by RJ Scott
I stood so fast that the blood rushed to my head and I swayed, Colorado bracing me, Simon standing immediately, but I stepped away from them.
“Do you want to leave Emma with us?” Colorado asked.
“No. Sorry, but if Emma wakes up, I want it to be me she sees,” I murmured, and gently lifted my precious cargo, so she sat more on my hip. “I’ll be okay. Go home.” The surgeon guided me out and as the door shut I thought to add more. “Colorado, we can talk tomorrow about what I owe you, and how my job—”
The door shut between us, and I never got to finish my sentence, but it wasn’t important. Colorado had to know I would pay him back, and that I would work for him as long as he needed me to, and that whatever attraction had been bubbling between us wasn’t anything more than forced proximity. I could work past anything, even my stupid heart, to focus on fixing things for Emma and Natalie. Maybe I’d get a full-time packing job, work my way up to manager, there was good money in the retail sector. Then if I earned enough, and with the insurance money, maybe we could move out of the city. I stopped dead outside her room. My feet refused to move, my chest tightened, and behind me the surgeon put her hand on my lower back.
“It’s okay to go in,” she encouraged.
But it wasn’t okay that Natalie had lost everything, or that she’d scrambled back into the house to get photos of the man she’d loved and lost. It wasn’t right that she was now unconscious in bed, or even considered mementoes more important than her own life. Anger spiked in me, followed quickly by grief, and then both of those things were slammed into place by a curious sense of peace. I had to be the unemotional one here, the person who took care of everything. I needed to pull my family into my orbit and hold them there by the gravity of my own competence.
They needed me to be strong right now and there would be plenty of time for me to have a meltdown later.
I walked into the room, ignored the wires and bandages, and focused in on my sister lying still in the middle of the bed, seeing the nurse at her side who glanced up and smiled at me reassuringly.
Doctor Ellis tapped the file. “Do you have any questions—?”
“The burns, the leg.”
“There’ll be no scarring if we can help it, and with PT there shouldn’t be long-term issues from the leg injury. We’re keeping an eye on her sugar levels right now, and I’ll be back to visit in a few hours. All being well I would imagine we could discharge her in a few days.”
“How many is ‘a few’?” I needed to know if it was going to be two days, or a week, or a month, I had to have that in black and white more than I needed my next breath.
“Three days, worst case scenario a week if there are any complications with her sugar levels, or signs of not healing.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded, and left, and I was alone with Nurse-something-or-other, who was chatting away pleasantly and looked incredibly efficient.
“She’s sleeping comfortably,” the nurse said and as I moved closer I read her badge, Bridget Lowell. “We’ve made up a cot for you, and a smaller one for your niece.”
“I can stay here?”
“For as long as you need to.” She patted my arm. That was all people had been doing all night, or day. Whatever is the time anyway? The light coming in through the wide window was muted and gray, but that meant nothing to me right now. Natalie was pale and still in the bed, and in my arms Emma was waking up. She murmured sleepily, shifted in my hold, glanced up at me with a soft smile, and then, as she abruptly remembered the horror, she was wide awake and upright in my arms.
“Momma.”
I moved so she could see Natalie, aware the nurse had moved to the back of the room, busying herself with something to give us space.
“Momma’s just sleeping,” I said with a smile, and pulled a chair closer, so we could sit within touching range.
Emma immediately reached for Natalie, stroking her arm, and then holding her hand. “Just sleeping,” she said softly.
We sat like that until Emma slumped with her head on the bed, her eyes shut and her breathing even. I tucked her into the cot, puffing up the pillows, and making sure she was safe, then resumed my vigil at my sister’s bedside. By now daylight had filled the space, and at one point I thought she might wake up, as she moved a little then stilled again. Restless, I moved to the window, staring out over Tucson before pulling the blind down enough to stop the worst of the summer sun from making the room too bright. That was when I caught a movement outside through frosted glass as someone walked past. Someone who looked very much like Colorado was outside.
I sent him home.
“I’m seeing things,” I muttered to the quiet room, but then the figure moved in the chair and I knew for sure it was him. Cautiously I opened the door to the corridor, and I spotted him right there on a set of seats. In front of him was a playpen, with blankets and toys, a diaper bag that I kept at the door back at the house, full of diapers, wipes, and formula. In the center of that nest was a waving Maddie who was fascinated with the mobile hanging above her, and directly in front of them was the long-suffering Simon who glanced up at me when I stepped out, shrugged, and then stared pointedly at Colorado.
“What is going on?”
“We’re chilling,” Colorado replied. I blinked stupidly. “How’s your sister?”
“Uhm, okay. I just… why are you here?”
“Where else would we be?” he asked.
Simon bobbed his head, deep lines of worry and exhaustion etched into his face.
“Home? Playing hockey?” I closed the distance so we could talk quietly. Colorado patted the seat next to him. I dropped into it utterly depleted.
“Nothing is more important than family, not games or music or whatever other kind of bogus bullshit people come up with.”
“But I sent you home.”
He gave me that sinful off-kilter smile. “Yeah, and we came back. Joe, man, I know how it is to sit in a hospital not knowing if a loved one is going to live or—” Simon coughed. Colorado grimaced. “Sorry, if a loved one will be okay. We’re here for you. We’re family now. A somewhat screwy family, but family.”
I glanced at Simon who nodded. Then I looked down at Madeline who had fallen asleep. And then my eyes met Colorado’s and whatever starch was left in me blew away.
“I really like you,” I whispered as I listed to the side.
His arm settled around my neck. “I really like you too.”
Thirteen
Colorado
Four days later I was in Winnipeg looking down the barrel of a loaded gun in the form of one Austin Greeley. Austin was one of the Winnipeg Waves’ alternate captains and first line center. Austin was a motherfucking streak of light in blue and white. He’d beaten me twice already in this opening game, the shit. Seeing him coming at me, shoulders level, puck on his stick, I knew this would was going to be a key save if I could make it. I eased back into the net as Austin closed in. Out of nowhere it seemed, Henry tried to poke check the puck away from Austin. I watched the puck wobble ahead of Greeley. Not to be deterred, Austin dove at the runaway puck. I dropped down to close off my five hole but not soon enough. The puck squibbed between my legs and then all two hundred and ten pounds of Austin Greeley followed the puck into the net.
I went to my ass as Greeley and I tangled up. He said something. Not sure what. Whatever it was it was snarky so I punched him in the head while we were kissing the in-net camera. He punched me back. Vlad arrived and pulled Greeley out of the net by a leg and then hit him in the face with a massive fist. Then shit went all kinds of sideways. I managed to get to my skates and find the referee while he was smashed between Alex and a Winnipeg winger tugging each other’s helmets off.
“He knocked me off my skates! That’s interference!” I shouted at anyone in black and white. None of them were listening. All four of the officials were too busy breaking up the massive scrum taking place in my crease. “Hey! That shit-face fuck ran my net. He total
ly inhibited my chance to make the save by cramming his ugly self into my net. No way that is a legit goal!”
“Penn, back the fuck up!” Mike Gallo, one of the linesmen barked then fell to his ass when Ryker tried to knock the smirk off a big Winnipeg D-man.
“But this is horseshit! That was interference! What are you looking at, Cookie?” I glowered at the Winnipeg captain, Brandon Cooke.
“Some lame ass Michael Bublé,” he tossed back.
I threw my helmet at him and we went at it. Winnipeg had pissed me off since the first puck drop and that Bublé crack was below the fucking belt. It was kind of fun, actually, beating on Cooke’s back. Then he whipped me to the ice and hit me in the face a few dozen times. Everything got kind of blurry and not fun then, but someone pulled him off of me. Not sure who. I rolled to avoid another fist and got a glimpse of our head coach and the Waves head coach throwing Gatorade bottles at each other.
When it was all said and done the penalty boxes were full and both head coaches had been ejected from the game. Which left an unhappy Coach Anderson running the lines, and she was not being kind. I’d been sent to the locker room for medical attention and was now getting my cheek taped up as the final minutes of the first period trickled down. When it ended we were down 3-0, which sucked hairy rhino balls. Winnipeg was not a team to fall behind to but there we were. I heard the guys thundering past the trainer’s office. My face hurt really bad, and the knot on the back of my head was thumping a steady metal beat.
“… out of your asses and focus on why we’re here!” Coach Anderson was bellowing as they filed into the away dressing room. She stuck her head around the door to glare at me. “Can he play?”
“He didn’t pass concussion protocol, so no,” Craig replied, calm as you please.
“I can play! It was one stupid question!” I said around the trainer who hissed at me to sit still.
“I asked you what your name was and you said Joe Perry. Now sit still. I really think this should have stitches.”
“Okay, thanks Craig.” Off Coach Anderson went.
“Wait! I can play! I can! I know who I am, I was just a little fuzzy but I’m fine. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”
The rest of the game kind of turned into a shit fest of the highest caliber. We ended up being spanked royally by the Waves with a final score of 7-1. It was humiliating. I slogged my way to my hotel room, feeling as low as a man could feel, and called home. They’d be a few hours behind us so everyone should be up still. I needed to see Maddie Boo and talk to Joe for a bit. When he answered the call he asked for a video call. His gasp upon seeing me made me wince, which then caused me to growl in pain.
“Pro tip coming at you, never fight a dude who’s tied with Rick Tocchet in PIM,” I groaned as I crawled over my bed then gently eased myself down into the mattress.
“I don’t know who that is or what you’re even talking about but your face looks like you ran into a wall.”
“I kind of did. How’s everyone? Is Nat doing better? Are she and Emma settling in?”
“She’s okay. Her sugar has been good. She’s just so sad. I… I can’t stop staring at your face.”
“Bet you say that to all the boys.” I smiled. Ouch. God I ached. All over. Would I even be able to kiss Joe when we got home?
“Are you sure you’re okay with them coming here?” He moved to the right to tend to something, and then there was my reason for living in his arms. Maddie was sleepy, her little bow mouth was pursed as if she were sucking but there was no bottle. My arms felt empty, so did my heart. I was hurting inside and out. I wanted to be held like she was, and by the same person.
“Yeah, I want them there. Man, for such a smart dude you’re awfully slow.”
His lips flattened. “I’ll let that go because you’re obviously in great pain.”
“Yeah Winnipeg is bestial.”
That was not a lie. The Waves took us to school and it was nothing but humiliation topped with a creamy dollop of corporal punishment. They swept us in four games. I never wanted to see another broom in my life. Winnipeg fans threw little stuffed ones at us the night of the final loss. How they snuck them into the arena, who knew? Same way they sneak octopi and catfish in, I guess. We scored three times. Three goals in two hundred and forty minutes of playoff hockey. The goals against me and Andre were sickening, like, demoralizingly disgusting.
When I got home after game four, still carrying some bruising from game one, I hid in my music room for a full day with Maddie. We didn’t emerge. She and I slept and ate and crapped ourselves. Not really. I did leave to use the bathroom. When day two dawned, Joe came in. The cheeky manny didn’t even knock, he just walked in as if he owned the place.
Me and Maddie were lying on the floor, thick blankets under us, making music. Well, she was grunting and filling her diaper and I was plucking on a ukulele making up Hawaiian lyrics for a new song called “Fuck Me With a Coconut” but since I didn’t speak Hawaiian the lyrics weren’t progressing well.
“She needs a bath. You need a bath. Your phone is buzzing nonstop. Your grandmother is firing up the sweat lodge and telling me that I have to go sit in it with her, naked, to purify my aura so my passionate soul will burst free. I don’t want to go sit naked in a deerskin tent with your grandmother. Who’s going to clean up the mess after I burst?”
His words ran out of him as he bent down and tenderly lifted Maddie from her yellow duckie blanket. He was cute when he was worried. His brow furrowed and his upper lip kind of drew in.
“She worries about your pores,” I replied and strummed a tiny refrain from “Tiny Bubbles” then tossed the ukulele aside. “Maybe I should go steam.”
“You should go shower and answer your phone,” he tossed over his shoulder as he absconded with my daughter.
I rolled to my side to stare listlessly out the double doors that led outside. It was a clear day, stunning by the looks of it. The sun was up and the sky indigo blue. I needed to get up, Joe was right about that. I did need a shower, shave was optional.
I had to face the disappointed fans and the rest of the team. Breakdown day was in two days and I didn’t want to go back. Ugh. We’d hosed things up so badly. I just wanted to leave it all behind for a few days. I breathed in the soft smell of flowers riding on a hot wind. I needed to go to my little desert camp. Yes. Yes. It was perfect! I’d find myself there, shake off this suffocating case of artistic funk-slash-athletic blues, and maybe even work on lyrics for my ballad.
“Hi.” I rolled my head around to find Emma standing on the patio. She’d been creating mud pies. Her mother would be thrilled.
“Hey, Pretty Miss Emma.”
“This is for you.” She pattered barefooted into the music room, her new pink dress smeared with mud and sand. Her face and hair were thick with gooey wet dirt and her tiny toes were packed full. “I digged a hole by a purple bush and made pancakes. You can have this one. It has extra sand and two stick candles on it because,” she paused to breathe, “you lost a game and was sad like I was sad when our house burned.”
“Thank you so much.” I held out my hands and she flopped the mud pie into my palms. “This looks awesome. I like the dead grasshopper. That gives it a nice touch.”
“Yeah, I found that under the big window by the pool. Are you still sad?” She sat beside me then took the time to pull her skirt out and press the wrinkles free, with her muddy hands. That made me smile.
“A little.”
She nodded sagely. “Uncle Joseph says that it’s okay to be sad when sad things happen. My mommy makes me laugh. Maybe your mommy can come here and make you laugh then you won’t feel so sad.”
“My mommy can’t do that, she’s in Heaven.” I pushed to my feet, my sleep shorts twisted around me, and placed the pancake on top of an empty pizza box resting on the Steinway’s shiny black top. “I’ll eat that for dessert after breakfast.”
“I’m sorry for your mommy being in Heaven. You can share mine.”
I choked u
p a bit. “Thanks. That’s super generous.”
“I know. I have to go make more pies. Please use a napkin!” She scampered off, muddy feet leaving little prints on the hardwood flooring. The cleaning service would be thrilled. The tracks made me smile, though.
“Hey, you ready to get up and face the world?” I heard Simon ask from behind me.
“Not quite yet. I think we need to get out of here. Maybe go to the petting zoo or—”
“My guys have tracked down Maddie’s mother.”
I turned from the open doors to gape at Simon. “How?”
“Lots of leg work. We started with the short bit of CCTV from the neighbors we got when she dropped Maddie off that day. She’d had a hoodie on when she got out of the car, but it was down when she drove through the security gate. Grainy image and blurry, but we had a general description, and also a make of car. Tracked the car to a rental agency in Tempe. Then we did the hard work. Spread out, located the car in a small lot in Mesilla, New Mexico. She signed off on a credit card to pay for the rental and we had her. She’s living in an apartment with two other girls and waitressing at a strip club at night.”
“Wow,” I whispered, dropping to the piano bench with a flop. I stared at my bare feet and the bright pink toenail polish Emma had painted my nails with a few nights ago. “What’s her name?”
“Megan Wells, nineteen, brunette, hazel eyes, barely graduated high school, big Furball fan. Her social media is thick with your face and song lyrics.”
“I honestly do not remember her.” God, I really had been a man whore.
“No comment. Left home at sixteen, reason unknown but there is some history of drug use listed for her father who she lived with. Mother has remarried and lives in Encino. No siblings.
“Uhm okay, so did you turn that info over to Child Services?”
“Yeah, they’ve contacted her to verify maternity and are pressing charges for abandonment. Blood tests confirm that she’s Maddie’s mother. She’s signed over all claims to the baby and is sitting in jail awaiting bail which she won’t be able to post because waitress in a strip club.”