Page 62 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Twenty-Eight

Beth

I was sitting in Raph’s bed, having somehow been convinced to sleep there that night, even though he wasn’t going to be home.

Convinced even after we’d gone back to my place for a change of clothes and my laptop so I could work. Convinced even though I hadn’t put on those clothes, hadn’t bothered for once to put on my makeup.

Because I didn’t need the shield.

Because he wasn’t my father.

Because…I’d had another nightmare last night, another dream twisted with a memory of my stepfather beating my mother. I’d woken up on a start, but Raph was already there, grounding me in the present, hands gentle on my body, voice soft.

And I’d told him what had happened.

Too many times to count.

I’d told him how I’d hidden and whispered about the thunks that I hadn’t understood were my stepfather’s fists.

I’d told him how my father was strict and stern, but never got physical as far as I was aware. Though, I had been young when he’d died, so there was a possibility my mother had picked poorly twice.

The first time, a man who had nearly bankrupted our family, and if not for the money from my mother’s family, then we would have lost our house—and no six-year-old should be privy to that kind of information, should worry about having to sell my toys to find a way to keep it.

Luckily, we’d been bailed out by my mother’s family and then because my father had died, the excess spending had been halted.

Our house had been safe.

My mother and I had been happy.

But only for a short time.

Because then my stepfather had entered the picture.

Rich in his own right, he brought no risk of losing our home—in fact, he still lived in the house I’d grown up in.

But he was so much worse.

Because my stepfather had been strict and stern and added abusive to the mix. That was what I’d been dreaming of.

No.

That was what my recurring nightmares were about.

How I could still hear, still feel those noises.

Still see myself in the corner of my room.

Could still remember the fear gripping me as I moved down the hall.

Could still feel the pain as his fists collided with my little body, hurting so much when I’d tried to intervene, tried to protect my mother. He’d never picked spots that would show, not for either of us, but he’d picked locations that would hurt .

Bad.

So badly that at some point…I’d stopped trying to intervene.

At some point, I’d stayed hidden and tried to ignore the noises, tried to pretend they weren’t happening.

And I’d told Raph all of that before the sun had come up, when he should have been resting for his game, after waking him up in the middle of the night, and…he wasn’t upset with me.

He’d listened.

He’d held me.

And…he hadn’t judged me.

I’d watched his face closely, not letting my gaze so much as slide away. Not hiding because I needed to watch for a change, to see if this glimpse into my past, into me, would have him looking at me differently.

But his expression didn’t change.

No disgust, no loathing or revulsion. He’d just been himself in that moment—soft and gentle…and God, I loved him.

And just that easy…several of my demons had been vanquished.

There were more.

Bigger ones, uglier ones.

But I couldn’t deny that some part of myself was testing him, giving him something heavy and dark and seeing how he dealt.

Maybe that wasn’t right.

But he’d passed my test, and the stranglehold on my insides, the pounding always present in the deepest recesses of my mind, had eased.

I’d been able to go back to sleep when I’d never been able to do that before.

Later, I’d woken to his lips on my brow, a plate of strawberry jellied toast on the nightstand.

Love.

Big and bold and filling every vein and capillary, every artery and cell.

So that was why I was in Raph’s bed, in his T-shirt, not a stitch of makeup on my face—not even my lipstick, gasp! —and watching the Breakers play.

It meant something completely different, watching Raph out on the ice, knowing he was mine, knowing that I wasn’t going to play the martyr, wasn’t going to just cut and run, pretending it was best for him, when really, it was safer for myself.

To hide my past, keep my demons locked behind heavy wooden doors.

Because he might look at me…like how I felt when I stared at my reflection in the mirror, like how my family had looked at me when they found out the truth, like?—

The babies in my belly rolled, jerking me out of my mind, placing me fiercely in the present.

And fuck, I was tired of spending so much time in the past.

I wanted more moments like last night, not worrying about demons and concrete and wooden doors.

I wanted more time with Raph.

But the demons weren’t going to go away all on their own.

And I knew that I couldn’t dump everything on Raph, every memory and complicated feeling. Just as I knew that I needed to share, I also understood that I needed to sort my shit if I wanted to have something good with Raph.

Which was why I was sitting on his bed, in his T-shirt, the blankets pulled up and over my legs, his pillows tucked behind my back.

Tucked there by his hands. Thoughtful and kind hands that didn’t hurt, same as they’d left the snacks on the nightstand, and same as they’d cupped my cheek, kissing me softly when he’d gone to catch the plane.

All of that.

I had all of that.

And I didn’t want to lose it.

So, I was sitting on his bed, in his shirt, and holding Marin’s card.

It was after hours, but I knew if I waited until the morning to call, I would find some excuse to continue avoiding facing this.

I needed to face it.

I needed to excise this.

I needed to finally, finally move on with my life.

Still, I’d avoided this for decades. It wasn’t easy to shed that weight…so it took me until the second intermission to dial the number.

The sound of the first ring in my ear nearly sent my finger to the end button.

But I took a breath, held on, and listened to the second ring.

The third.

“Hello?”

Marin’s voice coming through the speaker nearly had me dropping my cell, and it certainly had my lungs freezing, lips tightening, any words I might have spoken (I’d been mentally plotting the voicemail I was going to leave) being locked up in the back of my throat.

“Hello?” Marin asked again.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came up.

“ Hello?” It was impatient this time, as though Marin was getting ready to hang up.

“Marin,” I croaked.

The voice eased. “This is her.”

Right. Marin had been on my mind a whole lot, but I was probably just another patient, albeit one that had been referred through a friend. Easily forgettable. Easily discounted?—

Enough.

Shit, was this really the pattern I’d been on for fucking years?

It was.

And it was time to change.

“Marin,” I said, straightening my shoulders, lifting my chin, glad that when my voice came out it was steady.

“This is Beth, Hazel’s friend.” A breath.

My heart pounding like I’d run a marathon, and I supposed I had, albeit a mental one.

“I know you said you wouldn’t get in my head, but…

what if I open the gates and let you in? ”

Right.

I was lined up.

The horn had just blown.

Now all I needed to do was put one foot in front of the other and start covering those miles.

Silence. Long enough that I practically saw myself tripping over my own feet, face-planting on the asphalt. Then Marin spoke. “You sure you’re ready for that? I think you get that I don’t beat around the bush, and if you’re locked down tight…”

I sat in the quiet of Marin trailing off, taking a beat, considering, breathing, and…knowing.

Knowing that I was ready.

That I couldn’t keep doing this.

That it was time.

“I’m ready,” I whispered.

Marin didn’t make me wait for it, didn’t make me work any harder for it. Instead, she just said, “I have Tuesday at five open.”