, wondering how he manages to keep it together all the time. Leading a team isn’t easy, and Austin always offers insight and support.

  “They’re doing all right. If anything, it’s me. I need to be there for them more.”

  “It’s a tough week,” Austin says thoughtfully.

  “Yeah,” I agree. It’s more than tough. It’s fucking crippling. Every year at this time, I feel like I got TKOed. Then again during the week Layla passed, the week of her birthday, the week of our anniversary… Will life ever not feel like a fucking struggle? If I didn’t have the twins, I don’t know how I would manage any of it.

  “How are things with Bella working out?” Austin asks.

  “She’s…great,” I say truthfully, not voicing how I need to do better by her too. An image of her from the hospital flickers through my mind. She was in agony. Her eyes were burning, her mouth open. She looked like she was on fire from the inside out, a slow torture that I felt in my bones. “I, uh, I snapped at her at the hospital when I went to see Mase. Things are a little…strained at the moment.”

  Understanding streaks across Austin’s face and he swears softly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, James. You were worried about Mason.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, scratching my cheek. “Still, it was shitty of me. She treats my kids like her own and I was unfair.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  I shake my head and Austin lifts an eyebrow.

  “I need to apologize,” I say finally.

  “Yeah, man. You should talk to her. When you were in the moment, you were probably overwhelmed and worried about Mase. People say things they don’t mean when they’re—”

  “Scared,” I murmur.

  Austin nods, clasping my shoulder. “But if you like Bella as much as you say, and she’s great with the twins, then you need to talk to her.”

  “I need to do a hell of a lot more than that.” Austin gives me a look and I snort, shaking my head. “Not like that, man. I just mean, I need to do right by her. She’s made the transition, the school year, this season, easy. Twins adore her. I…she’s good for me, too.”

  “That’s great, man. Don’t be so hard on yourself, James. You’re doing a hell of a job raising those kids and adjusting to this new reality.”

  I nod, touched by his words. Even though Austin believes them and means it as a compliment, the only thing that runs through my mind are my shortcomings. The way I haven’t given the twins the attention they need over the past week. The way I cut Bella down instead of building her up.

  “I’m gonna head out. See you tomorrow?” I shoulder my bag.

  “Yep,” Austin agrees, watching me curiously. “Have a good
night.”

  “You too,” I say, knowing that my night will be anything but good. It will be another sleepless night where I recount all the ways I’m failing my children, Bella, and Layla’s memory.

  By the time I arrive home, I’m in a piss-poor mood. But when I step into the warmth of the house, hear the twins’ laughter, it recedes a bit. Then, I stop short. Because three wreaths are laid out on the dining table. I can tell which ones the twins made and which one Bella created, mainly because Bella’s is neater, and also the most cryptic.

  Milly’s is made of scraps of fabric I recognize from her baby clothes and buttons. Buttons that Layla collected from concerts when she was a teenager and at some point, let Milly play with.

  Mason’s wreath is threaded with gold, Layla’s favorite color. It contains patches that Layla used to sew onto the back of his denim jacket.

  Seeing the pieces of our past, of our family, causes tears to well in my eyes. I clear my throat and look away. My gaze lands on the third wreath.

  Did Bella make a wreath just to help my kids cope with the loss of their mom? To help them make sense of the month that changed our family forever.

  I frown, squinting at the light cream, pale yellow, and soft green ribbons woven throughout the wooden sticks holding the shape of her wreath.

  There’s something inherently innocent about it. Something sweet and simple. Still, the sight causes the swell in my throat to thicken and I turn away, making my way into the kitchen.

  When I enter, Bella, Milly, and Mason stop speaking and look up at me. They’re seated at the kitchen table, eating chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob.

  “Hey guys,” I say, lifting my hand toward the dining room. “Those are really beautiful wreaths you made.”

  Milly smiles as Bella jumps from her chair to grab another plate. I touch her wrist. “I got it.”

  She doesn’t smile or say hello. Instead, Bella dips her head in acknowledgement and retakes her seat. Something in my chest sinks at her dismissal, even though I deserve it.

  “They’re memory wreaths,” Mason explains as I sit down at the table with a plate and cutlery setting. “We made them for Mom.”