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stassi

“We’re pulling up at camp,” Damien said on the phone.

The last place I wanted to have this supervised phone call was in the car on the way to Damien’s camp, but here I was, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as I listened to them talk.

“Is Mommy there?” the person on the other end asked as I threw the car in park.

“Obviously,” I retorted.

Damien was only allowed to have these calls a few times with Dimitri, but the courts told me it was in my best interest to continue them.

Otherwise he could say I was trying to keep Damien away from him.

Which was exactly what I was trying to do, but I didn’t need to give anyone else any reason to legally keep me from my child.

“I’m here.” I sighed, resigning to the fact that I was going to have to finish off the call.

I knew what was going to happen next. It always happened.

“What are you doing? Are you going to tell me where you live so I can send you letters or visit you when I’m out?” He always asked the same things.

“No,” I responded. “Anyone who needs to know where I live, knows, and you’re not on that list.”

It took a long time for me to get here with Dimitri. I used to be scared of him even though he was now a voice on the other side of the phone.

“Did you want to ask your son what kind of camp he’s going to?” I tried to redirect the conversation.

“Tell me, Stassi. Why are you such a bitch? Why do you?—”

I clicked the phone off speaker so Damien couldn’t hear him.

“Are you slutting around just like last time? You were cheating on me. I did what I did because you are a fucking cheating bitch.”

I looked back, and my sweet, innocent boy was kicking his legs and looking out the window.

I kept my voice level so he didn’t pick up on the anger brewing through my veins.

“No, Dimitri. If you don’t remember, that was all on you.

Did you have anything else you’d like to say to your son? We’re on a recorded line.”

“I said what I needed to say.”

I closed my eyes. “You asked him how he was and where he was going. That’s it. You have nothing else to ask after speaking to him?”

“No. I want to know if you’re still a whore. I want to know if you still cry when you take dick?—”

“Bye, Dimitri.” I hung up.

This conversation was clearly over, and if the lawyers wanted to yell at me, I’d tell them to review the tapes of the recording.

I sighed before glancing over my shoulder.

“Ready for camp, Damien?” I asked with a smile.

The last place I wanted to be was here, but this was my only option for summer camp, and thankfully, he’d turned five and was able to participate in the program this year.

With him at Kids Camp, I’d finally be able to switch over to day shift and hopefully feel like I was actually human again.

I’d been working the night shift as a dispatcher for the last couple years, and then I’d come home and take care of Damien.

I was utterly exhausted, trying to fit in my sleep when he was at his half-day preschool.

This freedom meant I wouldn’t have to rely on my roommate, Alina, to watch Damien for me while I worked the night shifts, but taking off an entire day to be here for family day and learn how to throw a ball around was grating on every nerve.

To top it off, Damien was having a bad morning, not listening, which made us late, and I hated when all eyes were on me.

“How old is this little guy?” a Kids Camp worker in a white shirt asked me.

We were outside at the adjacent park, where everyone was being sorted into separate groups. Some hockey players were here and were supposed to come around to each group, which only amplified my desire to get out of here.

I had spent four years never listening to a hockey game like my life depended on it.

I would walk away from any conversation where the sport was mentioned, and I would avoid bars and restaurants on game nights like the plague.

Hockey was a painful reminder of my ex-husband, a man who nearly took my life away.

Hockey, for me, became synonymous with fear and pain. It wasn’t just a sport—it was a symbol of a past I desperately wanted to forget. And yet, even as I stood in that park, the mere mention of hockey players being present made my skin crawl and my heart race.

On the contrary, it was also a reminder of the one man I pushed away when I was at my lowest low. The one person who offered me his hand every time, and I was too scared to take it.

He was everything my husband wasn’t—gentle, understanding, and patient.

But the scars of my past ran too deep. It took me an entire year before I walked again.

My mother was fortunately able to stay with me, but any money we’d won in court went to all my medical expenses.

If he had stayed, I would have pulled him down deep into my hole, and I truly wasn’t ready for it.

I was trying to keep it together for Damien’s sake, yet the thought of seeing a hockey player up close was almost too much to bear. I dreaded hearing a name I recognized or seeing a familiar face, and it felt like no matter how far I ran, my past was always right behind me.

“He’s five,” I said softly to the counselor, who gestured for us to head over to the corner of the park, where another counselor was already handing out gloves and mitts.

“I don’t wanna do this. I wanna stay with Alina,” Damien huffed and shoved his hands across his chest.

“Mommy will be able to spend all the time in the world with you after camp. This is really good for us.”

Damien looked up at me, his curls high with the Midwest summer humidity, which reminded me of my disdain for this place.

I had only come to the city with my mother when my doctor in California suggested we try the rehab facility out here to help with my injury since they were rated the best in the country.

I was grateful when they did help and I was able to walk, but when my mom had to go back to Russia, I was stuck.

“Okay.” Damien finally gave in, and I held his hand while we walked over to the big group of people.

“Hey, little guy. My name is Peter,” the counselor said. “Do you want to learn to play baseball with your mom?”

Damien nodded, and I only smiled, grateful that I decided to wear bike shorts and an oversized T-shirt because I was so sweaty.

We grabbed a mitt and threw the ball like the counselor showed us, and while the birds chirped in the tree above us and the sirens sang beyond the park, it was a nice reprieve to be here and not have to listen to all the heartbreak within the city.

“What do you do for work, Mom?” Peter asked.

He was a kid, not older than eighteen, and this was his summer job, but he seemed genuinely happy to be here.

“I’m a dispatcher,” I said with a smile.

“Wow. You must hear some stories.”

“Stories” didn’t even begin to cover what I heard every day.

It was more like pain, suffering, and anguish on a loop.

But when I had been in my wheelchair, it was also the easiest test for me to study for, so I just kind of fell into it.

I like to think I’m helping people on their worst days, just like he helped me on mine.

“I do,” I said, tossing the ball to Damien, who giggled as he ran to catch it.

“I love your shirt little dude. Where did you get that?” the counselor asked Damien, whose green eyes lit up with pride.

“My mommy made it,” he said.

The counselor looked back at me, and I shrugged.

I loved making clothes. It became a necessity to make the clothes gifted to us feel a little more modern.

My job paid me well, but with childcare costs, medical bills that I still had to pay, and trying to get my mom back to the States so she could help me, everything was a little expensive these days.

Having a roommate was a blessing. Alina helped with her third of the rent, and we became quick friends. On the occasions when I needed a sitter last minute, she was always there to help out, so that’s why she’s Auntie Alina to us.

Damien’s shirt was made out of old basketball jerseys that I’d sewn together into a brand-new baseball tee.

“Dude. So cool.”

The guy reached out for a high five, and I gave him one as the ball slid past me. “Damien,” I laughed. “You threw it so far.”

The ball had slid down toward the edge of the field by the back fence. I didn’t want to get it and leave him alone, so I went to grab him, but the counselor stopped me. “You grab it. I’ll step in if that’s okay with you, little dude?”

Damien nodded, and I smiled at them before walking away to grab the stray baseball.

I pulled my ponytail tighter and walked down to the edge of the field.

“I cannot fucking believe it,” a guy said from behind me.

I didn’t quite recognize the deep voice, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t jump out of my skin because I’d been so far away from the crowd. So I grabbed the ball to use as protection if I needed it as I turned around.

I dropped the ball to the ground, my jaw dropping right along with it as I stared at one of my ex-husband’s old teammates. He had the brightest blonde curls I had ever seen. His hair was so bright it was almost silver in the sunlight.

“Dirks,” I breathed out.

I wouldn’t have ever forgotten him. We’d only officially met once, but he had come around the hospital a few times when I was still in OC to check on me when I kicked Alex out.

But that’s not the reason I wouldn’t forget him.

It was because after that first dinner we all had together, Dimitri thought that I had been looking at him in a different way.

God. Little did he know what I was actually doing and who I was really falling for...

“Hey, Stassi,” he replied, matching my tone. “It’s really fucking good to see you.”

Without another word, he pulled me in for a hug, and as my knees threatened to give out, I was grateful he was holding me.

But this was the very reason I didn’t want to come when I heard the hockey players were going to be here.

This very fucking reason was a reminder of a past that was so painful in so many different ways.

He let go as I grabbed his arm. “Hold on.”

He looked down and then nodded, holding my hand and guiding me over to the bench next to us.

I sat down, checking to make sure Damien was okay, and then looked back at Dirks.

“You’re walking.” He looked like he was in shock, and as I opened my mouth to respond, he shook his head. “Shit. Sorry. That was rude.”

The corners of my lips twisted into a smirk. “No.” I lifted my feet. “After about a year, once the trial was over, I was able to really focus on physical therapy.”

“It worked then?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I shook my feet. “Guess it did.”

“How are you otherwise? You’re in Chicago.”

I giggled. “You are, too.”

He laughed. “Yeah. I got traded to the Ravens with—” He pressed his lips together and shook his curly locks before looking back at me. “Anyway, I’m here and so are you.”

I gave him a quick pat on the back. “I came here because the physical therapy program for my knee is the best in the country. My mom helped me move out here, and then unfortunately, she had to go back home to Russia, but at the time, I was able to walk a bit on my own with a cane, so it was fine.”

“Do you work? Does he see his dad?” He threw his hands up to his face. “God. Fuck. That was embarrassing.”

I huffed out a laugh. “I do work. I’m a dispatcher. He...” I looked over at Damien, who was happily chasing after another ball. “Damien is able to call his dad every month, but that’s all.”

“I have so many questions.”

“Mommy,” Damien shouted. “Come play catch.”

I got up, feeling the walls closing in again on me. I was the one with questions. I wanted to ask about him . I wanted to know if Dirks knew where he was or if he was okay.

Dirks reached up and grabbed my hand. “Do you want to get dinner sometime?”

I furrowed my brows at him. I didn’t date, and I certainly didn’t want to date anyone who played hockey.

“No.” He threw his hands up as he jumped off the bench and backed away from me. “No. No. Not like that. As friends. To catch up.” He spoke in frantic, short sentences, and I only narrowed my eyes at him again.

“What do you mean?” I asked, knowing damn well we were never really friends.

“Friends?” he repeated.

“Where have I heard that before?”

He shoved his hands in his pocket and chuckled. “Alright. I’ll give you that, but I promise. I want to take you out while I live here.”

It felt like a bad idea. Dinner with Dirks was bound to bring up memories I’d spent years burying. Everything in my body was telling me not to go. I had worked so hard to remove myself from the world of hockey, and going to dinner with Dirks meant reopening old wounds.

But curiosity gnawed at me. What had he been up to? Where was he now? Was he okay? Those questions circled my mind relentlessly. I was so curious, so, so curious, to know what my one true friend had been doing all these years.

“Just a dinner or drinks.” Dirks shuffled his feet.

A part of me wanted to say no, to keep the past firmly in the past. But another part of me was desperate for answers, for closure.

“I don’t know, Dirks. It’s been a long time, and I’ve worked hard to move on.” My voice wavered.

“I get it. I really do. We don’t even have to talk about him.” He insisted, his eyes earnest and hopeful.

Against my better judgment, I found myself nodding. “Alright. As friends. To catch up. Let’s go.”

As I agreed, a wave of anxiety washed over me. Memories of my ex-husband and the life I had left behind threatened to surface. But alongside that fear was a flicker of intrigue and hope. Maybe dinner with Dirks would bring some answers. Maybe it would help me finally make peace with the past.

I stood from the bench, and the low, deep, familiar voice that had haunted my dreams cut through the air. It was rich and smooth, laced with an unmistakable hint of seduction, and wrapped around me like a warm, velvety cloak.

“Where are we going?”