Page 6

Chase

For a minute I freeze in place.

My mind can’t comprehend Natalie’s question. Her words stick on a loop in my head.

“What does Chase Hawkins, hockey goalie, want to answer?”

Over and over and over.

“What does Chase Hawkins, hockey goalie, want to answer?”

Round and round until things start to come unstuck and I know the answer.

Or at least I did.

In a different life.

Not this one.

In another life I worked and worked and worked for the chance to be offered a position in the NHL. But starting goalie?

Fuck yeah!

Every one of my dreams had me starting in goal for an NHL winning team.

Except all of those dreams and wishes and hard work were a lifetime ago and, in this life, the one I find myself living now, I’m a twenty-year-old parent of three.

And that’s when things really come unstuck.

And I come unglued.

In more ways than one.

My body jolts and out of my mouth bursts laughter so unhinged even I can hear the insanity in it. But I can’t control it—can’t stop it.

The sound grows louder and louder and more demented and is so far beyond my ability to rein in it makes me laugh harder.

Motherfucker .

I’ve lost my damn mind.

Or she has.

She can’t be serious. The Rogues can’t possibly want me to play for them. I’m a kid raising kids.

That thought makes me laugh so hard I have to wrap my arms around my waist to hold my sides because my whole body feels like it’s going to explode.

My chest aches. My gut aches. And my heart aches for all that I can no longer do.

I’m not sure when the switch happens. When I go from deranged amusement to heart breaking distress, but one minute I’m laughing my ass off, the next I’m sobbing like a toddler in the arms of the woman who just offered me the world.

I cry harder when the reality of what I have to say sinks in.

I cry harder for everything I’ve lost.

I cry harder for what my sisters have lost.

But I cry the hardest when the realization of never being able to share this momentous moment with my parents—never seeing either of them again—kicks my heart so hard my ribs ache.

Words are being whispered in my ear, but my fractured mind doesn’t understand them. I just know the sound is a constant murmur that draws me closer.

My forehead rests on Natalie’s shoulder, my arms wrapped tightly around her like she’s the only lifejacket in a thrashing sea. The snug hold of her arms encircling my waist presses our bodies together, and every wall I’ve held in place since my parents’ died crumbles, and I bawl like I’ve never bawled before.

And she holds me through it.

Lets the storm of emotions inside me fall onto her shoulders while her arms banding my waist keep me grounded, keep me from collapsing to the floor.

I have no idea how long it takes, how long she allows me to use her strength, but when the sobs finally slow, when the tears start to dry up, I stay exactly where I am. Stay in the safe place she’s given me.

Despite the tears and anguish, it’s the calmest I’ve felt in months, and I can’t bring myself to move.

In the weeks since everything changed, I haven’t broken down once. Not like this. Not this bone dissolving grief that has left me weak and her shirt soaked.

“Why don’t you go take a shower and lie down? I can keep an ear out for Candace and give her another bottle or whatever it is she needs when she wakes, just tell me what I need to do.”

She pulls back to look at me but doesn’t let go and I’m grateful, I’m not ready to leave the comfort of her arms. I’m not sure I ever will be.

“Do you need to pick up the twins?”

I shake my head. “They’re getting dropped off by their friend’s mom, Mrs. Harper.” My voice is raw, jagged around the edges and scraping my throat in a way it never has.

“Okay.” She looks at the clock on the oven. “Why don’t I make you some lunch while you shower and then you can take a nap.”

“I...” My throat chokes up and I have to swallow to clear the lump from the back of it. “I’m okay. I can make my own lunch.”

“Chase.”

Her arms move, slip away from my waist so she can bring her hands up to cradle my face. Her skin is soft and warm against my cheeks, and I want nothing more than to lean into her again. Let her hold me up.

But I can’t.

I need to be strong for the girls. I’m all they have.

“Don’t.” She keeps my head still, her gaze drilling into mine. “Don’t take it all on when you don’t have to. It’s okay to accept a little help. It doesn’t mean you’re failing, or you don’t care.”

“Why?” The croak in my voice is still there, my throat still aching with rawness. “Why would you do this?”

“Because I’ve been where you are without the younger siblings. In my case it was an elderly aunt who needed care, so I know how hard it is, how easy it is to take it all on, to think you’re alone. But I was lucky enough to have someone to force help on me. Let me do that for you. Let me help take some of the burden off your shoulders. Just for a little while today.”

“I should?—”

“You should do what I said. Take a shower, have something to eat, then lie down. It doesn’t have to be long. Just rest for a bit without worrying about anything else. I’ll take care of anything urgent.”

“I”—shaking my head I try to clear the fog my crying jag left me in—“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Her answer is firm, no room for anything but acceptance, and the relief that flows through me is breath stealing. Even though I want to argue, I know I can’t stay upright for much longer.

“All right. I’ll shower. See how I feel?—”

“Nope. You have three things to do for the next few hours.”

She removes her hands from my face and pulls completely free of my hold and I’m struck by how natural holding her felt. So natural it feels weird not having her in my arms now.

Raising a fisted hand, she flicks up her index finger. “Shower.” Her middle finger joins the first. “Eat.” Then she rounds out the trio with her ring finger. “Rest.”

“I can rest down here.” I’m not sure why I’m pushing. My mind and body are drained, and I want to lie down and forget about all the things I need to deal with, let someone else handle them even if it is for only a few minutes.

“There’s too much distraction down here. Plus, I’m going to search your pantry and see what I can put together for dinner and I’m bound to make noise doing it.”

I’m not sure why that surprises me, but I can’t keep the shock from my voice when I say, “You’re making dinner?”

In answer she plants her hands on my shoulders and spins me around before saying to the back of my head, “Yes. After I make you a sandwich or something for lunch. Now go, I’ll be here taking care of anything that needs taking care of.”

I step forward when she gives a little push. I could easily have stopped myself but I’m raw and weak from crying and the grief weighing me down, and the thought of not being the one in charge for a even a few minutes, never mind not having to worry about cooking dinner, is too much to resist.

My feet drag as I make my way out of the kitchen and just before I leave the room, I glance over my shoulder. Natalie is where I left her, arms crossed over her chest, a stern do-as-I-say-or-else look on her face.

And maybe it’s the bone-weariness I’m feeling after purging my grief, or maybe it’s the no-nonsense glint in her gaze, whatever it is, I do as told, and head upstairs to the bathroom.

Once behind the closed door it doesn’t take me long to strip and step under the shower because the more I think about soothing my aching body with hot water, the more I want to do it.

The first blast of water is cold, but as it warms, the spray does its job and washes away some of the tension holding my body tight. Closing my eyes, I tip my head back and let the calming sensation soak through my skin to my bones.

Warm and relaxed, I lean against the wall and angle the showerhead my way. I don’t bother with soap. I did that when I showered earlier today.

But this isn’t about getting clean. Not in the physical sense. It’s about clearing my head, washing away the stress of the day.

I didn’t think my decision to step back from the business was weighing on my mind, but the longer the call went on the more I realized how much I hated having to step back.

Not because I want to be in charge of my parents’ life work, but because I should be in charge of it. I’m the only one capable of running the company Mom and Dad started before I was born.

The twins are too young, and Candace isn’t even a factor. It’s me. All of it falls on me.

And I know I’ve chosen to take on the girls. I could have done what it seems everyone expected, and let them go, except that was never going to happen.

I’d have to be dead for all of us not to stay together.

Even if our parents hadn’t left us with a profitable business and a mortgage free house, along with money in the bank from several life-insurance payouts, I wouldn’t let my sisters go.

I can’t imagine living without them and the loss of our parents only makes me more determined to keep us together.

The water flowing over me begins to cool and I quickly switch it off. I can’t use all the hot water. Candace will need a bath later and no doubt the twins will want to shower as soon as they get home.

I know Natalie told me not to worry about anything but getting out of the shower before the hot water runs out is something I had to do as a teen. Back then Mom would come to the bottom of the stairs and yell I’d been in here long enough.

The memory doesn’t cut as deep as I expect. Instead, it brings a smile to my face and fills me with warmth.

I’m not being biased when I say I had the best parents because I genuinely believe it to be true. I’ve had enough friends over the years tell me they thought they were great too.

On the heels of the warm memories, sadness swamps me. No one will ever say that to me again. No one will tell Cass or Stell their parents’ rock. And Candace…

Fuck!

She’ll never know their love. Never experience what it’s like to be loved and cared for by them. All she’ll have is the second-hand stories we tell her.

I have to find a way to bring those stories to life. To give Candace a vivid picture of what they were like, how they would have doted on her.

Stepping out of the shower I grab a towel and scrub it over my hair before taking care of the rest of me. I’m still damp when I wrap it around my hips and head to my room for clean clothes.

Pulling sweatpants out of a drawer, I tug them on without underwear. I don’t have the energy to go out to the basket in the hall and search through the clean clothes.

One more thing I haven’t gotten to yet. At least the clothes are clean. And dry. Last time I was out of underwear they were all in the washer with the rest of our dirty clothes.

I shake my head. Forgetting to put the washing on is something I’m really good at. It’s why the twins have taken over washing our clothes. Although they refuse to fold and put them away. Even their own.

That job falls to me. And just thinking about having to do it makes my shoulders slump. I can’t bring myself to go out there for underwear; there’s no way I’m going to fold a basket full of clothes.

Lowering my tired ass to the bed, I lie back and stare at the ceiling, think about everything that has happened this morning.

The nanny I hired didn’t show up on time and when she did, the woman I thought was the nanny dispatched her in a way that was proficient and kind when it could have turned into a scene.

I made a decision about our parents’ business that was the best for all of us but feels like the worst—like I’m letting everyone down.

The general manager of the newest NHL franchise offered me a contract to be their starting goalie, and I laughed in her face then cried on her shoulder.

And there’s a stranger in my house taking care of things and I can’t summon the energy to feel ashamed or confused or relieved about letting Natalie—the contract-offering Rogues general manager—take over.

It’s been months since I’ve had the chance to sit.

To lie still and not worry about ten different things while doing two others.

To do nothing except breathe.