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Chapter Thirty-Six

Christina

Meeting Cam’s family was amazing and torture all wrapped together. Seeing him with his little brother reinforces my decision even as it tears me apart. His play with the kids at the Thanksgiving party was a knife to my heart; him with Robbie on his shoulders was the knife twisting. I’m eternally grateful he missed the after-game party at Chasers to drive them to the airport so I could fade into the background and be Nicole’s wingman for a bit.

No breakup in my past has ever felt like this—not Travis nor anyone before him. This horrible well of darkness I want to crawl into is why I had my rules. Only date older guys, insist on casual, and verify that they aren’t looking for a family. I got one out of three right with Cam, a failing grade. However, stupidity does not excuse my giant error in getting involved with him, and only exacerbates my frustration for catching feelings.

I’ve withdrawn to my pre-Cam anti-social self.

Thankfully, Maria found another instructor to join us, and I was able to shift my classes this week to her. But the new teacher is a paid contractor whereas I still teach pro bono, which adds guilt to my pile of negative emotions.

I’ve spent far more hours than were needed staring at screens of stocks, bonds, real estate, and other investments. I’ve combed through all the players’ holdings, sending them personalized notes on their success at saving. Well, all the players except one.

Unable to muster enthusiasm about my passion project, I cancel my weekly meeting with my sister about my nonprofit dance school.

My nights are spent guzzling wine and viewing hockey in grim silence.

Tonight, I’ve just finished pouring my first glass of wine and am hunkering down in front of the TV for the first Tornadoes game after a week on the road. A knock sounds at my door and makes my hand jerk. Wine sloshes over my glass onto my arm and I wipe it on my clothes. At some point I should return to normal five-ounce pours instead of filling the glass to the rim.

I get up, wine glass and all, to open the door. My brother stands there, his suit pants and dress shirt rumpled from the workday.

“Hey, I didn’t make it to the arena because I was on calls until a few minutes ago, and I saw your light on. I thought you were going to games because you liked being close to the action.” His words slow as his gaze roams over me.

I’m in my slouchiest stretched-out yoga pants and a loose t-shirt and hoodie. My unwashed hair is haphazardly tied back in a low ponytail, lank tendrils hanging by my face.

“Hey, are you okay? Are you sick or something?” Being the obnoxious big brother that he is, he takes a step back.

I’m almost tempted to say yes, but I shake my head in the negative. “Just tired. It’s been a long week.”

“Really? You haven’t been at the office at all. I thought you were taking it easy. You always say December is the worst month to mess with investments.”

“Yeah, well, they still need to be overseen.” My tone is sharper than the situation warrants.

He holds his hands up front of him in surrender. “Okay, okay, you’re the expert. Come up and watch the game with me. The housekeeper made enough supper for both of us.”

“I don’t know.” I’d prefer to continue to wallow and drink my wine in my cavern of despair.

“Come on.” He gives my still-over-full wine glass a dubious look. “I have better wine up there, as you know.”

“Nah, I steal most of my bottles from your cellar.” I manage a half-smile.

“What? I never knew that. Dammit, I put some of those aside if I like the vintage, to try again in a year.”

“Oops. Just mark them. I won’t take those, then.”

He grabs my wrist and drags me around the pool. “Come on. Game’s about to start. But I’m going to quiz you during the commercial breaks about why you look so sad.”

At least I managed to miss the warmups. That might have been too much nostalgia and Cam deliciousness for me to deal with. Thankfully, Greg will be so focused on the game and the team’s stats and whether we’ll make the playoffs that are still months and dozens of games away, to remember to ask me anything.

* * * *

As I’d expected, Amy calls the next day. “What’s up? Greg says something is wrong. Is that why you canceled our meeting last week? I’m coming over.”

I barely get out, “Okay,” before she hangs up.

Ten minutes later she’s letting herself into my house. Thankfully, I had showered earlier and had time to change into an outfit fit for human company, even if it was just jeans and a casual sweater.

Greg knocks and enters within a minute, and we’re all standing in the entryway where my living room meets my hall.

“What are you doing here, Tattletale?”

“I told you last night, I’m concerned. My guess is you’ve got man troubles, so I thought Amy might be helpful.”

“Ooo, I bet that hurt to say,” she scoffs.

“You look better today, anyway,” he says as he scans me.

“Yeah, well some people are courteous and call before they come.” But something is distracting me from our usual sibling rivalry. “Wait, why did you think it’s something to do with a guy?”

He grimaces at me. “You do realize we live on a gated property, right? The head of security brings two types of visitors to my attention—unidentified ones and repeats—even if they’ve been named by you or me.”

“Oh.” So much for secrecy. We’d have had more luck seeing if Jack could keep his mouth shut and spending time there.

He continues. “Really, Chris? Again? Perhaps you need to move away from here so you can date men unattached to our insular little world where they won’t keep popping up in your life forever after.”

“Oorr…she could pick one and stick with him,” Amy adds with a grin.

“No frat policy aside, this could have a huge impact on his career.” Greg folds his arms.

I hate when he does that. It’s like he’s trying to be parental. “No shit, Sherlock. He and I are both reasonably intelligent and had already figured that out for ourselves. Hence why we were keeping it secret and casual.”

“Wait, were?” Amy asks. She turns to Greg and adds an aside. “Also, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t casual for either of them.”

He leans his head sideways and mutters, “Based on her appearance last night, it wasn’t for her.”

“Standing right here.” My hands are on my hips, but they do this out of love.

We perch at the kitchen counter after I hand out Topo Chicos.

“So, as the cat is officially out of the bag, what happened with Prancer?” Amy spends so much time at the team offices, she thinks of all the players by their nicknames or their last names. I wonder if she remembers Cam’s first name.

I give them the basics: we set it up as casual, agreeing to end it after the dances at the holiday event. Our conversations about kids, then my disease. Then, seeing him in the pool at Thanksgiving reminded me how unfair it was to him, so I ended it early.

“But you’re still doing the fundraising dances, right?” she asks, alarm in her voice.

I grimace. “Thanks for the support, sis.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She glances over at Greg. “This is why I said it’s not casual.”

“Yeah—” My throat clogs with tears, and I can’t speak.

“Oh no! No, no, no. You pick the one guy who should be too young to worry about a relationship but who instead is looking for a family.” Her shoulders drop on a sigh. Then she reaches out to hug me for an extended moment.

I cling to her while I regain my composure.

“I’m sorry, Chris. That sucks.” Greg says, patting me on the arm.

“It does. Hockey does. Everything does right now.”

They chuckle at my weak joke. Greg nods. “I bet.”

“He’s clearly a jerk. I mean, I know you wanted casual, but every guy should be head over heels for you, cuz yer awesome,” Amy adds.

I admit, “It was mostly me driving the secret and casual, although he was concerned about his contract and violating team policy.”

“Clearly that didn’t deter either of you. It’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull,” Greg says through laughter.

“He’s not a jerk. He’s thoughtful. He was super careful about—about—”

“Sex?” Amy offers helpfully.

Greg cringes and says, “No details, please. You’re my sister. But I’m glad he took care of you.”

“Yes, especially when I told him about my condition. His family…” I stop myself. That’s not my story to share. “Anyway, he loved my idea of the nonprofit dance lessons and even had a few suggestions.”

She stares at me. “You told him about that?”

I shrug one shoulder.

“Huh.” She looks down at the granite countertop, tracing grains of stone with her fingernail. “I get this is hard for you, but I have to ask. Have you considered alternative routes to a family?”

I frown. Alternative …Oh, she means adoption and the like. Geez, I hadn’t. “Not really. It all happened so fast and the pain was so extreme, and I knew I couldn’t go through that again. So I totally shut down the idea of children.”

“But I mean, you could adopt for instance. Surely your therapist talked to you about that?”

“I guess.” I shrug again. “It was easier to not think about it. She had enough to do getting me back to being a functioning adult. And how many men are going to be open to adopting? They’ll want their own genes.”

“Not necessarily.” Greg frowns.

I press my lips together, tilting my head at him. “Really? You don’t care if your children, who will inherit everything you and the family before you have built, are yours genetically?”

“Honestly? I’m thirty-five and haven’t managed to meet the right woman yet. I may not have children. But if I found my person and she couldn’t biologically have children but wanted them, I’d be fine with alternate routes.”

I think of Cam, so excited that his brother was following him into hockey. “A pro athlete would.”

My sister plants a hand on her hip. “How do you know? Have you taken a poll? More importantly, have you asked the specific one you’re worried about?”

Then again, Robbie is only his half-brother, and he’s equally excited about Zoe coming to Austin, who shares no blood with him. I reply, “I hadn’t considered children, so obviously I haven’t asked.”

“You should,” Greg murmurs.

She tilts her head and sobers. Her voice goes quiet. “If it was important to you, I’d surrogate.”

“Amy.” I don’t have the words to convey what that means to me, so I rush over and hug her. Squeezing her tight, I mumble into her hair. “Best sister ever.”

“Only sister,” she reminds me, but she is holding me just as close. “Ah, to clarify, you’re still dancing at the ball, right?”

I release her and smack her arm. “Yes. We’re still dancing, brat.”

* * * *

I snag a high-top table in the wine bar and check my phone to see my friends’ ETAs. Nicole can’t make it again, but Lauren and Maria are en route.

Amy’s words from this morning have interfered with my concentration all day. I’m glad I didn’t have any contracts to review for our family holdings or I might have signed away a property or something. I’m still reeling from Amy’s offer. She’s always been the easy-going one in our family, the happiest and best adjusted. Maybe because she was the baby and Greg and I both doted on her. She’s head of the Tornadoes Foundation for a reason—her giving nature. But this is a whole separate level of giving of her body, months of her time, health risks. I can’t begin to imagine all the repercussions.

Everyone in the world of competitive dance was focused on their weight and shape. Most didn’t get regular periods. Certainly, no one ever talked about wanting a family or bearing children. And I’d been young enough at nineteen to twenty-two that the whole thing had been in a hazy future.

When I was diagnosed, I’d been excited at the doctor’s promise I didn’t need a hysterectomy—this time—but devastated at the idea that going off birth control could trigger that need. Until then, I’d had a blurry vision of a husband and children one day, living near the big house where I grew up and expanding the Donovan clan. The doctor’s warning that having children would be unlikely and if I did try, the idea of more pain caused me to cordon off the idea of babies. With the help of a therapist, I managed through my grief and closed the door on having a family of my own.

Afterwards, I was in UT with a bunch of teenagers, then here in a safe cocoon at my family home. I dated safe men, only ever short-term, and avoided all thoughts of relationships and children.

When he played in college, Greg had commented once that his hockey team was like a second family. Maybe that was part of why he pushed so hard to bring an NHL team to Austin. These women who I wait for are another version of a second family. It took this whole thing with Cam blowing up to get me to see this. I may need to consider returning to therapy given how much I bury the hard thoughts when left alone.

When Lauren and Maria arrive, I blurt out, “Would a pro athlete be open to adopting kids? Wouldn’t he want his”—I do finger quotes--“‘superior genetics’ to continue on? Wouldn’t they want perfection in a mate given their physical condition?”

They both stare at me wide-eyed, Lauren’s purse is still in one hand while she’s twisted in her seat to hang it from the back of her chair. Finally, she asks, “Uh, I thought you were doing a casual fling with Hill?”

Maria raises her brows at me knowingly.

“I was. We broke up.”

“Why?”

“Because I saw how good he was with children and I fell in love with him and I needed to get out before it destroyed me.” It all comes out in one breath.

“Okay, first, Imma need wine for this,” Maria says, grabbing a menu. “And second—” she points it at me. “—back up and give us more details please.”

I bring them up to speed. Maria knows a lot of it from taking me under her wing Thanksgiving Day, but none of us have ever thought about alternate paths to a family.

Lauren is indignant, pure feminist. “So now you’re going to change your mind, your whole life path, because a hot guy wants mini-he’s? What happened to my intelligent, independent friend?”

She doesn’t want children and found solidarity in our life outlooks, so part of her statement comes from feeling defensive about her life choices if I change mine. So while her questions are harsh, I try to field them. “Not necessarily. I’m rattled. I hadn’t given alternative paths to a family much consideration because it was easier to hide from my failing and date guys who didn’t want kids.”

“Ah ha!” Maria exclaims, a finger in the air like she’s Sherlock Holmes or something. “You think of it as a failing.”

“It is,” I maintain.

“It’s a failing of your body. My body failed at growing to a normal adult height—” Lauren and I both snicker and she mock-glares as she continues. “—but I don’t consider myself a failure as a woman or feel like it’s my fault.”

“This is a little different.”

“If Cam got cancer, would you say it was his fault?”

“No!” I retort. Holy smoke, I can’t even contemplate that without shuddering in pain. “Of course not.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

“My fault or not, it’s not something others will want to take on. If I had cancer, I wouldn’t be out dating, signing someone up to go through months of crap and potentially come out alone.”

“I would,” Lauren chimes in. “I’d be looking to get every ounce of fun along the way. And if a guy broke up with me because it was too hard, then he’s not someone I’d want in my life anyway…” She slides a side glance at Maria and adds, “Giant schlong or not.”

They crack up.

I shake my head and smile at their antics. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope,” Maria says.

“You only told him a few days before Thanksgiving,” Lauren says. “Then you have this wild over-reaction and break things off. Did you think to have a conversation with him?”

“No. I told you I had put the whole idea of children away.”

“Well, if that fine ass couldn’t bring you to at least consider other paths, there’s something wrong with you,” Maria says, shaking her head.

“That’s part of it. He’s a hot-as-hell pro hockey player who can have anyone he wants and doesn’t need to settle for workarounds.” I sigh. “It’s not my story to share, but due to some stuff in his childhood, having his own family is important to him.”

“Didn’t Nicole say that family members came to the game you and she attended?” Lauren is frowning.

“Well, yes…” Again, I don’t want to give details Cam might not want me to share.

“Sounds like he has some family who support him, then.”

“That’s something of a new development,” I hedge.

“Then maybe it allows him to rethink what a family looks like, too. If you have an actual conversation like adults in a relationship do, you can find a middle ground.”

“Ugh. It was so much simpler to date older guys and not have to share my fai—” I change my word choice at Maria’s glare—“condition and risk rejection.”

“Yeah, but…” Lauren turns to Maria, then turns back and they say in unison, “giant cock.”

Lauren relents and adds, “And clearly someone who cares about you and whom you care about.”

There is that. We’ve agreed to practice one last time on the day of the ball. While that isn’t conducive to introducing this conversation, I need to find a way. Although, Cam’s been radio silent since the break-up, not sending a single text.