Page 21 of Actions and Reactions (All It Takes #5)

Silas

When I wake up the next day, I immediately reach for my phone and see the Pirates had a shutout yesterday.

A cheer gets lodged halfway up my throat, though, when I recognize that anger lurking behind the pride.

It scares me.

What if I can never get rid of it?

What if all the therapists I’m going to see in a week tell me I can’t work for the Pirates or can’t be close to hockey again?

Would that include Vinny?

No .

I’m not accepting that.

He’s living our dream. I will not let that be the reason why we never get our friendship back— relationship, whatever.

I remember the messages I sent last night, but like the coward I’ve proven to be, I can’t make myself check if he answered.

In the light of day, I can’t say I regret what I said, not exactly, but I am a bit embarrassed by it. It was so needy and fucking confusing, really. I’m all over the place and I can’t seem to focus on much at a time.

How have I even kept my job up to this point?

Because I wasn’t like this before .

Before Vinny and I patched things up and started hooking up.

That realization is even scarier.

I don’t want to give him up, ever, but what if I’ve already lost him?

Desperation finally breaks me and I check my messages. I still have a bunch of unread ones from Lottie and Vinny’s family, but I focus on Vinny’s picture only.

Vin:

I told Mom about the last few months last night. I asked her not to say anything to your parents, but I did want you to know I’d told her.

I hope that’s not a horrible thing for you, but I had to talk about it with someone.

Thank you for sending this. I don’t really know what any of it means, though, Si. Like I said, I need to figure things out too.

I forgive you.

But I can’t say anything about the future right now.

I hope this place where you’re going helps you.

I’ll text you again when I have something to say.

If your therapist or whatever thinks that’s a bad idea you just let me know when you can.

It feels like my lungs constrict or like my ribcage is shrinking. Every message makes it worse and worse.

I don’t care that he told his mom, of course I don’t. Aunt Lyla would never betray anyone’s confidence. But I know why he told her, why he needed to talk to someone.

I’m glad he has her, though. It lessens the pain in my chest.

The pain that’s all for Vinny.

For what I’ve done to him.

Again.

It feels like it’s what Vinny was asking for in his texts, so I don’t write anything back and focus on getting the hell out of the hospital as soon as humanly possible.

Thanks to all the deities in the universe, I don’t present any complications after the surgery, and though my hand needs to be in a cast for three more weeks to make sure the repairs stick, I get to leave the hospital six days after Vinny brought me in.

I still haven’t been able to watch any of the pre-season games, though they’ve only played two more, against St. Louis and New York, and they won the first and the second ended in a shootout that New York won.

Both goalies gave their best according to the stats I saw, and there was a picture in the highlights article of Bear and Matty embracing.

Since it’s the pre-season, Bear wasn’t playing, so the suit vs.

gear dichotomy in the picture is eye-catching, and even though I’m not working, I sent it over to Sandy, the only other person who the team has for PR, and told her it’d be a great idea to repost it to our socials.

Dad took my tablet away after that, which was for the best, I know.

There are a lot more games I won’t be there for.

I also have to remember that Sandy was doing my job—though she didn’t want it—before I got to the Pirates, and she’s more than capable of holding down the fort as long as shit doesn’t hit the fan like it did last season.

Sandy’s great at the administrative side of PR, not so much the creative side, so we compliment each other perfectly.

I did add in the email that I was sorry to leave her in the lurch, but I didn’t have a chance to check if she answered before Dad took my tablet away. I hope she doesn’t hate me; that would make my return really awkward.

Aside from that, my time in the hospital is beyond dull.

I even give up on watching the tiny TV that’s mounted in the far corner of the room, not only because nothing grabs my attention, but because the speakers are broken and the sound is really awful.

I spend my time rereading Vinny’s texts, wondering if I should tell my parents about our relationship and going over every word we’ve spoken to each other in the past two months. I even analyze the words from so long ago, when we both broke what everyone thought was unbreakable.

It’s painful, more than it was in the years we were apart, but I have to face the facts—we both fucked up in that hospital room seven years ago, but I was the one who was cruel back then, and cruel a week ago.

Thinking about how similarly painful both situations were is like torture. I keep reliving the shame, the pain, the anger, and it only makes me feel smaller and smaller. But I can’t escape it while I’m still in the hospital.

So of course I’m practically cheering and clapping when Dad wheels me out to the parking lot, and for the first time in days I get a smile from him.

Okay, it’s tiny, like really barely there, but it’s a smile, and I’ll take it as a win.

It’s only forty minutes later when we’re in the jet Dad chartered to take us to Chicago that it occurs to me to ask, and I’m once more ashamed about my lack of decency.

“Dad, the season starts in three weeks. You can’t be away from the show for three months.”

He turns to look at me distractedly, but when his blue eyes land on me they seem to come into focus.

“Oh,” he says like he’s surprised. “I guess I didn’t tell you, but Hulk and I were in talks about our next contracts when I lost my shit on Nilsson, and though Hulk’s been trying to get a deal done, I’m pretty sure we’re gonna get canceled.”

“What?” I spit out, instantly enraged on their behalf. “They can’t do that.”

“Actually, they can, son.” His soft smile doesn’t have any effect on me. “And since I couldn’t care less about the season right now, I don’t think it’ll be the worst thing.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t care about the season,” I state, the skepticism clear as bells in my voice.

“Of course I don’t.” He scoffs and shifts in his seat, then looks away and groans. “Okay, I care, but not enough to matter. I care about you and making sure you get better way more than I care about anything else.”

It takes me a long moment to be able to speak after that.

I can see he means it, and I’m filled with shame at the thought that in his place I might not feel the same way.

How fucked up is that?

When I can, I swallow hard, push that thought away to think about it some other time, and then cross my legs to shift the weight away from my right hip.

“What about Uncle Hulk? Doesn’t he want to keep the show going?”

Dad’s sigh is long and deep.

“I think he cares about it slightly more than I do, but he wasn’t happy with the direction the network’s gone in the last five years either, choosing to focus more on gossip than the actual game.

” Another sigh, then he finally looks at me again.

“We understand some information is important to fans, and that it can affect the way the season progresses, but there was so much bullshit they wanted us to talk about. That’s the main thing we were negotiating in our new contracts. ”

I think about it for a long time, and since we’re still not moving, and it’ll probably take a few more minutes, I finally check the messages from Uncle Hulk and Aunt Lyla.

Lex’s were simple enough, just a wish for me to get better, and then he said he was here for me whenever I needed him.

Uncle Hulk:

You always gotta check what the wall is made of before you punch it, Si.

I burst out laughing, picturing him shaking his head disapprovingly but wearing that sly smile. If I remember correctly, he punched the boards more than a few times out of sheer frustration while he was in the league.

This was different of course, but I appreciate the levity more than he’ll ever know... No. I’ll tell him how much I appreciate it when I get the chance.

The next texts came in hours later than the first.

Uncle Hulk:

Just talked to your Dad, and I gotta tell you, it’s always been easier to love others before loving ourselves, but we can’t really love others if we don’t, son.

You’ll figure it out, I’m sure. And I’m very glad you’re going to this Star Wars camp .

Another laugh escapes me at that. I’m glad someone thinks the way I do.

Then come the texts from Aunt Lyla, which came in the morning after the wall punching.

Aunt Lyla:

I know this might not be the right thing to say, but I swear to all that’s holy, Silas Richard Wayne, if you ever punch another wall I’m going to tan your behind until you wish you hadn’t.

You know how hard it is to get rid of scars?

I snort. Of course she’d want to make light of it by focusing on that.

Very hard, Silas.

Come on, sweetheart, you have a beautiful soul and you’ll get through this with all of us cheering you on.

You’ll never lose us.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it?

I might’ve lost Vinny, but if I want a chance to repair things between us, then I have to put in the work. I have to show him with my actions that I want to try, that I can try.

Lottie’s waiting for us in the hangar when we step out of the jet, and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see her.

Leaning against her dark blue BMW SUV, and wearing leggings and a huge Chicago Deep sweatshirt, she looks just the same.

Everything that’s the same as before is like a balm to my heart. She’s always been in love with big sweatshirts, and I bet this one was made with a huge hockey player in mind. And though my sister isn’t exactly small—she’s strong as hell—she’s swimming inside the fabric still.

Which means she looks perfect.