32. Shayla
32
SHAYLA
“ I s there anything else I can get for you before I go?” I asked as I gently laid another blanket across my mother’s lap. She had chemo this morning and was already feeling the effects. I made sure she had crackers and ginger ale handy along with her evening regimen of meds.
“No, sweetheart. You’ve done enough,” she replied, patting my hand gratefully. I wanted to stay with her, but I needed to change my clothes before I headed to Easton’s game. He’d given me my own jersey with his name and number on it. Since we were trying hard to keep up appearances, I thought it best to look the part of the doting, supportive wife for the cameras. They were sure to be there to snap my photo so they could pick me apart and criticize my body.
The media buzz hadn’t been all bad. There were lots of supportive comments last time I dared to look and more than a few that made me blush. Plenty of people out there appreciated an unfiltered woman with curves who hadn’t been airbrushed within an inch of her life. Not to mention, the cooking page where I shared my recipes had practically exploded overnight. I was getting requests left and right to host cooking classes, but I hadn’t taken on any new jobs since the wedding. I was too busy caring for my mom and working for the Wraiths.
Ensuring my mother could reach the remote and her stack of paperbacks from the library, I headed for the door. I swung it open and almost ran smack dab into a delivery driver with his hand raised like he was about to knock.
“Oh, hi,” he said, stumbling back. “Is this the March residence?”
“It is,” I replied skeptically, peering over his shoulder where a box truck was parked in our driveway.
“Great. I need you to sign here for the delivery.” He tried to hand me a clipboard, but I didn’t take it. What the hell was happening?
“What delivery?” I asked, knowing I hadn’t ordered anything that needed to be delivered in a box truck from the home improvement store. I’d just received the money from my trust fund and hadn’t touched a penny of it yet.
“Your new kitchen appliances.” It almost sounded like a question, his voice pitched with uncertainty.
“We didn’t order new appliances.” There was no way I’d let them bring anything into my mom’s house then try to charge us for it.
“It says here a,” he began, consulting his paperwork, “Mr. Walker purchased these last week and asked that they be delivered to this address.”
I gripped the door frame as surprise washed over me. Easton ordered my mom new appliances? As in plural?
“I-I’m sorry. What appliances did he purchase?”
“We have a new refrigerator, oven, dishwasher, and microwave.” My eyes bugged out of my head. Why on earth had he done that? Sure, our dishwasher was broken and hadn’t worked in months, but how did he know? And there wasn’t anything wrong with the other appliances. They might have been old, but they still ran just fine. So why had he bought a whole new set?
Another man in a similar uniform as the guy on the porch began rolling a dolly with a shiny, stainless steel dishwasher down the ramp at the back of the truck.
“Just one moment,” I requested, holding up a finger.
“What is going on out there?” my mother asked as she stood on the cusp of the living room.
“I’m not sure. I need to call Easton.” I grabbed my phone and dialed his number. It rang a few times before he picked up.
“Did you order a whole new set of kitchen appliances for my mother?” I blurted out as soon as he answered. His soft chuckle met my ears.
“Well, hello to you too.”
“Seriously, Easton. What … how…” I stammered, flustered by the tangle of emotions flooding my chest. “Why?” I asked, settling on the most important question. A quiet sigh sounded over the phone.
“Your mom mentioned the dishwasher was broken when we were there the other day. I tried to put my empty glass in it, but she said not to bother, that she would hand wash it,” he explained. “She tried to do it while I was there, but she was so weak, she could barely stand at the sink. I made her sit down and promised to take care of it.” Appreciation swelled in my chest. He continued as I swallowed down the lump forming in my throat. “I was going to just fix it for her, but when I looked at it, I noticed the pump and motor were bad. And it’s too old of a model to get replacement parts.”
“So you decided to replace all her appliances? She only needed a dishwasher.” I rubbed at my temples, trying to comprehend why he would do that. It was too much.
“I just figured if she was getting a new dishwasher, then I had to get the rest of the set to match,” he replied nonchalantly like he hadn’t just spent thousands of dollars just to give my mother matching appliances; something she hadn’t had since we’d moved into this house. It was always a hodgepodge of what the previous owners left behind and secondhand items we'd bought for dirt cheap.
“You didn’t have to do that.” My voice came out softer, almost a whisper, as the fight drained out of me. Why did he have to be so sweet sometimes? He was making it really difficult not to let my heart get involved.
“She’s your family. That makes her my family too, and I take care of my own.” His reply stunned me speechless. He’d just claimed us. I’d never felt so wanted and protected. Moisture gathered at the corners of my eyes, but I quickly blinked it away.
“Thank you.”
“Any time,” he replied, his tone light as if he hadn’t just done something incredibly kind and generous. “Hey, I gotta meet with the trainer and then get ready for the game. Are you still planning on coming?” he asked, uncertainty lacing his tone.
“Of course. I wouldn't miss it.”
I stayed long enough to ensure Mom was okay and the delivery guys had my number in case they needed anything before heading to the game. The arena was packed, the crowd already loud and rowdy when I finally took my seat. One of the perks of being a player’s wife was getting awesome seats close to the ice and bench. Easton instantly spotted me in the crowd like he’d been checking for me all night. He raised his gloved hand in a wave as a grin spread over his face. He looked relieved to see me as if he worried I wouldn’t come. A fluttering feeling took root inside my chest. He wanted me here.
My throat tightened, and a deep ache bloomed behind my ribs at the thought of this ending. It wasn’t real. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if things were different, if we cared for each other in a way that went deeper than friendship. I supposed we’d never know.
Easton shot me one final glance from his spot on the bench before the starting lineup took the ice, ready for the puck to drop, and I forced a smile. He placed a kiss on the back of his hand where he always wore a shamrock tattoo, and my chest constricted once again. I loved the dynamic he had with his nephew, and I was certain he’d make a great dad one day. Too bad I wouldn’t be around to see it.
The Wraiths won three to two in overtime with Easton scoring the winning goal. I sent him a congratulatory text as I waited to exit my row.
“Wait for me. I won’t be long.” I stared at his reply in surprise. He’d never asked me to stay behind after a game before.
I exited the stands and made my way to the end of the long corridor that led to the locker rooms. Waiting for Easton to emerge, I opened up my messages and shot my mom a quick text, checking up on her. Her reply came instantly, but I didn’t get a chance to read it before someone called my name.
“Shayla, is that you?” I froze at the familiar voice and prayed it wasn’t who I thought it was. Lifting my gaze, it settled on the last person I ever wanted to see again. His lips curved up in a crooked grin. I’d once thought it charming, but now I wanted to smack the look off his face.
“It is you,” Calvin crooned, sauntering toward me. There were two guys flanking him that I didn’t recognize, friends from work I assumed. “How’ve you been?” he asked, pulling me into a hug. I was so surprised, I didn’t have time to react. If I had, I would've pushed him away. His embrace was mercifully brief.
“Good,” I answered robotically when he released me. I wished like hell Easton would hurry up and save me from this awkward encounter. This was the man who'd torn me down every chance he got. He was the person who'd shredded my self-esteem and expected me to be grateful for the scraps of affection he offered me.
“Shay, this is Alan and Mike. Guys, this is Shayla. We used to date.”
Used to date? We were in a serious relationship for far too long, and he tried to minimize it like I hadn’t wasted years on him.
We exchanged pleasantries, and I didn’t miss the way their eyes lingered on my jersey. Calvin didn’t seem to notice, though.
“It’s so nice to see you again. You look really good.” Calvin’s greedy gaze slid down my body, the body that once disgusted him to the point where he forced me to exercise until I almost passed out. “You finally lost some weight,” he remarked, and ice seared through my veins. The temperature around us dropped, and I clenched my jaw so tight I thought my teeth might crack.
“Well, Calvin,” I began sardonically, “that’s what happens when you’re properly medicated for a thyroid disorder. Your metabolism actually starts to work again.”
“I’m glad to see you’re taking care of yourself.”
Taking care of myself? TAKING CARE OF MYSELF?!? I took care of myself the whole time we were together. Despite my mom’s illness and the fact that my immune system was attacking my thyroid, I still took care of myself, dammit. For some reason, I couldn’t voice those thoughts. I silently fumed as I glared daggers at him. He was completely oblivious to the turmoil churning inside me at his flippant comment.
Before I could open my mouth and scream at him like I’d wanted to for years, an unexpected savior came to my rescue.