by Mignon Mykel
I remembered his words from the night.
All of them.
The dirty ones.
The sweet ones.
And the three words that when strung together…
Just thinking of them had my heart swelling and stuttering again.
Mikey loved me.
And it wasn’t just words. It was evident in the way he took care of my body all night long.
Tell him, that little voice in my head urged.
Well, if anything, telling him now would be easiest, wouldn’t it? When he was asleep?
It would be like practice.
I rubbed my hand softly over his pec, then side, still feeling his heart against my palm. I thought the words.
I love you, Mikey.
Mikey, I love you.
I love you, Mikey Leeds.
The words terrified me.
Saying them made them real.
Saying them meant that if he ever decided he didn’t feel the same way, I was going to be alone.
Life is about experiences, Doll.
I frowned at the words in my head but understood their intent.
Life wasn’t meant to just exist.
It was meant to be experienced.
You had to do the scary things in order to appreciate the beauty.
So, after swallowing back my fears, I pressed a kiss to Mikey’s side before whispering in to the dark, “I love you, Mikey.”
But it was his sleepy answer that had me knowing, once and for all, no matter how he denied it…
I would never be enough.
Chapter Seventeen
Mikey
Molly was gone, and I couldn’t get ahold of her.
Eight days.
Eight fucking days, and nothing.
No call. No email. No fucking text.
Just vanished.
She didn’t even answer Anderson’s questioning text, which really pissed me off.
The longer she was gone, the more my anger grew.
No, not anger.
It was disappointment that I felt.
What happened?
I replayed that night no less than one-hundred times in my head, and I couldn’t figure it out. Everything about that night was great.
Everything.
Until I woke up in the morning to another fucking disappearing act.
As badly as I wanted to dwell on it, I couldn’t afford to be upset at the world.
I committed to playing tomorrow.
I had to play on the anniversary of Trina’s death.
When assistant coach Deacon “Draz” Drazenovic came to practice yesterday, announcing that Ryleigh Prescott had passed away the night before—thankfully, shortly after the boys got to her—I stepped up to the plate. Without the Prescotts, and with Winski out, the team needed me.
It wasn’t likely that any of the Prescotts would be in San Diego for the game, and I couldn’t very well fail my team because of a superstitious hang-up.
But I was having a hard time keeping my disappointment in Molly from taking over every other thought in my head. She occupied my thoughts during the day, and my dreams at night.
How could she…?
Why?
Just, why?
I pulled my phone from the pocket of my jeans, pulling up her contact card and hitting the ‘text’ button.
Not for the first time this week, I shot off a message. Talk to me.
A few of the messages, I’d started out angry and it came across in my words. I knew my anger wouldn’t do anything but push her stubborn…ass…further away. So, I made my words nicer.
I added ‘please’ a couple of times even.
But still, nothing.
Sighing, I flipped my phone over. It wasn’t like she was going to answer me, at the rate the week had gone.
I heard Anderson come in through the garage—he’d asked to ride the bus this week—and I turned on my stool, momentarily hit with this sense of sitting here once before, turning to face the tree…
I shook the feeling off and waited for my son to come through. When he did, he threw his backpack to the couch, not saying anything even though he looked at me.
“How was your day?”
Anderson grunted a non-reply as he walked toward me and straight into the pantry.
I could learn to be okay with Molly leaving me, but I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact she willingly left Anderson too.
After all her talk about not wanting to leave him…
Shit. I knew it wasn’t talk when she said it, which made her silence all the more confusing.
What.
Happened?
Anderson came out of the pantry with a granola bar and pack of fruit snacks, avoiding my eyes. I let him, watching as my son moved around the kitchen.
Molly’s voice echoed in my head as I watched him. “Don’t you wonder what he would be like if he knew her? What of hers he’d have picked up on?”
Anderson was a result of his environment and while he looked like me, with his mom’s blonde hair, Anderson had so much of Molly in him. If Trina hadn’t died, how long would we have kept Molly around? Would we have had more kids? Would Molly have married Curtis, leaving us, because Anderson had Trina?
If Trina hadn’t died, the question wasn’t so much what of hers would he have picked up on, but more, who would he be without Molly?
If she was gone for good…
Shit.
If she was gone for good, I’d still see her every damn day in my kid.
“Have you talked to her?” Anderson asked softly, his back to me as he reached for a water glass.
“No, bud.”
He turned around quickly, worry sketched on his face. “This isn’t like her! She’s never not talked to me. Never, dad! What if she got in an accident? Like mom? What if…?” My boy didn’t finish his thoughts before his face crumbled. He killed me.
I was out of my stool and to him as quickly as I could, holding my ten-year-old close as he cried into my chest.
“I know, Anderson,” I murmured softly, my hand in his hair. “I’m trying to fix it, bud. I’m trying. I just don’t know where she is.”
He sniffed hard and pushed back, looking up at me with glassy eyes. “Did you go to her apartment? You didn’t, did you?”
What little faith my boy had in me.
“I did, Andy.”
Twice a day; on my way to the arena, and on the way home. She wasn’t there.
I didn’t know where she was.
Didn’t know why she couldn’t at least answer Anderson.
The thought of her being in an accident had crossed my mind a time or two, as well. Who would know? If she did get hurt, who would authorities let know? Anyone? Or could she be in a hospital somewhere, alone?
I didn’t like those thoughts.
I pushed those thoughts aside.
“Maybe Asher knows where she is!” Anderson’s face cleared. “Molly would have told her. She has to know. Did you ask her?”
“I…”
No. I didn’t think to talk to Asher.
Which was stupid of me. Of course, she would have talked to Asher.
They were friends; probably the only true friend Molly had.
Like Molly had been for Trina.
The thought of Trina had my mind fighting to remember something, but again, I shut it down. I had to figure out where Molly was.
At least to be sure she was okay.
I would never forgive myself if…
Hell, she just had to be okay.
* * *
The previous twenty-eight hours had been hell.
Asher finally responded to my text nearly six hours after I sent it—Yes, she knew where Molly was, but she didn’t want to be found. Yes, Molly was “okay”—and she used quotes, so I knew Molly really wasn’t okay. But I didn’t know how to fix it.
How did you fix something when you didn’t know what was wrong?
I hated trying to get info
rmation out of Asher, especially knowing all of the Prescotts were still out in Wisconsin. So, after I dropped Anderson off at Winski’s for him to hang out with him and Callie, I shot another text to Molly, even though I knew it would go unanswered.
Hell, at this point, maybe even unseen. I miss you. I’m sorry, Molly. Please just talk to me.
And then I put my phone away for the night, forcing myself to focus on the game.
I hit the bikes, trying like hell to pay attention to the televisions.
I hit the shower, going over plays in my head.
I threw on my gear and tapped my pads, thinking mindless bullshit: over my head, strap, strap; up the shin, strap, strap. Peel tap, attach behind leg, around, around, around, around, tear. Lower shin, around, around, around, tear.
Forcing myself to think about steps to do something, at least kept my mind off—
No. Not thinking about her.
Then, just like every year before, I stepped out onto the ice during warm-ups okay. The trick would be walking to the locker room before the game began. It was always then that the nausea set in.
I skated around the zone, taking in the crowd before lining up for our first warm-up drill. Rocking back and forth on my skates, I waited my turn, all while the guys around me talked.
The veterans of the team knew to leave me be.
The rookies must have been told to do the same.
When drills were through, after we did one last group one to get the puck past Kirby McDuffy in the net, I took myself off the ice. There were still three minutes left, but I needed time to decompress.
Draz, going over notes on his clipboard, glanced up at me as I walked into the room. “You good?”
I swallowed past the need to throw up and nodded. “I’ve got it.” I would push through this stupid hang-up.
The worst thing that had ever happened to me on this day was Trina’s accident.
And that was nine years ago, today.
Nothing bad would happen.
Nothing bad will happen.
I am going to be fine.
“The boys look up to you, Mikey. You’re doing a good thing tonight.”
“As long as I don’t croak on the ice,” I mumbled to myself, walking to my stall and sitting back, closing my eyes and focusing on my breathing.
It wasn’t long before the rest of the guys piled into the room too, and Draz started going over plays and our major line changes. I listened, even though I was bent over with my hands over my face, fingers pressing into my eyes and needing to remind myself to breathe.
“Alright, let’s go play hockey,” Draz announced and, one last deep breath, I put my fears to rest.
It was just another day.
Another day to play hockey.
* * *
My first face-off was rough, but I quickly got into my groove by the middle of the first period. By the end, I found myself with an assist—Fitz made the goal—and I was mostly relaxed.
As relaxed as a guy could be while playing hockey at the minutes I put in.
The night was going fine.
I lost the urge to puke, and I was playing almost normally.
I was afraid to think it but maybe I’d finally managed to put my fears to rest.
It was my seventh shift of the night—the period was almost over and I was ready to have put a third of the game behind me.
“Leeds!”
I looked around the ice for our open man, the puck in front of me. I was aware of Vegas’ guy coming at me from my left, and the guy trying to get around Travers to my right. I was looking for the one who called my name.
“Leeds!” Nash’s voice pulled through the sounds of skates on ice, and the crowd chanting and cheering. Moments before I was plowed into, I released the puck in Nash’s direction. I got an elbow to the neck, the jab feeling like someone was choking me, but fuck if that shit was caught and called.
Damn blind linesmen.
Nash passed off the puck to Little D’Amaco who slapped it toward goal the moment it was in sight. His angle was off slightly, but Nash pushed around the Vegas defender who was on his ass, and—beautifully—sent the puck home.
Just as the period buzzer rang.
“Yeah!” Nash yelled, his arms in the air. Me and the other on-shift skaters rushed him, hugging and slapping his back and helmet, before we made our way back to the bench, Duffy not that far behind us.
The atmosphere in the locker room was up, but Draz ran a different ship than Caleb, and talked business the moment we were all seated in our stalls.
“Good first period, boys. We had a few weak spots though…” I listened to him with half an ear, throwing back a fruity protein shake. “One down, two to go. Keep up the energy,” Draz finished, just as Mulligan and our equipment manager, Jeff Troy, walked in. Troy immediately went to grab skates that needed sharpening and Mulligan went to Draz. I turned toward Big D’Amaco beside me.
“You hear from Porter?”
Nico nodded. “Yeah. On accident. The babies Facetimed me.” He chuckled. “Porter was forced to talk to me when he realized it. He said it’s fucking cold and the wind was making his eyes water. Except he was inside when we were talking.”
I couldn’t help but grin, even though I knew the heartbreak those boys were going through. Mom or wife, the hurt was real. “The wind, was it?”
“Yeah. He ‘fessed up to it a few minutes later though. Asher had a really close relationship with his mom, so I honestly think Ports is trying to be strong for her.”
“You think—” I started, but Draz called my name. “What’s up?”
He waved me over and I frowned at Nico before standing, making my way to where he and Mulligan stood. The medical trainer’s eyes shifted, and a terrible feeling washed over me.
Molly.
Anderson.
“What’s wrong?” I managed to say without my voice breaking.
Draz, his face tight in a frown, sighed heavily. “Anderson’s in the hospital.”
Chapter Eighteen
Molly
“Are you home yet?” Callie asked, the moment I answered my phone. There were only a handful of people I was answering too, and while I wasn’t incredibly close to Callie, I still liked her enough to answer her phone call.
“I’ve always been home?” I was confused. I hadn’t gone anywhere.
Well, I’d been staying at Asher’s while they went out of town. Watched after their giant dog, Caine, for their family so they didn’t have to board him.
“Oh. No one knew where you were. At least, Mikey didn’t know where you were.”
Yeah.
He didn’t.
I didn’t want him to.
Not yet.
Not while I was still trying to get over the last tear to my heart.
And it killed me to not talk to Anderson, but I really just needed a little bit of space before I figured out how I was going to move on.
Again.
I couldn’t believe he’d called out her name…again…
Just like every other time this week, the thought of those last moments brought tears to my eyes. Like I told him, he could never love me like he loved Trina, and whatever love he thought he had for me?
It wasn’t enough.
“How’s Trevor doing?” I asked, forcing my mind away from Mikey.
“He’s okay. He’s learning to deal with the fact he’s not going to play anymore. We talked about getting an emotional support dog for him. Okay, well, I talked to him about it. He’s not completely sold on it, thinks it’s hocus pocus, even though I’ve told him I’ve seen these dogs work magic but anyway, I had a reason for my call.” Her voice was starting to sound rushed, and it concerned me.
“Is everything okay?”
“Mostly. Um. So, we have Anderson tonight while Mikey’s playing. And he had a bit of a freak accident.” My heart stopped in my chest, but Callie continued talking. “Do you maybe have guardianship or has Mikey given you caretaker rights? I’ve got him
here at the hospital, and he’s in the back being X-rayed, but I think he’d do better with someone with him. I mean, he’s doing fine! He’s in good spirits, but I really hate that he’s back there alone.”
“Oh my gosh,” I finally said, moving to stand from the couch. Caine lifted his heavy lion-like head from his place on a giant dog-pillow, tracking my movements with curiosity. “Yes. I can be there. I’m at the Prescotts’ house. Porter and Asher’s. I can be there in, I don’t know, fifteen minutes? Twenty?”
“Okay. Good.” Callie sounded relieved. The woman had been a pediatric nurse! Her tone worried me.
“Is it bad?” I asked, slipping on old-school sweater clogs.
“Oh my goodness, I’ve probably worried you. I’m sorry. It’s just a bad break. I mean, there’s no ‘just’ to a broken bone but—”
Relief rushed through me, but I still rushed out of the house, alarming and locking it, and got into my car. “Okay. Good. I’ll be there.”
* * *
“Molly!”
Anderson’s face lit up when I walked into the room. I slid the glass door back to the position it had been in before opening it and walked over to him.
As soon as I got to the pediatric Emergency Room, I talked to Callie and sent her home, before being directed to Anderson’s room. The doctor would be in shortly.
“Are you okay, bud?” I asked. When I reached him, I automatically ran my hand through his hair, my eyes falling to his splinted arm. “What happened?”
He sighed, rolling his eyes. “It’s so stupid. I was chasing Dylan and Colt, and tripped on a toy.” He tried lifting his arm and winced.
“No, don’t move it.”
“Anyway. I caught myself funny and snap! Just like that. Snapped in half.”
He sounded proud, while me? The thought of my bone just “snapping” in half sent my stomach rolling.
“Then we got here, and they gave me some medicine, and I feel fine.”
I couldn’t help but smile at him. “They gave you the good stuff, did they?”
“What’s the ‘good stuff’?”
I laughed lightly. “Not the Motrin I give you for your headaches and molars.”
“Oh. Yeah. Real good stuff.” He nodded a few times, then settled back into his pillows. “Callie called the team. Dad’s going to blow.”