42. Rook
Chapter forty-two
Rook
Tilly holds my hand as she guides me towards the couch. I feel numb. How had I fooled myself into thinking she was safe, that his poison couldn’t touch her?
I collapse, leaning on my knees, dropping my head into my hands. I can’t stay here with her, but if I leave, will she be safe, anyway? Now that he knows about her, he will stop at nothing to hurt me.
She kneels on the floor between my feet. She gently wraps her fingers around mine as she pulls my hands away from my face. “Rook, you need to tell me what’s going on. What has your father got to do with us?”
“It’s my fault. He must’ve been following me or seen us together and worked out who you are… who you are to me.”
“I still don’t understand. What does it matter?”
“Because he’s dangerous . I never wanted you dragged into this.” My mind spins, trying to work out how he could’ve found her, until it lands on the memory of the Always By My Side concert: Tilly holding my hand as she posed for photos.
Rubbing my brow, I sit straight, trying to inhale a deep breath of air, but it feels like nothing is coming.
It’s going to happen again.
He’s going to take her away from me.
Tilly straddles my lap and cradles my face in her hands. “Please talk to me,” she pleads, and I can feel the tears run down my face. I swipe at them with the back of my hand, trying to pull myself together.
“Rook, I’m in. I’m so far in, I can’t see a way out. Tell me how to help you.” I stare into her eyes, so much love pouring from them as she pleads with me to tell her everything so she can fix it.
I lean in and take her mouth in mine, praying that this won’t be the last time. That after I tell her my story, I won’t lose her. I open my arms and she climbs into my lap and patiently waits as I collect myself.
“It started when my mom decided she was finally done with his shit. I was twelve. Mom had made sure I was in my room well before he got home. He came home drunk and smashed his way through the house.
“The sound of smashing glass woke me up. I ran out of my room, careful to not make any noise. I knew it would piss him off if he caught me out of bed. When I came downstairs, I found my father lying in the middle of the kitchen floor, surrounded by blood and my mother standing over him.” I remember feeling so scared that she had finally snapped and killed him.
Tilly strokes my hand and I entwine our fingers, running my thumb in circles on her palm to distract myself. “So she didn’t kill him?”
“Unfortunately. That probably would have been better,” I mumble to myself, but she tips up my chin, giving me a gentle peck before asking me to continue. “That night, we packed our bags and ran. We kept running for the next seven years.”
Her nose scrunches, eyebrows furrowing as she thinks. “Until you got drafted?”
I sigh and nod, dropping my head back. “Until I got drafted.” I think back to that year, how happy we were as I held up my Boston jersey. It was my dream team.
“I almost didn’t go.”
“What? Why?”
“By that point, every house we moved to within a few months, sometimes weeks, he found us. Our fresh starts were constantly shattered with flowers and a note.” I feel sick thinking of the flowers on Tilly’s counter, and I pin myself to the couch, forcing myself to stay and tell her, rather than running and taking my demons far away from her.
“The lilies…” she whispers.
“Yeah…” I shuffle and Tilly goes to move off my lap, thinking I need space, but space from her is the last thing I need. She grounds me like no other. Dragging her back, I wrap my arms around her waist, making it clear where I want her.
“Every time he found us, he left her those flowers, and a note written in red pen. Usually some sort of taunt. Each time, it would send my mother into a tailspin.”
Tilly gasps, covering her mouth. “Oh God, the flowers at the beach. That’s why your mom got so upset.” I nod, not able to form anymore words. “I still don’t understand how this is your fault.”
Sighing, I lay my head back against the couch, squeezing my eyes shut as I tell her about the night that changed everything.
The siren blasts, and our heads drop in defeat. The boys and I worked our asses off to get this far, but losing now, in game seven. One single fucking goal in the last thirty seconds was not the way we wanted the playoffs to end. We were so close to moving on to round two, and I feel absolutely gutted.
I just hope my mom, watching from our home back in Seattle, is still proud of what I’ve achieved this year, even if it didn’t end up with the cup. She was supposed to be here tonight, but the flu knocked her down a few days ago, leaving her too weak to fly. I would kill for one of her hugs after tonight’s loss, but all I can hope for is a FaceTime call after my shower.
As we enter the locker room, the somber atmosphere is palpable, and we all look beaten and exhausted. Some of us more than others. Florida was brutal tonight. More than once, I found my face smashed up against the boards and sticks shoved into my back.
Throwing my gear down, my phone lights up on the shelf in front of me. My mom, probably ringing to tell me to keep my chin up and we can try again next year.
That’s the thing about my mom. It’s never been just my game; it’s always been ours. She has always been just as invested in the game as me. When I lose, she loses too, but she always finds a way to get me to believe that we would come back stronger next time.
I reach for the phone, but the screen goes black. I’ll call her back after I wash off this defeat, but the screen lights up in my hand again.
206 . My stomach clenches at the unknown number with the Seattle area code. I stare at it so long the call ends again, spurring me back into action.
“Fuck,” I say as I fumble with the phone, attempting to unlock it. The screen brightens and I stare at the notifications on the screen.
Fourteen missed calls.
Fourteen…
I’m about to press the call when the number appears on my screen again.
Call number fifteen.
“Fuck.” I swipe to answer. “Yes, hello?”
“Is that Mr Wills?” a gruff older male voice asks.
“Speaking…”
“I’m sorry to be calling you. I don’t usually like to discuss these things over the phone, but I’m aware of your current situation and that you’re currently in Boston.” My eyes narrow at his words. “I’m Detective Moore. I’m sorry to inform you, your mother was assaulted tonight.”
I can feel my heart pounding in my ears, my vision spins, the room blurring as I stumble backwards and fall against the bench. I force myself to absorb the words he is saying.
Home…
Alone…
Three hours…
“… it appears the intruder pushed their way in.” Acid burns in the back of my throat. “She has been taken to Harborview Medical Center. I’ll leave it up to the doctors to give you a better assessment of her condition, but she is in the best trauma hospital in the state.”
“Is she okay?” I croak out, tears stinging my eyes as I attempt to hold back the bile that’s creeping its way up.
His sigh fills me with dread. “She doesn’t look good. There are significant injuries to her head and torso. We couldn’t get much out of her when paramedics arrived. The doctors were rushing her off to surgery when we arrived. I haven’t received an update yet.”
When he brings up the possibility of sexual assault, I black out.
Only coming to when he speaks his last words.
“Son,” I flinch at the sentiment and he pauses, “you need to get here as fast as you can.”
He ends the call and I can barely stand, not even making it two steps before throwing up all over the locker room floor, collapsing to my hands and knees, shaking. The team jumps back and shouts ring out, but I can’t absorb anything going on around me.
Three hours.
The entire time I was on the ice, skating around, playing a stupid game while she was being raped and assaulted in her home. Vomit keeps coming.
The coaching staff and doctors surround me. By the time I’m able to get the words out, the locker room has cleared of all unnecessary staff and players, leaving just my coach sitting on the bench next to me.
Leaning forward, he presses one firm hand against my back, and I want to crumble at his touch. “Don’t worry, son.” Again, my body flinches at the word. “We’ll get you there.”
He stands and holds out his hand to help me up. I take it because I know I don’t have the strength to do it on my own. “Shower. Wash all that shit off you. The team jet will be ready in…” He glances towards the opposite side of the locker room where our GM stands, leaning against the wall and talking quickly into his phone. He nods to whomever he’s speaking with. Covering the receiver with one hand, he looks over at us. “Forty-five minutes. The crew is being called in and wheels up in forty-five.” Giving me a nod before barking “get it done” back down the line.
Numbly, I make my way to the showers, Coach stays on my tail, only leaving once I’m safely within the stall. The water pelts down onto the tiles, and I step fully clothed under the stream. I peel my gear off, dropping it to the floor at my feet. The scalding water barely registers against my skin and does little for the tension in my muscles.
My mind reels, conjures up images of how badly my mom is hurt. That she was alone; that she still is alone.
Beaten and alone.
I have the urge to throw up again, but there’s nothing left to heave.
As the water covers me, a face comes to the forefront of my mind, taking over all the hospital images it’s created. A very real face, with eyes just like mine and greasy dark blond hair.
I remember the note scrawled in red ink that showed up at my door last week.
You’ll regret this.
I pound my fist against the tiles, smashing them over and over again, as the image of his smirking face appears before me. Police may not know who did this, but I sure as hell do.
Randall Wiland.
My father.
I blink, trying to pull myself out of the memory that haunts my nightmares. Tilly is still on my lap, tears streaming down her cheeks, one hand covering her mouth while the other has mine in a death grip.
Now is when she walks away. Decides I’m too fucked up to be worthy of her.
“Rook…” she whispers. Leaning in to brush away the tears I didn’t even know I was crying. I pull her towards me and she wraps her arms around my neck and she holds us together. My shoulders slump and I nuzzle into her shoulder, inhaling her scent, enjoying this one last moment together as I allow the weight of the burden I’ve carried for the last eight years to settle between us.
I pull away, bracing for the hit. She must notice the stiffening of my body as confusion spreads across her face.
“Why are you pulling away from me again?”
I sigh, my hands falling to her thighs. “I’m waiting for you to realize you don’t want me anymore.”
She sits up straighter. “And what would make me realize that?”
“You’re joking, right?” She just stares at me, one eyebrow lifted, still waiting for my answer. “It’s my fault. All of it. She ran to protect me. He stalked her because of it. He found her because I was too selfish not to go into the draft. She was alone and he knew I would be on the other side of the country.”
She slides off my lap, sensing my need to pace. I throw my hands into the air as I walk across the room. “If I had gotten a regular fucking job, he wouldn’t have been able to find us. If I would have known that following my dreams would cost me her, I would have burned them all to ashes.” I slump against the wall, my elbows on my knees, hands covering my face.
Soft hands run through my hair, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tears to stay away.
“I’m not hearing a reason why you need to leave.” Looking up at her, she crouches next to me. I’m sure my eyes are rimmed red with the effort of keeping these tears at bay. “Rook, this was not your fault.”
“Of course it was,” I croak out. “I left her vulnerable… alone.”
“By the sounds of it, your father is psycho and it could’ve happened if you were there or not. What would have stopped him from doing this while you were at your regular job?”
“I could’ve been there…”
“You don’t think he would have tried to kill you to get to her? If you were there, you could be dead and then he could’ve done the same to her, or worse. I understand that this is horrible and my heart breaks for you both.” Her hand rests on my cheek and I close my eyes as I lean into it. “But I am sure as hell glad you weren’t hurt. I’m also positive your mom feels the same.”
Her words hit me in the chest and I can’t help the sob that pulls through my body. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Tilly pulls me to her, holding me while my body floods with years of repressed tears.
“What about you?” I cup her face. Her eyes blink in confusion.
“What about me?”
“He knows, he knows I’m happy, he knows you’re mine. I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t.” She covers my hands with hers, her voice full of sincerity. “I choose you. I chose you out on that stage and I will keep choosing you. Today, tomorrow, for as long as you’ll have me. I’m choosing you.”
I smash my lips to hers, needing to taste her. When we part, she rests her forehead on mine as my chest heaves.
“If safety is the issue, we can work that out. That’s why I hire security for tours. Rook, I love you. I won’t let you push me out of your life because you’re scared.”
I stare into her sparkling gray eyes. The amount of love I feel for this woman is insurmountable.
She is choosing me.
“We deal with this together.” Her lips graze across mine as she talks, eyes flicking up to mine right before our lips unite.
I whisper back, “Together.”