Chapter 30
ASHER REYNOLDS
I’m getting my ass handed to me at Go Fish. So while I’m not going to accuse a five-year-old of cheating, I do have some very pointed questions on how she became such a card shark.
I look down at my cards, which are fanned out in my hands. “Have any… threes?”
Lyla is focused on her own cards, her hair still a little damp from her bath earlier.
I managed to get about half the tangles out, which I know is normal from Chase’s retelling of trying to wrangle her post-bath.
She bites her lip, something that her dad also does when he’s focusing, before looking up at me, a glint in her eye. “Go fish.”
“Woof. It’s tough out here,” I say, picking up another card from the pile. It’s a seven, which is no help to me.
So far, the night’s been going pretty well. At least in my opinion.
When we got home, I made tacos and rice, which she ate.
I take that as a win because who knows how many cookies she was able to scarf down in the ten minutes that we were at the recital mixer?
Her bath came next, which was me keeping an eye on her from the doorway and making sure that she didn’t need anything.
She’s really self-sufficient, which I know is hard for Chase.
It’s clear that he loves her more than life itself, so I’m sure that it’s a constant battle to help her grow more independent but also not wanting to let go.
Now, we’re on our third game of Go Fish, which will have to be the last one before we head upstairs so that I can put her to bed.
So far, she hasn’t asked that many questions about why we got dropped off and her dad left. Except that she did insist on wearing one of his big sweatshirts as pajamas tonight. That isn’t always the case, so I know that she’s missing him.
It’s clear that my luck has officially run out when she asks, “Where were Grandma and Grandpa?”
She looks sad, but also like her dad, she does a good job of trying to hide it. Chalk it up to another Chase family trait. Never letting people see how vulnerable you are.
I clear my throat. Chase and I agreed not to get into the specifics with her until we know that it is actually a clean break and that he’ll be coming home in a cast tonight.
I’ve been checking my phone religiously, and besides updates that they’re still waiting on a myriad of tests, there’s no news.
At least Mr. Chase will have a kick-ass physical therapist to aid him in his recovery.
I wish that I could be there with him. Hospitals are awful, sterile places that have always made me feel physically better and emotionally worse while I’m there. I don’t like the idea of him going through this alone, and putting on a brave face for his parents without anyone there to support him.
“Do you have any sevens?” She asks, her earlier question unanswered, and I hand them over while I settle on a response.
“Your dad went to help your grandma and grandpa tonight.”
Her little nose scrunches up again, like she literally smells bullshit on my words. And I’d laugh, except that I hate to see any heart or confusion on her face, too. Lyla and Wyatt Chase both have me wrapped around their fingers, and I know it.
So do they, I realize as she fans out three sevens on the table. “They missed me singing.”
“I know, Lyla. And I’m sure they’re really upset about that. But the good news is that your dad recorded the whole thing. So now, they can watch it over and over again. I bet he’s showing it to them right now for about the millionth time.”
Her lips tick into a small smile. “That’s a lot of times.”
“It was a really, really good show.”
“What’s a beefcake?” she asks, rolling the word around, trying to make sense of it.
I fan my cards out wider, confused. “Beefcake?”
“It sounds gross. Who wants a cake made of beef?” She’s got a point there.
Except that one could argue a hamburger is a beefcake, depending on how you define cake.
But I don’t have to say any of that because she adds, “Ms. Jodi called you that.” My heart melts when she juts her chin out defiantly.
“But if that’s a bad word, it was mean.”
I try to hide my smile. I didn’t really notice Jodi, given that all my attention was wrapped up in Chase while we were waiting for Lyla to appear. “It means that you like how someone looks. Does that make sense?”
She nods slowly. “So, it wasn’t mean?”
I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t mean.” Then I add, “But you shouldn’t go around using that word.
It’s a grown-up word.” I got that little tip about ‘grown-up words’ from Chase, to explain why even if something isn’t bad, sometimes kids shouldn’t use it.
When I was wrangling my younger siblings as little more than a kid, myself, that concept didn’t exist. There were swear words and all other words.
“Like butt?” she says with a mischievous smile, and I know she’s excited that she found a way to use that one. This kid is going to give us a run for our money, I just know it.
I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “Why don’t you get that butt upstairs and brush your teeth? It’s bedtime.”
I watch as she races up the stairs, even as my own thoughts have stopped me short.
I put my cards down on the table and drag my hands along my beard.
I can’t be thinking like this. I’m grateful for whatever time I get with Lyla and Chase, but the worst thing that I can do is assume that we’re all going to be one happy family one day.
Even though, as the days wear on, it’s what I want more than anything.
What happens after I graduate is unclear. Everything from whatever job I’ll get to if hockey will still be a part of my life to whether I should stay in Massachusetts. But what does seem so clear that I feel like I could be a fortune teller is the idea of me, Chase, and Lyla.
The three of us, together.
My heart squeezes with the weight of it. It’s not like I can bring something like that up to Chase. We’re not even supposed to be together, and here I am, dreaming of an impossible future with him?
At the very least, there’s still five months left in the school year. I don’t want to waste them by blowing up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Instead of dwelling on it, I head up the stairs, stopping in the bathroom doorway. “How’s it going? Let me see those chompers.”
Lyla smiles at me in the mirror, white foam outlining her mouth. She definitely took a very loose approach to the ‘toothpaste a size of a pea’ recommendation, especially without supervision.
I was never a kid who pushed boundaries, but Olivia was. She always wanted to know what things meant or to try and do things on her own.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out discreetly.
Wyatt Chase 8:02 P.M.
How are things going over there?
I know what he’s asking is, ‘have you already started dragging Lyla to bed?’
I snap a photo of Lyla in the mirror brushing her teeth and send it back.
Wyatt Chase 8:02 P.M.
I knew that you had it covered, but thanks for sending the photo.
The thing is, I’ll give Chase whatever reassurances he wants or needs. In fact, I want to tell him and show him every second of the day just how serious I am about him and Lyla.
As she’s wrapping up brushing her teeth, with a little extra prodding from me to get all the spots, I shoot back a text.
Asher Reynolds 8:02 P.M.
Not pictured: the pound of gummy bears that I let her eat.
Wyatt Chase 8:03 P.M.
If that’s true, then you’re only hurting yourself…
Lyla turns toward me then. Her toothbrush is still hanging out of her mouth, her words almost unintelligible when she asks, “When is daddy getting home?”
“I was just texting with him. I hope soon.” I’m being as honest as I can without stressing either one of us out. I’m a terrible liar, and she’s a sensitive kid who I’d do anything to protect.
“Will I get to see him before bed?” I’m pleased to see that she’s rinsing her toothbrush off and everything before placing it back in its holder.
I step back from the doorway as she hops down from her footstool. She comes closer, and I put my hand on top of her head. “I don’t think so, but it’s sort of like Santa Claus. He’ll be here when you wake up, so all you have to do is go to sleep to make that happen.”
I love that she looks suspicious, carefully weighing my words. “Okay… but I still want a bedtime story.”
“I happen to love bedtime stories,” I say, holding my hand up to my chest. I make sure that my voice doesn’t crack when I add, “I used to read a lot of bedtime stories to my little sister, when she was about your age.”
Even though Lyla is dark-haired and Olivia was blonde, and Lyla is small and slight whereas Olivia was rough and tumbly, I can’t help but draw comparisons. They both love ferociously. And are too smart and curious for their own good.
I rub my hand against my chest, where my heart is aching. I want to push harder against my sternum, to try and massage the sadness away. I know that it won’t work, though. The only way out is through, if there’s anything that I’ve learned about my grief over the last five months.
And even though it hurts, I smile when Lyla asks, “Which ones did she like?” She’s already wandering toward her bedroom, lulled by the promise of whatever story she wants.
And hell, she probably knows that she’ll get more than one, just because this night is such a departure from her usual routine.
I tried to keep everything as normal as possible, but I’ve never watched her alone before.
On top of that, she probably picked up that Chase was antsy when he dropped her off.
Kids are resilient as hell, but I’ve realized over the last few months that they’re a lot more perceptive than I realized.
Case in point… “Are you going to have a sleepover with Daddy tonight?”
I freeze in her doorway, even as she hops into bed and snuggles under the covers. Shit. I really didn’t expect her to ask me any questions about us. Does she know something?