Page 40

Chapter 40

Nat

I’m so caught up in the motions of everything that comes next, I’m barely aware of the passage of time. Between me and Syd, we bundle Avery out of bed. Down the hall—step by excruciating step. Through the door. Into the car.

He grits his teeth and tears stream down his cheeks as I lower him into the passenger seat. But he doesn’t protest. Doesn’t fight me anymore.

Syd climbs into the back, leans forward between the seats to wrap her hand around Avery’s. I stare through the windshield as I drive. Snow’s starting to escape the white clutch of the cloud-stuffed sky in pale flurries, and I pray it’ll hold off a bit longer.

We reach urgent care, and it’s another struggle to help him back out of the car. But despite the pain scrawled over his face in plain letters, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t cry out or protest or collapse back into the seat.

Syd and I carry him into the building. Up to the front desk.

“Do you have insurance, Avery?” I ask, my stomach suddenly queasy with worry. But surely he does. Mary would take care of that, right?

“He does,” Syd holds out a hand, a little white card in her fingers. A plain black wallet sits in her other.

Shit, she remembered to grab his wallet . When did she get so grown up, so smart and mature and . . . capable?

“Thanks.” I hand the card over to the receptionist, but my gaze stays on Sydney. “Good save, Syd.”

Her mouth forms the barest approximation of a tight smile. “I just figured, if it was me, I’d want to have my shit.”

I huff out a sad little laugh at that. “Yeah. Me too.”

“You’re lucky,” the receptionist tells us. “We can see you right away.”

“Damn, really?”

“It’s a slow day.” She shrugs. “Everybody must be waiting until after the tournament to get into trouble.”

That makes my stomach roil—but the feeling’s short lived as a nurse pops into the waiting room. “Bennett?”

Syd and I get him down the hall and into an exam room.

“Looks like a fight.” The nurse closes the door behind us, and my stomach clenches up again.

“Yeah,” I agree in a low murmur. “Something like that.”

The nurse eyeballs me this time, and I know what she’s going to ask. “Are you his parent? Guardian?”

“No.” The muscles around my ribs hurt as the words I want to say build up behind them. But it’s not my place, not yet. Not without talking to him first. “He’s eighteen.”

She’ll talk to him herself, or the doctor will. They’re supposed to, for injuries like this.

“All right.” She gives me one last lingering glance before she turns away. “Let’s get him changed.”

She lifts a paper hospital gown, and Avery goes rigid. So I tighten my hand around his biceps. “I’ll help you, okay? Syd can wait outside, if you’d like?”

“Yeah.” He relaxes slightly. “Yeah, okay.”

I half expect a fight from Syd, but she follows the nurse out of the room. Leaving me and Avery behind.

“I can cut the shirt if you need me to,” I say, already reaching for the hem. “Or lift, whatever’s easier. ”

“It’s a good shirt,” Avery grunts, lifting his arms. He groans but doesn’t lower them back down, and I whip the shirt over his head in one quick swoop.

His chest is a black-and-blue mass of bruises. I knew it was going to be like that, but somehow, it’s worse than I expected. But I don’t linger. “Pants. Tell me how much help you need.”

“I’ll unzip.” Avery’s already prying the button. “You pull.”

We get them off without too much groaning, and I ease him into the paper gown. “Hanging in, kid?”

“I’ll survive.” He winces as he leans against the medical exam cot.

“I know.” And then I say what I know I have to say. “I won’t tell them what happened, but I think you should.”

His teeth grit together.

“They’ll probably ask,” I continue, leaning against the cot beside him. “Might ask me too. But I’ll only tell them as much as you want me to.”

He nods. His gaze hangs unfocused over the floor, that one eye still sealed shut. “Okay.”

“I also . . .” I blow out a long breath, and I give him something I wish someone had given me, twenty years ago. “Next time, call me instead? I’ll come get you, no questions asked.”

His head tilts sideways, so he studies me out of the corner of his good eye. “What?”

“Next time Mary’s not there or you do something stupid or you’re drunk and need a ride or . . . whatever.” I shrug. “Point is, don’t go home if you think there’s any chance you might not be . . . safe.”

The words hang between us, heavy as bricks, weighing down the very air. Making it feel tight, hard to breathe.

“You have my number. Text me. I’ll come, and I won’t ask questions. Even if . . .” Another sigh. “Even if you’re at the Ice Out.”

Avery turns towards me, full-on, but before either of us can say anything, the door swings open and the doctor strides in .

I leave for the exam, per the doctor’s request. Go back down the hall and out into the waiting room, where I find Syd, huddled in a chair in the corner, her knees drawn into her chest.

And now, finally, it’s just me and my thoughts and the teenage girl curled into the chair. I take the seat next to her. “How you holding up, Syd?”

She lifts her face, giving me a glimpse of reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks beneath her mussed hair. “How do you think?”

“Shitty.” I lean forward, elbows onto my knees. Take off my hat so I can dig my hands into my hair. “It’s been a shitty fucking day.”

“Yeah.” She sighs, drops her head back down. “It was supposed to be an amazing day.”

I settle my hat back onto my head. “Because of the tourney?”

I think at first she won’t answer. That our fight from this morning will linger, stilting our words behind a wall of our making.

“Olli got Coach to give me a backstage pass,” Syd says, her voice muffled in her arms. “I was going to go around, posting pictures, getting player quotes, all that kind of shit.”

“Damn. That would have been awesome.” I glance at the clock on the wall. “You could still make it.”

She shakes her head without lifting it from her arms. “Not without Avery.”

“He’s gonna be okay.” I lift a hand like I’m going to rub it over her shoulder blades, but think twice, lower it again. I don’t know whether she’s still mad at me. “We’re gonna get this worked out, and he’s gonna be okay.”

“No, he’s not.” Syd’s red-rimmed eyes appear again over the crest of her folded arms. “He was gonna skate in the tourney.”

“Oh.” Realization strikes me. He wasn’t at the Ice Out trying to get into the tournament—he got in. Got a ticket, and that’s what his father found. That’s what set him off. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Syd bounces her forehead off her arm a few times, frustration evident in the jerky gesture. “Today was gonna be such a good day. ”

“Sometimes, those are the ones that wind up being the worst,” I murmur. I lace my fingers together, stare at my hands. Ink and scars and bruised, bloody knuckles. “Because you have such high expectations for them.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Syd sighs. Buries her face in her hands again, and I don’t know whether she’s crying or simply lost in her own thoughts, her own dark world. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, either—reach out and bridge the gap between us? Let her be? Wait for her to come to me?

“It’s my fault.” My words tumble out, and I don’t know if that means they’re right , or just desperate. Whatever the case, I need to break this silence. “I fucked it all up. When I burned your toast this morning.”

Another pause. Syd cocks her head sideways so one of her green eyes appears, like she’s assessing whether I’m seriously joking at a time like this.

She must decide that I am; her mouth twitches upwards in the shadow of amusement. “Yeah. Started the day off with bad vibes.”

“At least it was just the top layer?” I lift my brows. “You scraped, right?”

“Yeah.” Syd huffs out a little laugh. “I scraped. And I thought you could cook.”

“I can, you know that.” It’s mostly the truth, anyway. “I was distracted.”

“Distracted by what?” Syd still looks at me, the side of her face resting in the cradle of her arms. I decide it’s an improvement, even if my stomach still churns.

“Tournament shit. Same as you, I guess.”

“Deciding whether you were going to go.” It’s not a question; Syd knows me pretty well.

“Yep.” My hands clench tight into fists, making the scabs stand out dark over blood-drained knuckles. “I hadn’t decided.”

“Why not? ”

When I look up from my hands, a pair of green eyes stares back at me, a question scrawled across them.

You’re like . . . their hero . . . You are the representation of Day River. It’s like Olli thinks I’m going to save this team. And the way Syd’s looking at me now, I sort of think she feels the same.

But her next words mean something else entirely. “Wasn’t hockey your dream?”

I set my elbows upright on my knees, rest my chin in my hands. “Yeah. Was . Key word. It was my dream. But just because you can remember wanting something, doesn’t mean you still do. You know? It’s easy to dream big when you’re young and there’s nothing in your way.”

“Nothing . . . like me?” Syd’s voice gets very small, and her eyes get very big, and my heart launches against my ribs.

“You? Hell no.” And without further thought, I lean forward to wrap an arm around her shoulder. “Never you. You’re my dream now, Syd. And I wouldn’t change anything about that.”

She tilts her head down on my shoulder. “You’re not just saying that ’cause it’s your job to say nice things?”

“Right.” I snort. “Because anything about me has ever been nice. I don’t think anybody thinks I’m winning any ‘parent of the year’ awards here. I’m a fuck-up, Syd, and we both know it.”

“Eh.” She shrugs against my shoulder. “I don’t think you’re that bad. Most of the time. You’re definitely not nice, though. A nice dad would have bought my yogurt.”

“Oh, my God. Fuck your yogurt.”

She laughs, sits up. “You don’t get any ‘parent of the year’ awards until I get yogurt.”

I let us have this lighthearted moment, but I have more to say, and it’s time to say it. All. Even if we are sitting in the middle of an urgent care waiting room, at the edge of a snowstorm and the biggest hockey event this town’s ever seen.

Maybe it’s exactly the time to say all this shit .

“I need you to know—and believe—that you’re not the reason I don’t play.” I fix my eyes on hers, make her meet my gaze. “I wanted it so bad, but at the end of the day, I never truly believed in myself. And it was me who got in the way. Me who wrecked my own dream. By the time I met your mom . . .”

I lean back in my chair, dig a hand through my hair. “I was already on a fast downhill slope. Drugs, alcohol, skipping school.”

Syd’s silent, letting me speak.

“I started dating your mom senior year, before that last game,” I say, steadying my voice to continue the story—the one she deserves to hear.

Not the one where I’m the hero who raised her when her mother hightailed it into obscurity. The one where Sam saved me, and Syd saved me, and Brenda saved me, and all the while, I kept trying to drown myself.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she stuck around.” I fold my hands together, study my fingers right along with Syd. “Maybe she thought it was a fun little project, trying to clean up the broken kid. But I was a mess. I don’t blame her for leaving.”

Syd’s breath is a sharp little inhale. “Do you wish she’d left sooner?”

“No.” I unfold my fingers to curl my hand over hers. “Never. You being born was the best thing that ever happened to me—and probably the only thing that could have saved me.”

Another ragged little inhale, but I give her privacy, don’t look up to see if she’s holding back tears.

“When I . . . When I first held you . . .” Shit, I’m the one holding back tears now. Me . When was the last time I fucking cried? “I realized my purpose in life that day. I’d never believed in myself on the ice. But at that moment, I believed—I knew —I could be your dad.”

Syd gives a wrenching sob, and I know I’m moments away from breaking too. So I wrap my arm around her, pull her in close. Tuck her head under my chin. Like she’s my little girl again.

“That was the moment my dream changed. That hockey stopped being the most important thing—that it stopped mattering at all.”

Sydney’s crying in earnest now, splayed out on my shoulder, one hand tangled in the collar of my shirt. Just like when she was a baby.

“This family is my dream now, Syd.” Shit, my voice shakes. “Dreams change. I don’t want that old dream anymore. At all. I just want to be the best I can for you. Whatever that means, whatever it takes.”

“You mean . . .”

“I mean, let’s talk to Jess. See what he can do for you.”

“You mean that?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Dad . . .” Her voice is a pale ghost of a whisper, and she tilts her gaze up towards me. “I’m sorry about meeting with Uncle Jesse behind your back. I just . . . I got caught up.”

“I know, kid. Trust me. I get it.” I exhale in a long, slow sigh. And I say more things I need—have needed—to say. “It’s not your fault. I never talk about him. We had a complicated relationship.”

“Complicated how?” She tilts her head against my shoulder, and I want to freeze this moment so I never have to let go of her. Of us. But I have so much more I need to say.

“He used to be a good brother.” Regardless of anything else he was, he was my brother , and I loved him with everything I had. “He taught me how to play guitar. How to skate.”

“Damn,” Syd murmurs.

“But he’s six years older. So he got to high school, and he was popular and talented . . .” I shrug. “It’s like he forgot I existed.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Stupid, now that we’re adults.” The whole world smiled down on Jess, and all I wanted was for him to return that smile once.

But he never did.

“Jess left Day River after high school to play in college. I was twelve.” I don’t tell her how much Dad hated being stuck with me instead—the unwanted son. The one who kept him in his shit job long after he wanted to retire. “He never called. Or visited. ”

Syd’s still lying against my shoulder. She offers no interruption, so I keep talking.

“He came back to play for the Dingoes when I was sixteen. Got his own apartment, never once stopped by.” My voice cracks slightly. But I push through, force my emotions away. “He played for the Dingoes for three years—three championship wins. And then, he went to the NHL and never looked back.”

Syd’s inhale is a sharp gasp of surprise. “Did he know about me?”

“He was still in Day River when you were born.” I lift my free shoulder in a shrug. “Never even bothered to meet you.”

Maybe that’s when I truly shut him out, when my whole world refocused—and Jess didn’t even glance over.

“I started working at the rink, Jess left, and Brenda and I finally moved out when I was twenty. When Dad died, Jess got the house. I never asked if I could move back in, and he never offered.”

“Damn, Dad.” Syd’s voice sounds ragged again, like she’s holding back another wave of tears. “I never knew . . . I never knew all of that.”

“How could you?” My own tears slip down my cheeks to crystalize the top of her hair, like dewdrops on a summer morning. “I never talk about him. I spent so much time hating him . . .”

“Do you still hate him?”

Do I? How can I, when I see now what I didn’t see then—that he’s just another broken Day River kid, trying to get out. Trying to live a dream, no matter the cost.

If our positions had been reversed, if I’d been the brother with the NHL on a silver platter, would I have said no?

“No.” I sigh. “I don’t hate him anymore.”

We sit like that for a long, long time. Me and Sydney. Father and daughter.

Time passes, but I have no idea how much. I wish I could freeze this moment forever, me and her .

“You know,” she says suddenly, her voice muddled with tears. She sniffles, lets go of my shirt to wipe a hand across her face. “You’re the best dad I could have ever asked for. And whatever—”

Her voice cracks, and a short, staccato sob breaks free of my throat.

“Whatever you decide about the tournament,” she says, pressing the words through tears, “you will always be a great dad. Even if that means a lot of traveling. Or staying here.”

“And I will always support you,” I murmur against her hair. “But just know, no matter how big or awesome you get, you’re always gonna be my little girl.”

“Ugh.” She sits up, laughing through tears. “That’s the corniest, lamest thing anybody has ever said.”

“Huh. Maybe I’m dad material after all.”

“Mr. Taylor?” The crack of the doctor’s voice yanks me out of our bubble and back down to reality. We both launch out of our chairs like we’ve been electrocuted. Might have almost been funny, if the situation wasn’t so serious.

If it weren't a sharp reminder that it’s not just the two of us—that there’s still so much more to this day than me and her.

“Yeah. We’re here.” I lead Syd across the room to the middle-aged man framed in the doorway on the other side. “Got an update?”

“He’s ready to go home. Just needs some help getting changed.” The doctor waves us down the hall after him. “He’s allowing me to release medical information to you.”

“Oh.” I hold the door open for Syd as we slip back into the room. Avery sits on the medical exam table where I left him, still bruised and swollen and dejected.

“He’s got two cracked ribs,” the doctor says, and I hold back a wince. “A lot of bruising. Stitches in his cheek and side. Thankfully, no concussion. Nothing time won’t heal.”

“Broken ribs aren’t fun,” I agree. “Painkillers?”

“No,” Avery says, his voice ragged. “Ibuprofen is fine. ”

I lift my eyebrows but decline to comment. “I have a lot of that at home. And Tylenol. Wanna get dressed?”

The doctor leaves. Syd steps back outside. And Avery and I wrestle him back into his clothes.

“No Vicodin vacation, kid?” I ask, easing his arm back through his shirt. “I’m kinda impressed.”

“I’ve seen people hooked on that shit,” he replies, not meeting my gaze. “I’ll stick to the soft stuff.”

“Don’t think I’d classify booze as soft , but yeah. I get it.” I pause in front of him, wait for him to turn his gaze towards me. “We’re going to my place, and you’re gonna stay there as long as you need. Until Mary gets back or you want to leave or . . . whatever. I’ll tell your dad whatever you need me to.”

He tilts his head up towards me, light brows furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this? I thought you hated me and Syd.”

I tilt my head back towards the ceiling with a groan. “For the record, I don’t hate you and Syd. I just don’t love it because she’s my daughter and you’re a teenage guy, and having once been a teenage guy, I know all the shit that means.”

“Because you had Syd when you were young.”

“Among other things.” I cross my arms. “But I think you’re a better kid than I was, and I trust you way more than I would have trusted me.” A smile tugs at my mouth. “Also, with two cracked ribs, you ain’t doing shit for a while.”

He groans.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” I prop open the door, and Syd slides in. “Ready to go home?”

“Wait.” Avery hops awkwardly off the medical table, wincing. “I don't want to go home.”

“My place,” I correct. “I’m not taking your back to your house yet— ”

“No, I mean, I want to go somewhere else.” Avery’s gaze slides to Sydney, framed in the fluorescent glow of the hallway lights. “I want to go to the rink. Syd has a lot of work to do. She’ll need help.”

“What?” Sydney’s wide-eyed arched-brow stare likely reflects my own disbelief. “But you’re, I mean, you gotta be in so much pain. You must just want to sleep—”

“Well, yeah.” Avery hobbles towards the door. “But more than that, I don’t want you to miss this opportunity because I’m a fuck-up.”

“Avery, you’re not—”

“Let’s go,” I say, meeting Avery’s serious gaze. He means it. “I’m driving, which means it’s my call. And I say, let’s go to the rink.”

“No way,” says Syd, but Avery’s already hobbling down the hall.

“Yes way,” he says.

“Let him do this for you, Syd.” I nudge her after him. “There’ll be plenty of time to bitch and moan and be in pain later.”

“Right.” She still looks shell-shocked, but I give her another nudge, and she hurries after him.

I allow myself one small smile, watching her hook her arm around him. Watching them lean into each other. She really could’ve done worse. And it’s about time I accepted that. Accepted that she’s not a kid anymore, and the ways she needs me—what she needs from me—has changed too.

As we reach the lobby, Avery stops, meets my gaze. “I sure hope you’re gonna skate hard tonight, Taylor.”

But before I can answer, something past him catches my attention. There’s a man standing in the background, looking at me with eyes like earth and stars melded together.

“Olli,” I breathe, and it’s like my frozen heart starts beating again.

“I’ll take Avery to the car,” Syd says, but I barely hear her over the thud of my own pulse in my ears.