17. Work In Progress
Chapter 17
Work In Progress
Cece
A wash of cold air hits me, startling me awake. There’s a sharp pain shooting through my neck, and I blink away the gauzy film blurring my vision. I’m resting on a pillow that smells calming. A leathery, sage scent. It’s warm and moving gently up and down.
“Hey, sleeping beauty.”
The familiar voice is a little softer and gentler than his usual rasp, as if he’s trying not to startle me. Where am I? My fingers get all tingly and my eyes fly open when I remember. My piggies!
“How are they?”
“No word yet. I would have woken you up.”
“Right. How long was I asleep for?” I can’t even believe I fell asleep while my poor babies are lying in there, helpless and sick. It feels like a betrayal .
“Not too long. Half an hour or so,” he says, fingers lightly stroking my head.
I struggle to sit up, but he’s holding me tight to his chest.
“I should check on them.”
“I’m sure the vet will come out soon with an update. She’s probably busy working with them. You don’t want to bother her, do you?”
“No, I guess you’re right.” He loosens his hold to let me sit up but keeps his arm firmly resting on my shoulder.
There are a couple of new people in the waiting room now, and the door is swinging shut after the newest arrival.
“Thanks again for staying with me.”
“It’s not a problem, Cece. I’m not a huge fan of hospitals, but I’m here for you.”
“That makes me feel even worse. Bad experience?”
I tilt my head up to look at him, and his eyes shutter in that way they usually do when he’s about to shut down a question about his past, but he surprises me.
“My mother.”
His features are tight, and I hate to see the pain in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. Was she sick?”
“Yes, she died when I was little. I was too young to remember, so you don’t need to feel too bad about it. But that’s when things started getting bad with my father.”
I’m not sure if it’s the lack of sleep, or the closeness we’ve shared tonight during a tough situation, but he’s opening up to me for the first time and I don’t want him to stop .
Carefully, though. Don’t want to scare him. “Is that when he started...” I trail off, not wanting to word this wrong.
“Drinking. Yes. I think. It’s hard to say because I was so young, but I’m pretty sure that’s when things went downhill.”
“I understand why you don’t want to see him.”
He nods.
“Do you think it might help, though? Not for him. I’m sure he doesn’t deserve anything from you, but maybe for you. Some closure. A final goodbye, or fuck you, or whatever you need.”
I keep my voice low so no-one around us can hear, but I can see him shutting down.
“I’m hungry. Where’s my...?” He looks around, half standing and then looking toward the door.
“What?”
“My backpack. I don’t have my backpack. I must have left it at Wright’s. I always have my backpack. Maybe it’s in the car.” He rushes off, leaving me in his wake.
The cool breeze hits me again as he walks outside, but then he’s back in a minute, shaking his head with his arms wrapped around himself in a hug.
“I’m going to call Beau. Maybe I left it at Wrights. I hope. What if...”
I’ve never seen him this agitated before. He’s pacing the waiting room, long legs taking him across the room in a few strides. I see him shaking his head as he talks to my brother.
Finally, he hangs up, running his hand over his short hair.
“He got it. He brought it home. It’s okay. ”
“I’m sorry. This is my fault. You never would have lost it if Beau hadn’t made you come out here. Is your wallet in there? I know how much it sucks to lose your ID. It happened to me when we were traveling in Europe one summer. It was such a pain in the ass to get sorted out.”
His shadow passes over me and the heat from his body brushes my side as he settles next to me. He remains still and quiet as I’m babbling on, staring at my hands. It’s not a surprise, really. He is the strong, silent type. But my words slow as I realize it feels different. There’s a tightly wound tension in the silence. I cut myself off, turning toward him to see his elbows propped on his knees, head resting on his hands. There’s a slight tremor to them.
“Devlin?” I reach up, placing a tentative hand on his back. There’s a slight shudder running through it. “Is it something else? Something about the bag?” I don’t understand, but this feels like more than the stress of losing his wallet. And this isn’t the first time he’s reacted to having his bag touched.
He lifts his head but doesn’t turn toward me.
“Sorry.” His voice is gruff, hands shaky.
“What is it? Can I help?”
He tilts his head back, exposing his throat, and my eyes are fixated on his Adam’s apple as he swallows hard.
“No. You can’t. It’s fucking stupid. It’s just a backpack. Nothing important.”
“Then... what is it? Please tell me. Maybe I can do something. ”
“You can’t do anything. I’m fucked up. No one can do anything for me.”
“I’d like to try. Maybe you can tell me about it?” I’m pleading now. Seeing him like this slashes my heart to shreds.
“I’m going to sit in the car. You don’t need this right now. You’ve got your own worries and I’m dragging you down. Like I knew I would.” He jumps up from the seat, hurrying back toward the door.
I’m stunned for a minute, my butt glued to the seat. But no. He doesn’t get to do that. Take off without talking to me. That’s not the way this thing works.
A vicious wind kicked in while we were inside, almost knocking me on my ass, but I push through. His hands are braced on the hood of my brother’s car and his shoulders are shuddering. It’s cold, but I don’t think that’s the problem.
“Dev, let’s sit in the car. We can talk or be silent. Whatever you need. It’s too cold out here and you’ve only got that thin shirt on.”
His complete lack of movement is starting to worry me. “Come on, Dev. Just get in the car with me. I’m cold.”
A touch of guilt nags at me. I’m using my own comfort to push him, but it works. He finally stirs, arms flexing as he pushes off the hood. “Right.” He comes around my side of the car, opening the door for me, and then settling into the driver’s seat. His hands are gripping the wheel so had his knuckles have gone white.
“What is it, Dev?” I place an arm on his shoulder, giving him a soft squeeze and letting the heat from his body seep into my chilly fingers.
It takes everything in me to control all the thoughts and questions racing through my brain from bursting out. That’s not what he needs right now. He’s like a wild animal. I need to give him a moment to trust me. Then hopefully I’ll get something, anything, out of this stoic man.
A shiver ripples my skin as the cold sets in again. It’s better in here, away from the powerful bite of the wind, but it’s not warm.
“It’s stupid. The backpack thing.” His voice creaks out a little rusty.
I rub circles on his arm but hold my tongue. Waiting for him.
The harsh breath he blows up fogs the windshield. “My mother died when I was tiny. Don’t remember anything about her. Except the smell of the hospital room where we visited her in those last days.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. Like I said. I don’t even remember her. How can you miss someone you never knew?”
“I think you can. You can be sad about the things you missed out on. The chance to get to know her.”
“I guess. My dad always drank. I’m pretty sure. He was a blue collar go to work, come home and crack a few beers everyday kind of guy, but after she died, he got out of control. He spiraled. He stopped looking after himself. He stopped looking after me. He lost the house, and we started moving around to a new apartment every few months.”
His words slam into me in a rush of pain. I’d gathered he didn’t grow up well off or have an amazing childhood. But this is worse than I thought. He was just a kid who had lost his mother, and then his father abandoned him too. I can’t even imagine. My parents are not great at being parents, but at least I had a stable home. I had Beau, and people who cared about me. I can’t imagine the pain he endured.
“Sometimes there was no food in the fridge. Sometimes there was no heat in the winter. Sometimes he left me alone for days at a time. Off on some bender, or God knows what. The apartments got worse and worse. The last one had rats, and I’d wake up to a creature skittering across my arm in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, Dev.” No wonder he’s scared of my pets. I thought it was... I don’t even know what I thought, but that is something I never could have guessed.
“Anyway. A teacher finally noticed, and they took me away. I didn’t want to go. No matter how bad it was, he was still my dad. He was all the family I had. I was already angry, and it got worse after that. I lashed out at every family that took me in. So, I bounced around a lot. Some of them were nice. They tried to help me. They tried to be nice. Others... not so much.”
The moonlight shining through the window bathes him in a pale glow as he tilts his head back, leaning in his seat.
“I probably would have ended up in jail if it wasn’t for the Neelands taking me in when I was ten. Wayne was a former college hockey player. He ran a local league and coached a couple of teams, including a group my age. I’d never even been on the ice when he brought me to the rink with him. He was nice, but he didn’t put up with any of my shit. And as soon as I hit the ice, I knew.”
“You knew you wanted to play hockey?” Wow, that’s incredible.
A bar of a laugh comes out. “God no. I hit the ice so hard I had bruises for a week that day. But a couple of the other kids laughed at me flailing about there and Wayne got super pissed at them. He gave them a lecture, and...” he pauses. “I think that was the first time anyone had stood up for me. It changed something in me. I felt like I needed to prove myself. To make him proud. I started showing up every day. I practiced until I had blisters up the backs of my heels. I’d skate until my legs were numb. And it didn’t take long for me to get the hang of it. A year in and I was playing better than the rest of the eleven-year-olds.”
“I’m glad you found someone.” I don’t think this is the end of it, though. His eyes have a distant look in them as he deliberates over his next words.
“By the time I was fourteen, I was playing with kids older than me, but then my foster mom Jenny’s mother got sick, and they moved back to Florida to look after her. They had a lot going on, and they couldn’t take me with them.”
“That’s terrible. I am so sorry.” To finally find stability and a home where people care about you, only to have it torn away again must have been heartbreaking for him .
“Just how it is. But Wayne made sure I could play hockey. That was the only thing that saved me. He arranged a free pass to the club, equipment, and a team until I graduated from high school. And that’s what I did. I spent all my time at the rink. Sometimes even slept there while I bounced around between families.”
I’ve got an overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around him and never let go. But I can tell he’s not quite finished, and if I move too fast, he might not be able to get the rest out.
“There was so much uncertainty moving from one family to the next. Sometimes the foster families had their own kids, or there were other fosters around. Sometimes I had to share a room. And some of the other kids were in even worse shape than I was. They’d learned to steal to survive, and they couldn’t stop the urge. The only things I still had from my own childhood home were that backpack, a few photos, and a stuffed bear. I kept it with me at all times, and whenever I could grab extra food, I did. Whether it was from the nutrition bin in a school classroom or at the arena if a parent brought extra snacks. Any time I got my hands on any money, I bought myself food to keep on hand. I don’t know if I’ll ever shake that empty hollow feeling of hunger. So, I still do it. Keep snacks with me, extra socks and underwear, a toothbrush and toothpaste.”
My stomach is churning now at his story. No wonder he freaked out when I touched his bag at the hotel. I chalked it up to some compulsive tendencies like my brother has, but it wasn’t that. It was genuine fear.
“I’m sorry. ”
“No. It’s not you. It’s all me and my fucked-up childhood. That’s why I’m no good for you, Cece. I’m broken. Can’t even go anywhere without a stupid backpack.”
I wince at the sound of his hand banging on the steering wheel. “That’s not true. I’ve never suffered a day of hunger or physical need in my life, so I can’t even fathom how terrible it was for you. But my parents were hardly emotionally available. I know what it means to cling to people and things for comfort. Probably the reason I collect animals. You’re not broken. You’re just in progress. Like all of us.”
His shoulders slump and he leans toward me, seeking comfort. “I’m so sorry. I’ve fucked this all up. Your pets are sick, and you’re worried about them, and I had to go make it all about me.”
I pull him in even closer. It’s a little strange comforting the massive guy, but we’re all human. We’re all vulnerable, and the way he opened up to me meant something. He trusts me with secrets he keeps tight to his chest. Secrets his best friend probably doesn’t even know.
“It’s fine. You were here for me. And now I’m here for you. That’s the way it works.”
He relaxes into me for a moment before pulling away, clearing his throat. “We should go back in. Check on your pigs.”
Sensing he needs the distance from the conversation, I nod, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek and then I open the door, bracing myself against the wind.
He walks around the car, grabbing my hand in his, squeezing it tight as we make our way back in to check on my pets.