by Lynn, Stacey
“You okay to play tonight?”
“Yeah.” Now that I have a plan. Now that I have something to do instead of sitting around waiting and worried. “Yeah, I can play tonight.”
“Good. Then see that you do it and keep a check on the penalties.”
That easily, I gulp in a deep breath. It feels like I can breathe for the first time since New Year’s. “Thank you, Coach.”
Jason’s hand settles on my shoulder and squeezes. I close my eyes for a minute to fight back showing them more than I want them to see. When I have a lock on it, I open my eyes and meet Coach’s gaze.
“You take all the time you need, son. We got this. Just make sure you come back ready to get us where we want to be.”
“Yes, sir.” I reach out, clasp my hand in his and he yanks me forward until I’m in a half hug, half back slap with him.
“You’re good people, Sebastian. So is Madison. Beautiful too. Hope this trip gives you what you need.”
I nod and squeeze his hand tighter but can’t find the words to express how much this means to me. I’ve got a game to play. A schedule to change with Tessa, and a wife to go see.
When I pull back, I head out of the office with Jason who’s already got his phone in his hand. “I’ll call Tessa. Tell her what you need. You go do what you need to get ready.”
“Thanks, Jason.”
“You’d do the same for me.”
He eyes me with all seriousness and that burn I felt earlier returns.
“I know. I would. Still, thanks.”
“Nothing at all, brother. Nothing at all.”
He takes off, phone to his ear, out of the locker room so he can have privacy, and I follow until I run into Newman and Conan and Chauncy out in the hall in a circle, juggling a soccer ball between the three of them. As soon as it catches air, I jump in, tap it to Newman and for the rest of our warm-up time, I hang with my guys.
My brothers.
My family outside my blood. For the first time in weeks, I actually believe everything might be okay, even if Madison and I aren’t.
* * *
“I was wondering when we’d see you.”
My mom’s hug is warm and tough, and I fall into it easily. I might be almost thirty years old, but there never has been and never will be, anything better than my mom’s hug.
“Thanks, Mom. Dad sleeping?”
It’s practically the middle of the night, and he’s always been an early to bed early to rise kind of man. I’m not surprised Mom waited up for me when I called her after the game to let her know I was headed home. It’s way too late to see Madison, so I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.
“He is.” She pulls back from the hug and places her palms at my cheeks. At barely five foot four, she has to tilt her head back to look at me. “You doing okay? Saw Madison’s parents at church a few weeks ago. Said she was home for a bit.”
“Yeah. She’s home. Been here since before Christmas.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I was thinking she’d come back at some point.” How utterly stupid of me.
“Oh honey.” She pats my cheek with one hand and steps back so I can finally enter my childhood home. When I made it in professional hockey, I tried to get Mom and Dad to let me buy them a new home. Somewhere with space for all of us when we come back and for my sister’s kids. When we’re all home, it’s a crush to be in their modest split-level home, but they always resisted.
Now, groggy and exhausted and thinking of only tomorrow and what in the hell I’ll say to Madison, there’s comfort in seeing my childhood school pictures lining the short stairway down to my room and their rec room. Upstairs is the kitchen, living room, and three bedrooms. Downstairs has always been mine with my own bedroom, full bath, and a room that had been large enough for me to run around and be a boy. All my youth and high school hockey trophies still fill the shelves.
“I’m beat, Mom. We’ll talk in the morning, k?”
“You bet. It’s good to see you, though. Despite everything. And Dad wanted me to tell you good game tonight.”
“Thanks.” Somehow, I’d been able to focus. Scored a goal and stole a few passes from Pittsburgh in our win, we didn’t clinch until the last few minutes of the third period. “Tell Dad I’ll see him before he heads to work in the morning.”
He’s been a high school history teacher and soccer coach his entire career. Thirty-five years he’s taught and he still always, every morning, gets up early and goes for a run unless it’s too cold to be outside. Minnesota hasn’t had snow in the last few days and it’s only hitting a low of single digits overnight. As long as the brutal winds don’t hit, he’ll be out and back before I wake up.
“You don’t have to.”
“Doubt I’ll get much sleep anyway.” My mom’s lips press together into a frown and I kiss the top of her head. “Don’t worry about me, Mom. We’ll figure this out.”
“She’s a lovely girl,” Mom says, and I almost laugh. She’s called Madison a girl since she was eight, even though she’s grown now. “You know we love her.”
“I know.”
“But I also hope you know we love you more and just like we always have, we’re here to support you and love you with whatever happens.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. This is so damn embarrassing. I’m not even sure how much my own mom knows. How much Madison has confessed to her parents over the years because she always said she didn’t want anyone to know. With the way Mom’s looking at me now, something tells me she understands more than maybe even I do.
“Night.” I lean down and kiss her cheek, grab the bag I dropped in the small entryway as soon as I entered. “Love you.”
“You too, honey.”
Chapter Ten
Sebastian
This moment is such a stark reminder of the phone call I had with Ben Ritter only days ago it makes me wonder if I’m experiencing some kind of funky déjà vu.
Except that’s not possible because instead of refusing to put Madison on the phone, he’s currently on his front porch, small enough we both barely fit, blocking my view of the closed door behind him.
“Ben.”
His arms are crossed. Pain slashes his face every time I call him that. I’ve called him dad since I was eighteen. I’m not feeling very familial with him or the rest of the Ritter clan at the moment.
“You should be in Philadelphia.”
I don’t exactly like knowing he’s been following my games. Are they all sitting around, cheering me on while my wife refuses to see me? Or are they bashing me on the ice in solidarity of their daughter?
My hands ball into fists. “I need to see her.”
Behind him, the door opens and through the glass storm door, I get a glimpse of the fiery red head of hair I’d recognize anywhere. I step to Ben’s side and my jaw falls open.
“Madison.” Without thought, I reach for the door only to have my forearm gripped by Ben’s hand.
“Son…”
“I’m not your son. Not anymore.” I glare at Ben and quickly revert my attention to Madison.
She looks horrific. Sunken eyes with dark purple rings below them. She looks like she’s lost at least twenty pounds on a frame that didn’t have an ounce to lose. Her red hair is messy and wild, pulled into a mess at the top of her head with small pieces frizzed out along her temples and behind her ears.
“It’s okay, Dad,” she says, and I realize she hasn’t once looked at me. “I can handle this.”
Her voice is scratchy, sounding as wrecked as she looks and when Ben drops my arm, I yank the storm door open, take the one step into a house that has always felt like my own home and pull her into my arms.
Pale, thin, and cold even though she’s wrapped in layers of clothes and a chunky black sweater.
“Madison,” I say again on a breath.
Her arms are at her sides. Her entire body tenses. I hold her for a moment more, hoping she’ll relax into my hold.
&nbs
p; My eyes burn and tears I’ve kept at bay for so long beckon and come forth. She smells the same, flowery and sweet, but she feels so much different.
Small hands come up to my chest, I barely feel them through the wool pea coat I grabbed before heading over.
“Sebastian.” She says my name with a small amount of pressure on my chest, pushing me back. “You shouldn’t be here. You have a game.”
“This is more important.”
“Madison, it’s cold outside,” Ben says, and I glare at him again.
He shakes his head and lifts his arm. “You kids go on in. I’ll go warm up my car to get to work.”
He turns and hurries down his driveway, hands shoved into his suit coat, head down and shoulders hunched to block the biting chill of the wind.
“You going to let me in?” I ask, turning back to Madison.
She shivers from a quick burst of arctic wind and good Lord, as much as I love Minnesota, I do not miss the miserable winters.
“There’s nothing to say I haven’t already said,” she says, but she still steps back farther into their split-level entry. It’s so similar to my own home with a smaller landing and my thigh hits the door handle to the door leading to the garage. I flinch from it but brush it off.
“I think there’s a lot to say, Mads.”
She shrugs and curls the sweater tightly around her, nodding toward the downstairs. “Let’s go down there. Emma’s here and she and Archer are still sleeping upstairs.”
“Archer’s here?” For a moment, I’m thrilled at the idea of seeing my eight-month-old nephew. Then I realize I’m not exactly welcome. Wanted. Desired. Hell, I’m not even sure I can still consider the little guy my nephew anymore.
Madison’s face scrunches and I grind my teeth together, but I wait until we’re down the short flight of stairs and she closes the door behind me.
“Have you told them? Does your sister know how much it hurts you to see him?”
“She’s trying to help me and be there for me.” Her voice is monotone and I hate it.
There was a time, over a decade ago, when Madison was one of the liveliest people I’ve ever met. She’d stand on her feet and shout so loud during my games her voice would be almost this hoarse by the time I was done.
She was always studious, had a serious introspective side, but when she was ready to play, she did it hard, without remorse or regret.
Until infertility happened.
“So you haven’t told them?” I’m aghast. “How can you… Madison… why do you do this to yourself? She has to know she’s not helping you by shoving her baby in your face. Hell, she’s staying here?”
Goddamn it. The need to defend her is so damn strong and this is what I’ve always hated. Madison the martyr. She doesn’t want to upset anyone, doesn’t want to make anyone else feel bad so she internalizes all of it until she can’t handle it. Then she turns inward.
“This was a mistake,” she says. “You shouldn’t be here and there’s nothing left to say. I said everything I needed to.”
“In a letter—” I grind out. “And with divorce papers without talking to me. Did you really think I would just walk away?”
“And I did all that because you’re not listening. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t want this and fail to give you what you want and now we know it’ll never be possible.”
“There are options—”
“I don’t want those!” She cringes at her raised voice and squeezes her eyes closed. “Damn it, Sebastian. It’s over.”
“We’re married,” I stress. “Committed. Better or worse. Or have you forgotten that?”
“Well maybe I’m tired of living the worse all the time.”
She snaps the words out and they lash at me like a whip. Painfully slicing open my skin and ripping open my heart.
“The worse?”
Her chin trembles and her gorgeous blue eyes have no more beauty in them. Only dullness and pain. I’ve spent fifteen years being there for her. Fifteen years where I’ve comforted her and encouraged her and tried to support her in following her own dreams so she wasn’t all tangled in my demanding career. I’ve done everything, damn it. Not perfectly, I admit. But this? It was the worst?
Logically, I get it. The last few years have been the worst. But things could always be worse than not being able to have our own child.
“What about… we talked once… a while ago, about having one of your sisters carry the baby.”
We’d hated the idea. What if Grace or Sarah, her older two sisters who both have their own children as well grew too attached? How would that complicate things? I didn’t like thinking of possibly having to fertilize her sister’s egg.
Madison blinks. “And whose sperm would we use?”
She says it with a drawl heavy with sarcasm, almost disgust.
And damn her. I’ve never thrown this in her face. Ever. I’ve never intentionally made her feel less like a woman because she can’t do this.
I know this side of Madison though and as much as it hurts, I know when I’ve reached our impasse. Hell, I should have already known what condition she’s in. She’s not in the mental place to think clearly.
“I can give you time—”
“No. I want you to sign the papers. I didn’t ask for much.”
The force of her words throws me back a step.
I’m speechless. I’ve known she thinks it’s over. But this isn’t the first time she’s been so upset with disheartening news she turns on me. We’ve always worked it out. That’s why when she left for Minnesota, I figured we’d talk after the holidays. But I never expected it’d turn to this.
“Face it, Sebastian. It’s over.” She unwraps and re-wraps her sweater, tying the belt at her waist tightly.
Damn. She’s so damn skinny.
How can her family not see this? Or push for the real reason?
I can only imagine what she’s said. “Sebastian’s gone all the time. I’m lonely. It’s too hard.”
Sure, that’s all true. I have absolutely no doubt about it. But that’s not why she’s doing this.
“Madison—”
“I’ve already made up my mind.” Her voice is cold. Almost as arctic as the cheek-burning wind outside.
She means this. Down to her soul, she means this and standing here, unwelcome in a home that’s been as much mine as hers for so many years… I feel it.
The emptiness in her.
Her love for me.
It’s gone.
All of it’s gone.
Perhaps it’s shock. I must be in shock. But this hurts so much less than I imagined it would. Maybe it’s because I’ve had so much time of her being gone to imagine this actually happening, even if I still doubted it.
Why am I fighting so hard to save something that’s already been destroyed?
“It ends this way?”
She shrugs. Bites her bottom lip. My chest constricts from how unhealthy she seems.
Madison is elegance and refinement. She’s always showered and dressed and looking like she could be ready for the occasional gala we do for the team at a moment’s notice.
She’s never disheveled. Un-showered. Wrapped in leggings and oversized cardigans without makeup.
She’s a mess.
I might be a bigger one as I stand here watching my wife put the final stake in our marriage. There’s not a damn thing I can do about it this time.
“You’re sure,” I say and it’s more of a statement than a question.
She nibbles her bottom lip. “Yup.”
We stare at each other for a moment. I expect her to apologize. To cry. To fall into my arms and weep and say she doesn’t mean any of it, she just hurts so damn much and doesn’t know how to fix it.
When I realize I have nothing to say because I know there’s nothing I can, and she doesn’t either, I nod once.
“I hope you know I’ll always love you. And I hope you get the help you need.”
I’m not just talking a
bout her infertility. I’m pretty sure us not being able to have children caused her to have depression. Or exacerbated it. Something. I don’t even know because whenever I bring it up she glares at me with narrowed slits for eyes and lips that could spit fire if she were to open them… much like she’s doing now.
That’s it then.
If she won’t seek the help she needs, there’s not a whole lot I can do to help either of us.
I turn, unable to say goodbye to her, knowing if I lean in and kiss her she’ll push me away.
Perhaps that’s why she left the note in the first place. It would make it easier because this sure as hell didn’t help anything.
By the time I’m outside, I’m thankful for the chilling whip of wind and that Ben is outside, smoking a cigarette at the driver’s side of my mom’s SUV I drove over. He rarely smokes, only when drinking or stressed.
I bet he’s been smoking more lately.
I make a split-second decision because I know he’s out here waiting for me, probably trying to tell me some fatherly advice that’s no longer his to give. I don’t want to hear any of it.
He can’t be filled with wisdom when he doesn’t know the real problem.
With my keys in my hand, I beep the locks on Mom’s Toyota 4-Runner and meet Ben.
“We can’t have kids,” I say without preamble or politeness. His brows shoot sky high. “Tried for years. It messes with her head and she doesn’t want you all knowing. That’s only part of what this is. My suggestion… get Emma and Asher out of the house. The baby being around Madison is killing her, and then get her some damn help. Mentally. Professionally. She needs it, and she’s never been willing to take that truth from me when I’ve tried to get it for her.”
I walk to my door, forcing him to take a step back and swing myself up into the driver’s seat. Before I close the door, I look at the man who’s been my father-in-law, my supporter, a great man and provider with four incredible girls, other sons by marriage, five grandbabies. He’s a man who wants to help everyone, and I know he’ll do right by Madison.
I’m done hiding the truth for her. She needs the help and clearly it can no longer come from me.