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35

Christian

W hile Preston and I haven’t been teammates for years, I still know it’s unusual for him to miss conditioning. Even in the off-season, his world revolves around hockey.

During one of my breaks from the treadmill, I towel off my sweaty face and call him up to make sure he’s feeling okay.

“Yeah?” he answers. Just that one word and I know he sounds even gruffer than usual.

“Hey, is everything okay? I noticed you weren’t at training.”

“No, everything is not fucking okay,” he grumbles.

“Finley? Maya?” I blurt out in concern.

“They’re fine. She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” I ask.

Now that he mentions it, for the past few nights, she’s ended our phone calls abruptly after Finley’s tucked into bed. I figured she was having doubts about us now that she’s in Maryland again and I’m still in North Carolina. I hate it, but I didn’t want to get into an argument with her.

But now…what if it was something else going on that she kept from me?

“Elle and I are getting ready to head out. We’re going to meet Maya and Finley in Georgia for my father’s fucking funeral,” Preston finally explains.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, man,” I tell him. “How are you doing? How’s Maya? Was it unexpected?”

“I honestly don’t know how I am. We haven’t seen the man in over five years.”

“Since Maya found out she was pregnant?” I guess.

“Yep. Not a peep from my father. Mama would call on my birthday, but that’s about it. She hasn’t spoken to Maya at all until she called her Monday and told her that he was dead.”

“Jeez. That’s… that must be tough. How is Maya handling it?”

Maya’s known since Monday that her father passed away and she didn’t tell me? Preston came to training like normal and never said a word about either. He was a little grumpier than usual, so everyone just left him alone. I guess it’s a topic neither of them wanted to talk about, at least not with me.

Which fucking hurts.

I want to be the one Maya talks to about everything, good or bad.

“Maya’s not great. She didn’t really want to go back home, or explain it all to Finley, but when I told her I was going, she decided they would drive down and meet us there. She’s missing her meeting about the new job today for this shit.”

“You’re headed back to Peachtree City?” I ask, remembering Preston telling me that’s where he’s from.

“Yeah.”

“When’s the funeral?”

“Tomorrow at eleven.”

“Shit,” I mutter.

“I know, right?”

“No, I just mean, I want to come too. If that’s okay?” I ask him. “I’ll drive myself, so I’m not a third wheel with you and Elle.”

“Ah, yeah, of course it’s okay. But you don’t have to drive separately. Or go at all. I don’t want to go, but I feel like I need to be there for my mom.”

“I want to be there too,” I tell him. For Maya and for Finley. “Maya might need me to watch Finley during the funeral, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m not sure if she wants to take him to the cemetery and shit.”

“Could you send me the address or a link to the obituary when you have a minute? I’ll go home to pack a bag and get on the road.”

“Sure, man. Thanks, Christian.”

I don’t even consider whether I’ll be excused from practice or if I’ll be benched during our first preseason game. None of those things matter. I need to be with my family right now, screw everything else.

Maya

Our family home looks exactly like I remembered it, as if nothing has changed, even though it has. The two-story brick structure could definitely use a new roof. The home sweet home flag hanging on the porch is only a slightly different version of the previous ones. Everything else is the same.

“Mommy, I need to go potty!” Finley whines from the backseat of the car.

“I know, sweetie. Let’s…let’s go inside.” I get out of the car and open his door for him. Finley’s been a trooper since we left the house at seven this morning and have been on the road ever since. We stopped for lunch, then dinner, and had a few bathroom breaks. He’s been happy enough playing games on his iPad and napping most of the way.

“Where are we?” he asks as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Well, ah, this…this is where Uncle Preston and I grew up.” For the past three days, I’ve tried and failed to figure out how to have this conversation with him. Now, I guess I’m just going to play it by ear.

“You lived here?” he asks.

“I did. For eighteen years.” Until I was tossed out with all my things on the curb like garbage.

Taking his hand, mostly because I need the comfort, I trudge up the four steps leading to the front door where a white wreath hangs.

The door opens before I can reach and press the doorbell, as if she was watching the driveway from the living room window.

Then, I’m staring right at the woman who gave birth to me, who took care of me as a child. She was a wonderful mother, one I thought loved me unconditionally, before that notion was proven wrong.

Mama now has a few more lines around her eyes and smiling lips, and her once thick, dark brown hair is more of a thin, sandy color thanks to the gray in it.

“Aww, my goodness,” she exclaims, slapping her hand over her mouth. Her brown eyes glisten as she stares down at her grandson for the very first time. “Aren’t you the most beautiful boy I’ve even seen?”

Finley glances up at me with a frown, either from the odd greeting from this woman he’s never met before or with indignation for being called beautiful.

“Finley, this is…my…your…”

“I’m your Grandma Lawrence,” my mother tells him as she crouches down to see him better, arms spread wide. “Can I have a big hug?”

He nods and doesn’t seek my approval before he lets go of my hand to step into her open arms without any hesitation.

After a short embrace, Finley pulls away and she cups his face in her hands that look like they’ve spent too much time in dishwater. “You look just like Preston!”

I want to roll my eyes because Preston was always her favorite, but then Finley says, “I look like my dad, too.”

I wince in preparation for whatever lecture or insult she may say in response to that comment.

Instead, she tells him, “Then you must have a very handsome father.”

Finley nods. “This is his jersey!” he says, pulling on the long sleeve Bobcats sweater that’s way too warm for Georgia in summer but was a non-negotiable for leaving the house this morning. “He plays hockey for the Bobcats just like Uncle Preston!”

My mom slowly stands to her full height as if her joints are stiffer, eyeing my navy, sleeveless cotton dress and yellow sandals with disapproval. “I thought Preston played for the D.C. Warhawks.”

Of course she keeps up with her son’s hockey career. I bet her and dad watch every game. Watched every game.

“He did, until the end of the season, when he signed with the Bobcats and moved to Greensboro.”

“Well, you learn something new every day, don’t you,” she says. “Now, come on in and let’s find you both something to eat.”

“Okay, but I really need to use your potty,” Finley tells her, making her laugh as she guides him inside. She certainly seems in good spirits dealing with our father’s unexpected death.

When they’re both inside, I text Preston, I’m here. Where are you and Elle?

His response comes back a moment later. About thirty minutes away.

Hurry up and save me from this nightmare .

Is she already giving you shit?

No, not yet. But I still need backup .

With a heavy sigh, I pull open the screen door and step inside my first home. The smell of warm apple pie is so familiar, my stomach growls in anticipation.

My mom’s cooking is the best, even if it’s made with harsh judgements.

She offers me and Finley an array of covered dishes prepared by friends and neighbors, but I decline, excusing myself to go to the restroom while Finley digs into some chicken and dumplings at the dining table.

Since there’s no point in texting Preston again, I wander up the steps to see what became of my old room.

I flip on the lights, finding the space empty of my personal touch since I packed all my things up. There’s a thin layer of dust on the heavy wooden furniture. My queen bed has been made up with a light blue comforter that has orange blossoms embroidered on it. And a small gift box sits on the nightstand next to the bed.

Curious, I walk over to look at it closer, finding my name on the tag. I lift the lid, finding a stack of letters tied with a pink ribbon inside. Letters all addressed to me…from Christian.

Holy shit.

I remove the first letter from the stack with a shaky hand, noticing that the postmark is from years ago, addressed to my dorm room. But I had dropped out by the date it was stamped in order to get my spring tuition refunded, moving into Preston’s apartment nearby instead.

There’s a neatly sliced slit at the top of the envelope, as if someone, my mother or father, opened it with their ancient letter knife and read it.

I pull out the piece of paper inside, finding a handwritten letter from Christian on lined notebook paper.

Maya,

I decided to write to you since you blocked my phone number before I could really apologize for being so careless with you. I’m sorry I put you in such a difficult position. I just want you to know that whatever you decide, I want to be there for you. I sent you all the money I had to try to help with doctor appointments or anything you need.

Just because I moved a few hours away doesn’t mean we can’t find a way to make this work. Please give me another chance.

Love,

Christian

He actually wrote me a sincere, sweet letter.

I sit down on the side of the bed, unable to resist opening the next letter and the next. They all say similar things, apologizing, telling me he misses me, that he loves me even though we haven’t been dating very long.

One of the letters near the bottom gets significantly more interesting.

Maya,

Since you haven’t responded to any of my letters, I’m guessing you’ve given up on me. But I don’t want to give up on you. I’m not sure if it’s even possible to do. I miss you so damn much. I miss my best friend too, but I know Preston will never forgive me for the pain I’ve caused you. I would give anything for you to come to Greensboro, either to visit or to stay with me for good. Please don’t give up on us.

Love,

Christian

And the final letter, well, reading it makes the room tilt so badly that I almost need to lie down after reading it.

Maya,

I’m not surprised that you don’t want to up and move for me after everything. I ruined your first time, then I burdened you with a pregnancy you didn’t want. I’ll do whatever it takes to try to make it up to you, to prove to you that you’re it for me.

Being drafted, playing for the pros, none of it makes me happy like I thought it would, not when I can’t share it with you.

I know you probably won’t move here without being sure you can trust me again. There’s only one way I can think of to prove that I’m in love with you and want to spend the rest of my life making up for my mistakes. I want to have a family with you. One day. When you’re ready and have finished school. I can see us having kids together, even if the thought of being a father scares the shit out of me. Still, I’ve been thinking about it since the day you told me you were pregnant. I want to share a life, babies, everything with you. I may not know anything about kids, but you would be such an amazing mother that I know you would teach me what I need to know.

We belong together, Maya. I knew it from the first time I saw you in the arena cheering on Preston. You were so gorgeous you took my breath away. I could never deserve you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up on you.

So, will you marry me?

Hell, will you please just call me? I would give anything to hear your voice.

Love,

Christian

Oh my god. He proposed in a handwritten letter? Why didn’t Christian tell me? Unless he changed his mind and was relieved that I didn’t get his letters.

There’s a commotion downstairs, which means Preston must finally be here. I’m sure my mom is over the moon excited to see him. But I’m still too stunned to move, to let go of Christian’s last letter. He apparently gave up after he asked me to marry him since it’s the last letter. He offered to spend the rest of his life with me and must have thought I ignored him.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs sound like they’re headed this way. Most likely my brother coming to check on me.

Standing up, I brush my knuckles over my cheeks to wipe away the tears. Gathering the letters and envelopes, I return all but the last one, tossing them back into the gift box.

“Mommy, mommy! Dad’s here!” Finley says from behind me. When I spin around, Christian is standing in the doorway, holding our son on his hip. Christian, not Preston.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” I ask in shock. I didn’t even tell him my father died, or that we were coming to Georgia.

“When Preston missed training this morning, I called him and he told me you were both headed this way,” he says simply. “I wanted to be here for you. You know, in case you needed anything. I can watch Finley during the service.”

“That’s…thank you.” I hadn’t even considered needing someone to babysit Finley. He’s too young to see my father’s casket being lowered into the ground. I want to keep my little boy happy and innocent from that darkness, at least for a few more years.

“It’s nothing,” Christian says, which causes me to shake my head as my eyes sting with more tears filling them.

“It’s everything.”

“ Who wants some apple pie and ice cream ?” my mother calls out.

“I do! I do!” Finley immediately squirms down from Christian’s grip at the offer of his favorite dessert. He takes off running as soon as his feet hit the floor.

Christian smiles as he watches him disappear, then turns back to me. “How are you holding up, baby?”

“I’m…fine.”

“You’re not fine, Maya.”

“I hadn’t spoken to my mother or father in years, so being back here…it’s…strange.” I wave the letter still in my hand around, gesturing to my empty childhood room.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“One of your letters. Your last letter apparently,” I reply. “They were all in this box. I’m not even sure how in the world they got here. I guess…the school must have forwarded them here, to my last known address.”

“Oh. Right.” Christian’s cheeks flush as he studies the box, no doubt trying to recall what he said in them.

“You asked me to marry you?”

“Uh, yeah.” Reaching up, he rubs the back of his reddening neck. “I thought you should know that I was serious. I bought a ring right after I mailed the letter, you know, in case you said yes.”

“You bought me an engagement ring?” I whisper.

“Yep. It’s still in the little box in my kitchen junk drawer. You know, the one where everything that doesn’t have a place goes?”

He just referred to a diamond engagement ring as junk.

“Why didn’t you return it or sell it?” I ask him.

“Because that would’ve been giving up on you changing your mind, and that’s not something I’m capable of doing,” he says casually as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets. “You didn’t give up on me either or you would’ve dated and moved on by now.”

“I-I guess that’s true. Although, you obviously dated and moved on. More times than you can probably count.”

“Not because I stopped loving you! And I told you that wasn’t me moving on. It was me trying to ease the ache, even if it was only for a few minutes. Nothing more than temporary distractions that I fucking regret. Distractions that I can’t even remember because they weren’t you.”

For the first time, I actually believe him, that he loves me.

Maybe it’s because the old letters prove that he didn’t think we were just some whim he quickly moved on and forgot about. He loved me then and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. He even said he wanted to be there for me during the pregnancy, and I shut him out.

I was just so scared and hurt by my parents that I think I took it out on Christian. Pushing him away meant avoiding more heartbreak.

Except, it didn’t work. I couldn’t stop thinking about him or loving him no matter how much time went by.

And I don’t want to waste another second of my life without him.

Tossing the letter onto the bed, I cross the space between us and grab the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down to mine.

If Christian is surprised by my sudden kiss, he doesn’t show it. His arms immediately wind around my waist, pulling me closer while his tongue eagerly meets mine.

“I need you…to finish what you started years ago,” I whisper against his lips.

“Here? Right now?” Pulling back enough to see my face, his blond eyebrows are raised.

“Yes,” I answer. “Right here. Right now. I’m tired of waiting.”

“Fuck yes,” Christian agrees.

Reaching behind him, he closes the door and fumbles around for the lock while still holding me, as if he’s afraid I’ll leave or change my mind.