Page 13 of Cloudless
IN NEED OF DUSTING
KAM
The thrum of voices echoing through our house does little to distract me from my phone this morning.
My fingers drum along the couch cushion as I reread the text thread for the third time since I came downstairs. My unanswered good morning text stares back at me like a bad omen.
Why didn’t she text me back this morning when she normally texts back right away?
Am I texting too much?
Am I too much?
I decide to save myself the mind-numbing tumbleweed of thoughts and lock my phone. As I lean my head back on the couch cushion to examine our dusty ceiling fan, my phone dings.
Yes, I turned the volume up on my phone so I wouldn’t miss a text.
No, I didn’t know what my ringtone was before I turned up my volume this morning.
A thrill runs through me at the possibility of seeing Lila’s name staring back at me. I almost drop my phone in my haste to check the notification.
The thrill crashes into a fiery inferno when I find my mother’s name instead.
Isobel
I need you to call Richard.
That’ll be a no from me, thanks.
The last thing I want to do on a Saturday morning is call my dad’s former agent and get an earful of why I’m not doing enough to secure my future in the NHL.
I groan as I throw my traitorous phone onto the other couch and resume my inspection of our ceiling fan.
I really need to dust that thing.
I have an hour before we leave. That’s plenty of time to dust. And maybe vacuum. My eyes rove over the downstairs living room and entryway. Definitely vacuum.
I wonder if we need to do laundry. Who am I kidding? We always need to do laundry.
I hear footsteps coming from the kitchen before Mace says, “Stop moping around and come help me with breakfast.”
“I’m not moping.”
He snorts at my response. His voice fades as he walks back into the kitchen. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say, Cap.”
It’s the smell of bacon calling to my grumbling stomach that pulls me from my spot on the couch and into the kitchen.
I point at Wyatt scrolling on his phone at the kitchen counter. “Why isn’t he being yelled at for not helping?”
Mace’s attention never deviates from the skillet of scrambled eggs in front of him, his apron tied firmly around his waist. “Because Ranger did the dishes last night.”
Dax chooses this moment to venture into the kitchen, yawning so hard it looks like his jaw might dislocate. His blond hair is a mess from sleep. “What time do we have to be at the rink?” He blinks sleep from his eyes as he settles in his usual seat next to Wyatt.
I raise my voice to be heard over the clacking of me getting the dishes out of the cabinet. “We need to be there by ten-thirty.” I turn to level him with a serious glare. “That doesn’t mean leave at ten-thirty.”
He gives me a salute and starts scrolling on his phone.
The click of Mace twisting the stove off acts like an EMP with how quickly everyone puts their phones away.
We line up and fill our plates to the point of overflowing. As we settle into our usual seats at the kitchen counter, my phone dings again.
The flash of excitement is dull compared to the one earlier in the living room. My mother’s name flashing on my phone is reminiscent of a fly at a picnic.
Isobel
Richard says he’s emailing over with a few documents for you to look at.
My phone glides like my skates on the ice as I push it away from me on the counter until it balances precariously on the edge, much like my sanity.
I feel the weight of three sets of eyes on the side of my face as I push the rapidly cooling scrambled eggs around on my plate.
Another ding rings throughout the room.
This is going to be a long day.
The calming chill of the rink is missing its usual effectiveness this morning. My fingers drum a melody against the sidewall as the kids do their warmup laps.
Colt bolts out onto the ice with damp hair and lipstick stains on his neck. I roll my eyes as every player in the rink sends him a seething glare for being late.
That kid will never make it in the big leagues. Daddy’s money may get your dick sucked, but it can’t make you likeable.
The weight of my phone in the pocket of my sweats threatens to consume me as I catch another curious glance from Wyatt.
Our normal no phones on the ice policy dies a slow death as I check my notifications. Again.
Where are they?
The clock on my screen switches from 10:59 to 11:00. Jasper is officially late.
Right before my screen fades to black, a notification pops up on my screen. I almost drop my phone as my cold finger struggles to click on it.
I feel the tension in my shoulders relax for the first time all morning as her name stares back at me.
Lila
Good morning, Trouble.
“My sister’s been getting that dreamy look on her face every time she checks her phone this week, too.”
A strike of pain flares through my neck as I turn too quickly toward Jasper’s voice. His hands deftly lace his skates with efficiency normally reserved for more experienced players.
It takes far too long for me to reply. His declaration consumes my thoughts. I’ll file that information away for later. “Morning, Tank. I was getting worried about you.”
He stands, a natural on the thin blades of his skates. “Yeah. Sorry I’m late. We had to deal with the social worker this morning.”
I feel my eyebrows practically disappear into my hairline. “Social worker?”
I’m frozen in place as he swings open the door to the ice, completely unfazed by the bomb he just dropped at my feet. “Yeah. She was cool. Lulu was pretty worried about it, though.”
My brows descend from my hairline as he's swallowed up into the swarm of boys on the ice. My mind reels with the additional unexpected puzzle piece that’s been dropped on my lap like a ton of bricks.
A streak of blonde in the stands catches my attention.
My gaze zeros in on the swaying ponytail as she walks down the steep stairs with her mini-me following close behind her.
A pink backpack bounces on Posey’s back before they take their seats many rows above the throng of parents gathered in the stands.
I’m enraptured, watching Lila’s hair flow over her shoulder as she bends to help Posey get settled in the hard plastic seat.
Her gaze finally meets mine with the force of a semi-truck. It’s enough to knock any grown man on his ass.
The small smile that lights up her face when she sees me makes me feel like puffing my chest out in celebration.
Yeah, that’s right. That smile is for me, fuckers.
“Stop smiling like a lovesick fool at the pretty lady and do your job, Captain .”
I level a glare on Dax that would have most grown men shitting their pants. The fucker’s grin only grows, obviously receiving the reaction he’d been hoping for. He skates away from me before my mouth can catch up to my brain and dignify him with a response.
Questions circle my mind in a never-ending loop as I join the group to begin drills.
Why did Lila and the twins meet with a social worker?
Why does Jasper always talk about being the man of the house?
Why did Lila say she couldn’t call her dad about her car battery?
The picture slowly being revealed through the puzzle pieces isn’t a pretty one.
I barely take part in the drills for the rest of the day. I’m consumed with thoughts of her. My skin itches with the need to run up the stairs and demand to know what her story is.
By the end of the day, the last puzzle piece clicks into place with a finality that takes my breath.
And it breaks my heart.