Page 56 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Twenty-Two

Beth

Marin was standing next to the hospital bed, clipboard in her hand and pressed to her belly.

And she was silent.

Studying me.

Raph and Hazel were gone, slipping through the sliding door, leaving me with Marin. And now I needed to figure out how to play this.

What to give.

How to find some peace.

“That was masterfully done.”

My eyes had been on the clear blue plastic of the clipboard, the label declaring it property of the emergency department, small silver rivets on the back, but Marin’s dry sentence had my eyes shooting up.

She was a clipboard thief.

So none of what Marin said in that moment meant anything.

Right. Nice attempt at an argument.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said quietly.

Another attempt at an argument—pretending to know nothing.

Marin fell silent then, still and silent and studying me like I was a puzzle and she knew exactly where all the pieces went.

But I already knew so many of the pieces were lost and missing that what was inside me wouldn’t ever make a complete picture.

“Don’t you?” Marin pressed softly, moving to the bed, and leaning a hip to the edge.

“No,” I said, holding tight to the argument. “I don’t.”

“Hmm.”

An inhale held for a long moment. Then an exhale going on for just as long.

“You’re not going to give me anything, are you?”

My chin came up, and I struggled to keep my tone even. “I’m not stupid. I know what happened wasn’t good or normal, so I’m happy to talk to you.”

Piercing gray eyes on mine. “Or you’ll give me just enough to get me to back off so that you can go back to”—air quotes here—“normal.”

Marin was good at her job.

But I wasn’t going to admit anything.

“You might get that normal back, Beth. Hell”—respect in her eyes—“you strike me as a survivor, so I’m guessing that you probably will get it back.

At least for a little while,” she added, with such certainty that my gut twisted.

“But sooner or later,” Marin went on. “Sooner or later, this is going to happen again. You can’t bottle everything up forever and expect it to not eventually work itself free again. ”

I could damned well try.

I could carry these babies and help Raph and get the fuck out of Baltimore before it happened again.

“But I saw you come in…”

My hands clenched into fists.

Which Marin saw, if the way her gaze darted there was any indication.

Bitch.

I meant that in the nicest way possible, meant it to be a self-protective shield because all I wanted was to get the fuck out of this hospital and get away from Marin, and to go back to fucking normal …

Marin’s face was placid. “I know I’m not going to get through those walls in one day, in a few hours. And I know that me knowing Hazel?—”

“You can’t tell Hazel anything,” I snapped. “It’s patient-client privilege.”

Half of Marin’s mouth curved. “No, I can’t. And I wouldn’t. But that wouldn’t matter, anyway. Me knowing Hazel means that I would never get through your walls, would I?”

Fuck.

My outburst was stupid. It wasn’t normal. It revealed too much.

And Marin knew it.

“So, I know I won’t get in there. Just like I know that people don’t have the kind of trauma you do without it being something big.

So even though you won’t let me in, won’t let them in”—a wave to the glass door through which Hazel and Raph had disappeared—“even though you obviously have some things twisted in that head of yours, I’m begging— begging —you to keep these”—she pulled two cards out of her pocket and slid them onto the rolling table—“or at least keep one of them close and to use it when the time comes.”

My eyes slanted down, and I studied the business cards.

One was Marin’s, a bunch of letters following her name. The other was for another trauma therapist.

Fuck.

“And I’ll say this before I sign off on the doctor discharging you and leave you to it.

Aside from keeping them close”—a nod to the cards—“aside from using one of them when that darkness ramps again, preferably before it ramps again, I want you to know that everyone deserves to be happy.” A beat.

“Even those who think, for some reason, they don’t. ”

Such simple words.

But they struck hard and true.

True enough that I couldn’t hold Marin’s gaze, that my eyes drifted away, and I became a fucking master at studying the stitching on the thin hospital-grade blanket. One stitch, two, three, more.

“Everyone,” Marin whispered.

And then I heard the whoosh of the door, felt the quiet descend as it shut behind Marin.

My gaze lifted…to the cards on the table.

My stomach roiled.

But I didn’t reach for them, didn’t register the names.

I just left those rectangles of cardstock where they were and closed my eyes.

And because I was alone, I allowed it to happen…

Allowed a tear that was burning behind my eyelids to escape.

Just one.

One tear. One life. One woman who was broken and would never be whole.

“I know it’s insanity,” Pru said softly, two days later, sitting next to me at her kitchen table. “But I just…”

I smiled gently. “Mila reminded you of you.”

A nod. “We’ve been on the foster parent list for so long, we didn’t expect to get a call, or for that call to fit, especially with the twins coming. Especially not bringing in a kid with a disease that we don’t really know much about.”

I reached over, squeezed Pru’s hand. “You’ll learn.”

“I know we will. Because, God, she’s only been here a couple of days and I’m in love.

” They had gotten the call while I had been getting discharged—which had served the dual purpose of giving a girl and Pru and Marcel something good in the form of an instant family, and getting me some space while everyone settled in.

I’d settled their worry, hung at home, thankful my job was remote, not that I needed to work.

I didn’t need the money, and I knew my boss would give me time off if I asked.

But I had to get back to normal.

Had to erase the worry Raph had in his eyes every time he looked at me.

Thank God he’d had a game the night before.

Because he’d hovered over me, him and Hazel both, that first day, and I’d been worried to say the wrong thing, to do the wrong thing, to trigger them or myself and…well, it hadn’t been the most relaxing day of my life.

I needed more space, more time, more air to breathe and memories to squash, and luckily, we’d only had the morning together before he’d had to leave to go to the rink.

When he’d left, I’d kept busy—organizing my closets, finishing a couple of projects for work, making cookies, and texting Raph regular updates, as he’d requested.

Then later, I’d crawled into bed and watched the Breakers kick ass.

Raph had played well as always, so I didn’t need to add any hockey game guilt to my heavy bucket of it, thankfully, and then after, he’d come to my place again (though this time without the post-game side of thigh-high boots, his jersey, and incredible sexy time).

He’d slid into my bed, tugged the blankets over us, and held me.

And we hadn’t talked about what had happened, hadn’t talked about anything important—we’d just discussed the game and how I was feeling and Smitty being Smitty in the locker room.

It was like we were on a casual date with random chitchat.

It was weird.

It was…nice.

I liked being with Raph—minus being the cause of the shadows beneath his eyes—liked him holding me and sleeping next to him (though I didn’t sleep well either night, mostly because I was worried that if I relaxed too much again, if I wasn’t disciplined, those doors would open again and I would be right back where I’d begun)

This afternoon he had a charity event, so I’d cooked him lunch, saw him off, all the while doing anything and everything to convince him I was fine and coping with what had happened.

He was worried.

But I’d get him to understand it was a one-off.

“I’m in love and she’s—” Pru cleared her throat, eyes a little glassy.

I squeezed my friend’s hand. “Mila is special.”

And she’d been alone.

An orphan who had sad eyes and a quiet disposition.

But Marcel and Pru had taken the classes. They had a bedroom always at the ready.

And now they had a little girl sleeping in the bed they’d so carefully picked out, having gone to a half-dozen stores before they’d made the purchase.

“Yeah,” Pru whispered. “Really special.”

“And you’ll make her happy,” I said.

“Yeah, I will.”

I grinned. “And take her on lots of adventures that will turn Marcel’s hair gray?”

Pru smiled now, the tension and heavy dissipating. “Exactly.” But then insecurity slid back in. “Are we crazy?”

“Fuck yeah, you are,” I teased. “But you’re speaking to a woman who’s raving with pregnancy hormones and craving Double-Stuffed Oreos, so you know… c’est la vie . You deserve a life that’s full and happy, and so does she.”

“Yeah, she does.”

“And”—I punched Pru lightly on the arm—“you’ll give it to her.

I know you will, same as these babies will be happy and perfect and drive you absolutely bonkers because they’re your eggs”—Pru had lost most of her reproductive parts, but she’d had one ovary, enough to harvest the eggs that had been implanted into me—“but they’ll also probably be angels most of the time because it’s Marcel’s sperm. ”

Pru grinned.

“So, yes, it’s crazy and I’m sure it will be overwhelming on most days and just a lot on others.” Another punch. “But you two are the people I know most in the world who can handle it, who have so much love to give that they won’t want for anything.”

“Shit,” Pru muttered.

“What?”

“I’m a badass former hockey player.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Pru wrinkled her nose. “And badass former hockey players aren’t supposed to turn into blubbering fools just because one of their two best friends in all the world is freaking awesome and gushy.”

“Meh.” A shrug. “You could use a little gushiness.”

Pru grinned. “Well, I know you’d give it to me, even if I didn’t want it.”

I grinned back. “Damn right I would.”

“Okay.” Pru smacked her hands on the table. “Now that you’ve given me the gushy you think I need?—”

“ Know you need,” I chimed in.

Pru rolled her eyes. “Then you need to let me give you the gushy back.”

Oh, God. I was holding it together. Gushy from the not-gushy Pru might crack the layers of concrete I was busy slathering on. “Pru, honey?—”

“I never thought I could be this happy,” my friend said. “But you and Hazel straightened my shit out so that I could see Marcel for what he was to me, and you…” Pru got a little choked up. “I know I’ve thanked you too many times already?—”

“So just stop already,” I whispered, my throat tight.

“But I’m not going to forget what you did for me then, and I won’t forget it now or ever. So, you’re going to shut up and let me tell you that I love you and that I really, really want you to find your own happy.”

I inhaled.

“And just saying, I think Raph could make a woman happy. Really happy,” she added with a curve of her lips. “Like forever happy.”

A snake coiled in my belly, a demon poised at the door?—

“Pru,” I warned.

“And just saying—and Hazel agrees—you could make him happy back.”

I swallowed hard. “ Pru.”

My friend just smiled.

So, I gave her the rest, reaching across the table and gripping my friend’s fingers. “I’m going to try.”

“Good.” Pru squeezed my hand back. “Because I know you won’t just try, you’ll do.”

“Okay, Yoda.”

A twitch of lips, a flash of white teeth. “Damn right.” She pushed to her feet, headed for a cupboard. “Now, because you’re carrying my babies and because Marcel and I both pay attention, you’ll need to do us a favor and”—she opened a cupboard—“help us eat all of the Oreos.”

I started laughing when I saw the entire cabinet was full of cookies, all double-stuffed.

“If you have milk,” I teased, “then I think I can take care of at least half of those.”

Pru laughed and went to retrieve the milk and two glasses, my friend’s laughter filling a place deep in my belly.

But it didn’t fill the basement.

Didn’t cement the halls and stalls and the stairway.

Didn’t add another layer of protection to make sure the demons didn’t escape.

No matter how many cookies I ate, no matter how much milk I drank, no matter how many times I laughed with my friends, it was always there.

Burning through me.

Just like that card from Marin was burning a hole in my pocket.