Page 23

CHAPTER 23

EDIN

I stand outside Dak’s house and stare up at it. It’s a three-bedroom colonial with a small but incredible backyard that includes an in-ground pool. There’s a large front porch spanning the full width of the house, complete with a porch swing. He lives on a very green, picturesque street that looks like it comes from a picture book.

Dak and Sparrow bought this house three years ago once we returned from Sparrow’s boat and the summer-long trip on the ocean. We ended up spending a month in a long-term rental, which horrified me because I didn’t have that kind of money. Not that either of them asked for any money. Ever. But still.

Mo and I stayed here for over two years. Right until we moved into the OXL frat house. I’m not going to say that was the wisest decision, but living there has been great. Mo has constant interaction with a variety of people. She’s learning about diversity in cultures and about all the different career paths there are out there.

She’s observing friendships and arguments and how to compromise and negotiate. I love seeing her meet new people and how she navigates conversations. She’s so smart and her social skills are far more advanced than where she’s expected to be, according to her pediatrician. I love her emotional maturity and how she’s forcing the big frat boys to not only acknowledge their own emotions, but also deal with them in a healthy manner.

It might not be a situation that many people approve of, but I don’t have any regrets making the decision. I’d do it again if I had to repeat that moment.

However, this is the first time I’ve stood outside Dak’s house and hesitated to go in. I know Mo’s inside. I know she still has a room that Dak and Sparrow haven’t changed—we need somewhere to go in the summer, after all. I know I’m always welcome here.

The thing is, I also know Dak’s going to yell at me for not telling him about my injury. Which is fine. I expect that and honestly, I would do the same if the situation were reversed. The part I’m not looking forward to is talking about Eli. I’m not ready.

I’m not sure I’m ever going to be ready. Even after our talk, I don’t know what’s going on between us. I‘m not sure I want to know because naming it is the thing that could make me freak out. If I can continue not knowing , that’s better. I can’t freak out if this is just… whatever it is.

Sighing, I look down the road. The sun streaks in through the canopy of mature trees lining the sidewalk. There are birds and somewhere nearby, there’s water. I can hear it running. This is a perfect neighborhood for families.

When I turn back to look at the house, the front door is open and Dak’s standing there watching me with an amused half smile. Busted.

I trudge up the stairs and stop in front of him. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yep,” I say, nodding.

“Therapy okay?”

I nod again. That’s why I’m not here already with Mo. I dropped her off this morning, but then took a walk down to the park for some anonymous privacy to talk to my therapist. Today was the first day I’ve actually talked about Confessions and Elijah with her in more than a generalized passing comment.

But I needed some guidance. I need to know how to control my panicking and need to push away anything that’s threatening my homeostasis and the little bit of peace I’ve created. Even when it’s not a bad thing.

Elijah isn’t a bad thing. The biggest thing I took from my therapy session today was that this is my choice. Everything in my life is my choice. Including what happens with Elijah. Regardless of what he wants and what he tells me we’re doing in any regard, I have a choice. I can say no. I can walk away and never see him again if that’s what I want.

I don’t want any of that. But knowing I have that option makes me feel better. A lot better. I’m still in control of my life. Of Mo’s life. I can change our situation if I feel uncomfortable.

The part I’m still uncomfortable with and haven’t quite found the answer to is what I want in regards to Elijah. I’m not ready to face those feelings. I don’t even want to acknowledge them because doing so makes me feel like I’m falling into a black pit.

It’s scary.

When I don’t offer anything else, Dak steps outside and closes the front door. He heads for the porch swing and sits. A moment later, I follow.

“You can yell at me now,” I offer.

He gives me a wan look. “How would you feel if I’d been in an accident, and I didn’t tell you?”

I sigh. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I swear to you, I had every intention of calling you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Taking a deep breath, I look out at the street, so I don’t have to see his disappointment in me. “It happened Friday evening after practice. I’d already committed to going to Confessions, so I went and… it was fine. He was careful and whatever. By the time I got home, all I wanted to do was lie down, I hurt so fucking much. I didn’t sleep at all because I was in so much pain. Sunday morning, Mo’s sitting on my floor coloring and looking at me like I’m on my deathbed with big tears trapped in her eyes so I’m trying like fuck not to make a face, which means I’m not moving at all. I was lying there, trying to work up the strength to call you and not break down from the pain when Eli walked in with soup and pain meds and a puzzle that he planned to do with Mo to entertain her while I slept.”

“Where did he get the meds?”

“His brother had his wisdom teeth pulled.” I shrug.

Dak nods.

“He stayed for a week. Never left me. Took care of Mo. Made sure I ate and didn’t fall on my face in the shower and… yeah.”

“All right,” he says, frowning.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat.

He nods. “It’s okay. Just freaked me out to know you were hurt so badly and didn’t tell me.”

“I know. And I swear to you, I meant to. I was trying to work myself up to calling you and begging you to take Mo for a few days.”

“You wouldn’t have been begging, Edin.” I can hear the frown in his voice and not just see it on his face this time.

Smiling, I bow my head. “I know. But I was distracted by the pain and the promise of a drugged-up sleep, and I was so fucking tired, Dak. I’ve never felt this level of pain all over my damn body.”

“What happened?”

I tell him about the locker room accident and then the results of all the tests I’ve had on my hip.

“It still hurts?” he asks.

I nod and then shrug. “Not nearly as much as it did, but yeah, sometimes. Now it’s like background pain. Always there with a dull pulse, but I don’t necessarily notice it until I’ve either aggravated it, am sitting too long in one position, or we’re talking about it, and I remember it’s there.”

“And they find nothing in the tests?”

“No,” I say, trying not to be frustrated. “The other day during our game, I was slammed into the boards. Which is fine and all. Whatever. But I hit at such an angle where my hip slammed into the boards. My vision went black, and I immediately felt nauseous. It took all I had to get back to the bench and roll myself over the half wall. I sat on the bench with my head between my knees for like ten fucking minutes while I fought not to vomit from the sudden onslaught of pain in my hip.”

“That’s bullshit. Clearly, something is wrong.”

“Mmm,” I grunt. “I’m still working with the trainer, and it seems to be going well. Might just be one of those things that stays with me and causes me dizzying pain when hit just right.”

Dak gives me a severe frown, but there’s not a lot I can do about it. It is what it is. Hopefully, it’ll go away in time.

“You probably need to rest and not put any stress on it.”

“I already lost six years of hockey. My peers are eons ahead of me in skill. I can’t sit out, Dak.”

“You can sit out now and heal, or you can aggravate this injury so much that you can’t play at all. Your chances of being drafted plummet if this injury persists.”

Groaning, I drop my head back and let out an irritated, frustrated whine. “I know. But I’m being honest,” I promise. “I tell the doc and the trainers and Coach the truth about my hip. If they want me to sit out, I will. But I’m not going to volunteer to.”

Dak disapproves of this decision. I know he does, I can feel it. But unlike Dak, hockey is my dream. The older I get, the less likely it is that I’ll get my shot. Especially because of the fact I lost six years of hockey.

He lets it go, though. He doesn’t push and I know he’ll support me no matter what I do. Even if he disagrees with my decision. We sit in silence for a while and watch the occasional car drive by. People walk their dogs. A woman pushes a baby carriage.

“You want to tell me about Eli yet?” Dak asks.

I knew this was coming. That’s why I hadn’t gone in. Even so, I don’t feel the dread I thought I would when he asks. Just… tired.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“This is the guy from Confessions, right?”

I nod.

“Mo’s a fan,” Dak says, and I smile. “She talks about him a lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. She really likes him. It sounds like maybe you do, too, since she says he makes you happy and you smile all the time now.”

My cheeks heat and I turn my face away, so he doesn’t see it. Well, I can pretend he doesn’t see it.

“It’s okay to like him,” Dak says. “There’s nothing wrong with liking a man.”

I sigh. “It has nothing to do with that. To be honest, it never occurred to me to care that he’s a guy.”

“It’s all the other reasons, huh?”

I nod. “I told him. Everything.”

“And?”

My eyes close and I can’t help the smile that forms. “He hugged me and told me he’d take it all away if he could.”

Dak leans his shoulder into mine. “That’s a good reaction.”

“He promises there’s no pressure on me and… what we’re doing. We can continue without a label. Without a commitment. But he’s not letting anyone else touch me at Confessions.”

Dak snorts, making me grin wider. “How do you feel about his response?”

“It takes a weight off. I feel less… cornered. Less panicky.” I look at Dak. “The moment I realized something was really happening was when I watched him carry Mo to bed. She was sleeping in his arms. He laid her down and tucked her in and I just… couldn’t catch my breath. He treats her so well. And he’s so fucking good with her, Dak. He has endless patience and… I guess it freaked me out.”

“She deserves all that and more. I love how happy she is now.”

“I do too. I guess a part of me is waiting for it to end. Either because I freak out and he decides he can’t deal with my mess or… he decides he doesn’t want to spend all his free time with a kid just to be with me. Or… anything else.”

“Doesn’t sound like he’s going to do that,” Dak argues.

I sigh. “It doesn’t. But…”

“It’s hard to trust someone when you’ve lived for so long not trusting those around you to care about your feelings and well-being. Not that I’m speaking from experience, but from observation.” He grips my wrist for a minute. “But you deserve happiness as much as Mo does, Edin. It’s okay to allow yourself to be happy.”

“But how do I know it’s not going to change? What if he changes his mind?” Ugh. I hate the whiny, helpless tone my voice takes on.

“Sometimes you need to take the risk. Every single day, you get on the ice and take a risk as you strive for your dreams. You take a bigger risk chasing after your goal now that you’re injured. I understand this feels bigger because it’s personal and you’ve lived a long time in a situation where your personal needs were unimportant to everyone around you. But now you have someone in front of you who has made them a priority. It’s okay to give yourself permission to take that chance.”

I nod, though I’m not entirely sure I’m convinced. Minutes pass and I feel better having talked to Dak. He knows everything I’ve gone through. He’s been there every day. Even when he moved to California for school, I spoke to him often. He called me all the time. He’s the only person in my life who has made me one of his top priorities.

Until now, I suppose.

My phone rings and I fish it out of my pocket. All the peace and relaxation I was feeling vanishes in smoke as the unknown number flashes across the screen.

Dak takes the phone from my hand and answers it. My breathing stops entirely as I stare wide-eyed. “Stop calling,” he snaps into the phone before hanging up. I watch as he blocks the number.

Chills race over my body as a pit forms in my stomach. I don’t actually know for certain that every unknown number that calls is my mother. But every time I’ve answered an unknown number, it’s been her.

Dak hangs onto my phone for a while but when no further calls come in, he hands it back. “You’re not answering them, are you?” he asks, as if he knows exactly what I’d been thinking.

“No,” I answer.

“Good. I swear, we’re changing your number one of these days.”

I don’t bother to tell him that would be no good. She’ll still find me.