Chapter 14
DENNY
“Hussle, Willow,” Coach Shively calls as I dig my blades into the ice.
“You’re slow as fuck on a regular day,” Zenia comments, slapping my ass with his stick.
I spin around and shove my shoulder into him. Because he’s not expecting it, my weight almost upsets him. “Still haven’t learned balance, Zen,” I comment with a wink as I head for the puck.
“Connard,” he mutters, but his smile is there.
It feels good to be back on the ice. As I expected, I’m fucking tired. I’ve been out here for an hour or so, and I’m ready to pass the fuck out. My muscles ache. Pushing through the ache reminds me of the first day back on the ice after a summer stretch of off time.
I’m usually still working out when away from hockey. These past three weeks with Ty are the longest I’ve gone without conditioning in years. Probably since I was a child.
Fortunately, it doesn’t make me slower, despite Zenia’s teasing. The ache makes me push harder. I will remind my body what it feels like to work. I’m thankful that most of what I do on the ice is muscle memory.
That doesn’t mean I’m always top of the barrel when it comes to skill. Even when you know how to perform a proper slap shot, it doesn’t mean you’re good at it. That’s me. I know how to do all of this. My body remembers. But my skills have become sloppy. Less refined.
That’s what I need to change.
I grab a puck with my stick and skate around Nason Jordan, one of our wingmen. He makes a lazy grab for the puck, but doesn’t get in my way as I approach Felton in the net. Willits Hopland and Ren are protecting the net. They’re always protecting the net.
They watch me coming, but I skate around the back of Felton’s net before flinging the puck toward our center, Dasan Ukiah. Their eyes are all on the puck I just tossed away so they don’t see the one I pick up from the side until it’s almost in Felton’s net.
The beast of a goalie manages to stop it with his foot, and he gives me a beaming smile. Even if I fooled the two defensemen, I didn’t fool Felton. He knows to watch the player as well as the puck. He also knows that there’s more than one puck being shot around.
Coach calls us into a series of accuracy drills. Probably for my benefit above everyone else’s. Although, I must say, that last shot to Felton’s goal was pretty spot on. The puck made it through Willits’ legs and only just stopped with Felton’s interference.
We set up cones and targets throughout the rink, keeping the goaltenders in their creases.
They’re always to be shot at. I tend to prefer to shoot against the goalies because those blockades move.
I understand the need to be able to hit a tiny target accurately, but they don’t shift like the pockets of the net do when the goalie moves.
I hit three of my five targets, and my puck bounces off Marion Arivitis’ shoulder before it hits the top bar and lands in the net. Not inside the net but on the net. He laughs. “Not the same thing, Willow,” he calls in his Greek accent. I flash him a smile and get back in line for another puck.
“Willow,” Assistant Coach Reno calls, and I turn my entire body around to face him. “Your phone’s ringing.”
My heart sinks. All the noise around me fades to nothing, and the edges of my vision darken. Tyler wouldn’t call just to check in. I’ve learned that he’s a big hockey fan, so he understands I can’t just chat while here. If he’s calling, something is wrong.
Nothing immediately comes to mind. Instead, it’s a series of all the horrors. Ty stopped breathing. Ty fell. Ty choked on his milk. There’s a fire. There’s a… an accident, and they have no power.
I don’t recall crossing the ice for the bench. My phone stops ringing as I drop my glove and reach for it. Time stills for a second, and then it rings again. Tyler’s name scrolls across my screen.
“Tyler,” I say.
“There’s a crazy woman here, and she ripped Ty from my arms. She’s forcing him to eat again, and I just fed him. She keeps calling me the nanny and telling me I can leave.”
“What?” I ask a little dumbly. All those words work together, but they’re not even a little bit making sense. In the moment between my single word and Tyler answering, I can hear Ty crying.
I can hear my mother’s voice in response.
Rage fills me. “Don’t let her leave with Ty. Understand? I don’t care what you need to do, but don’t let her leave the house with my son.”
“I won’t. Hurry up. He keeps crying, and she won’t let me near him.”
I hang up the phone and turn to Reno. “Go,” he says.
“I’m sorry. There’s a fucking insane woman who stole my son from my… from his uncle, and he’s crying. I—”
“Go, Denny,” he interrupts. “Your baby will always be your biggest priority.”
I’d like to say relief at his understanding makes me feel better, but the pit in my stomach grows as I head for the chute. My mother. I haven’t seen my mother in… what? Eight years? Not since I left for college. I haven’t spoken to her in at least three years. Maybe longer. Probably longer.
I strip off my pads and skates and shove them into my locker.
I don’t bother to shower or change out of the compression garments I wear under my pads.
I might have to burn my sneakers after this—foot stench will probably cling—but I can’t wait.
My drive home is already going to be at least thirty-five minutes.
Why did I buy a house so far from the arena? Because I never imagined needing to get home in an emergency.
As unsafe as it is, I don’t remember my drive. I don’t know how many road laws I break. I nearly slide into my driveway behind Tyler’s car.
I don’t recognize the other car. Why would I? Does my mother live in Canada now? We’re not Canadian. To my knowledge, we don’t have any family in Canada.
Tyler is standing in the entryway, guarding the door, when I throw it open. He spins, and the relief on his face when he sees me has me tugging him to my chest. For just a second, I hug him. He clings.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do,” he says.
“It’s okay. Come on.” I grab his hand and pull him along.
Now that I’m not so focused on seeing Tyler, I hear Ty’s cries. They grate on me. Not because he’s crying but because he’s fucking crying. My mother has him on her knee and is bouncing him as she asks him with frustration, “What do you want now?”
Her eyes snap up to me as soon as I step into the room, and she smiles. “Denny—”
“Give me my child,” I growl.
My mother’s smile fades. “It’s okay. I just fed him, though he threw it all back up. I don’t know what you have here but—”
“Give me my child!” My voice is louder now, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
“Okay. He’s fine, though. Just fussy.” She raises him up, and I have the weird sensation that she’s hanging him over an altar like he’s a sacrifice.
I take him into my arms and hug him briefly. But there’s no time to comfort him, and I don’t want him to hear me screaming at my mother. I turn and hand him to Tyler. “Take him out of here.”
He hugs Ty. I don’t miss the tears in his eyes as he nods. Ty immediately began calming when I brought him close. He’s only whimpering now that Tyler has him. People he recognizes. Smells he knows. Familiar heartbeats and breathing patterns.
Once they’re down the hall and I hear the door close, I spin on my mother. She’s on her feet, though she jerks backward at the fury she must see in me. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Her eyes are comically wide as she stares. A beat passes, and she’s frozen. After a minute, she gets to her feet. “Honey, don’t you think it’s inappropriate to have a male nanny?”
“What kind of backward mindset do you have?” I snap. “First of all, that’s Sally’s brother. My kid’s uncle. Second, I repeat—who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Denny. Don’t you think we can put this behind us? You’re my son. That’s my grandson.”
“Get out. Don’t ever step foot on my property again, or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. Get out and don’t come back.”
“You can’t do that. I have grandparents’ rights.”
“That’s not a thing. Get. Out. Don’t think I won’t call the police.”
“I’m family,” she argues on her way to the door. “He doesn’t know what that baby needs! I’m his grandmother.”
I practically shove her out the door without putting a hand on her. She’s in the doorway and turns, but I shove it shut, forcing her to stumble backwards. Her hand slams the door a few times as she yells at me.
My anger makes me shake. For a solid minute, I don’t move as I wait to see what she’s going to do.
Then I pull up the cameras on my phone and watch as she pulls out of my driveway.
Before I get out of the app, I download the footage of her pushing her way inside and of her literally snatching my infant out of Tyler’s hands.
He might have bruises.
While I don’t use the alarm on the house often, I set it and then find Tyler and Ty. They’re in the bedroom that they practically share. Tyler is still on his feet, hugging Ty to him. He looks at me with relief when I step inside the room.
Without a word, I take them both into my arms and hold them against me. “I’m sorry. If I’d thought for even a second that she’d show up, I would’ve warned you. I haven’t talked to her in years and haven’t seen her in far longer. I didn’t know she knew where I lived.”
“Everyone knows where celebrities live,” Tyler comments.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “We need to see if Ty is hurt.”
“He threw up all the milk she forced on him,” Tyler says, giving me a bemused look. “Also, you smell. No offense.”
Laughing, I rest my head against his for a minute. “You okay?” I murmur.
“Yeah. I just… I didn’t know what to do. I don’t live here, so if I called the cops, would they make me leave? Would they take Ty? Would they believe the insane woman?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know why she’s here. She had no interest in being a good parent my entire life. What possibly could have possessed her to show up here unannounced and uninvited?”
“I don’t know,” he whispers.
I kiss his forehead and take a step back. “I’m going to take a shower. Check Ty. Make sure he isn’t bruised from the way she grabbed him from your arms.”
He nods. “Okay.”
I press a gentle kiss to Ty’s head and breathe him in before leaving them in the bedroom. Honestly, I need to get rid of my rage when they’re not right there. Not only do I never want Ty to hear me yelling, but I also don’t particularly want Tyler to either.
My entire childhood is filled with memories of yelling. Screaming. Anger. Hatred. I will never let Ty have memories like that. Not a fucking chance.
My showers are never short, but I take an extra-long one. While it’s counterintuitive that steaming hot water will help me cool down, it does. I’m feeling much better as I step out of the shower.
Once again, my phone is ringing, and a whole new dread fills my gut. I have no idea why or what it could be, but I answer almost before looking at the name.
My brother.
“Hello?”
“Denny?”
“Who else do you think answers my phone?”
He hums. “Look. Mom found your address.”
“From you?” I ask. Do I finally have a direction to point my anger?
“No. From Mandy.”
My hackles rise. Mandy is our baby sister. She’s always made excuses for our parents. They were miserable. They were unhappy. They tried their best.
Blah, blah, fucking blah.
“How does she know where I live?”
“I don’t know that answer. I know Mandy told Mom because Mom called here when Sports Spot casually dropped the news that you’re taking a break from hockey right now to be a single parent since your baby mama died in childbirth.
I told her to pound salt when she asked for your address.
I’m guessing she called Anthony, too, but Mandy is the one who called me panicking because she did give Mom your address and then knew she made a mistake and didn’t know what to do about it. ”
I close my eyes, trying to get myself under control. “You’re about two hours too late for the warning, but thanks.”
Leon swears. “I’m sorry. Mandy just called ten minutes ago.”
“Yeah.”
“You okay? You need anything?”
I snort. My siblings and I aren’t close. Obviously. Ty’s been here for three weeks, and I haven’t heard from any of them. “We’re fine. Thanks.”
“Sure.”
“I have to go.”
“All right. Talk to you soon.”
“Right.” I hang up and press my phone to my forehead for a minute. I shouldn’t call Mandy. I should let it go. But I can’t stop myself from scrolling to find her number and dialing.
“I’m sorry,” she answers. “I’m so sorry. I—”
“Forget you know me, Mandy. Lose my number. Lose my address. You’re a piece of shit for telling her where my newborn is, so fuck off.”
I hear her tears, but any sympathy I might have had for my sister is long gone. She put my kid in danger. We all remember the way our parents turned their nasty anger on us. And she sent that fucking person in the direction where my newborn is.
“Denny—”
“Do not ever get in touch with me. I don’t give a shit how you process your trauma, but letting that woman near my baby? Unforgivable. You hear me? As far as I’m concerned, forget you have three brothers.”
I don’t wait for her to answer. I hear her sniffling, but I’m far beyond the point where I can convince myself that she’s as much a victim of our childhood as I am. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.
Before dropping my phone on my bed, I block her number. Then I turn toward the door to find Tyler standing there with Ty wrapped up snugly.
“I guess you had a different relationship with your siblings than I did with Sally,” he says quietly.
“I did. You’d think maybe we’d bond over shared experiences, but I think, instead, it taught us that family is a miserable place to be.
Mandy…” I shake my head. My anger simmers just beneath the surface, and I know if I continue down this road, I’m going to get ugly, so I blow out a breath and let it go. “Never mind. He okay?”
Tyler nods. “I can’t tell if he has a bruise or not,” he says. “I’d already been listening to him cry, and I didn’t want him to cry again right now. Can we check in a little bit? Once he’s feeling safe again?”
I cross the room and pull them both to me again. “Yeah.”