Chapter 19
NICKY
“It’s not rude. Nicky is also literally sleeping, right there. Forgive me for catching a short nap, too. I’m fucking tired.”
“Language? Natalia can hear every word you’re saying.”
I crack an eye open from my spot on the couch.
Gus and Obie are going back and forth from the corner, Gus yawning before pulling a hair tie from his wrist and piling his hair into some weird version of a bun.
It’s late evening, dark outside the windows.
I dozed off after taking a shower to rinse the hospital feeling off and settling here.
“Bea said ‘fuck’ isn’t a bad word. I’m just not supposed to say it in a way that can hurt someone’s feelings or to anyone at school,” Natalia pipes up from where she’s sprawled on the floor with Cal, Crosby, Leo, Charlie, and Violet.
They’re locked in a game of Chutes pours the whiskey heavy and drops it in the pint perfectly. No wasted splash,” Bea begins, her lips curling up in a smile that pulls a matching one from me.
“She sketched a fantastic unicorn she’s getting tattooed next week.
Found the artist herself on a walk downtown after dark.
Shirley is a really nice guy—old-school—you’d like him.
He introduced Natalia to some of his biker buddies. ”
I bark out a laugh so unexpected and loud the entire living room quiets for a moment. Bea’s eyes widen, the amber flecks lighting warmly. Her hand cradles my cheek, and she gently pulls us together until our foreheads rest against each other.
“I wasn’t sure I was ever going to hear that sound again.” A shudder sneaks up her spine, and her eyes water. I drape my arm over her hip, cocooning us closer as Bea works to blink away the gathered tears before she speaks again. “I’m so glad that didn’t happen.”
“Me too,” I tell her, leaning forward enough to brush my lips across hers.
It’s tentative, a search for reconnection, and Bea responds immediately.
There’s no inferno, no combustion of lust like our kisses before.
Instead, the burn is slower. Deeper. Licks of fire that go beyond the physical slide of her plush lips on mine, but promise a brand I long to wear.
“Uh.” A throat clears, breaking us apart to look at Charlie. He’s standing in front of us, a pink blush mixing with the light freckles on his cheeks. He swishes his finger around in the air. “Figure we’ll get out of your way. Natalia’s won every game anyway, and Gus is snoring.”
A quick glance at the chair shows Gus, head tipped back and mouth open, legs spread wide. Rumbling snores quietly fill the air. Without missing a beat, Obie pulls his phone out and takes a picture.
“That’s going on the fridge,” he comments with a laugh, then unceremoniously knocks Gus’ knees to wake him.
Gus startles and looks at us sheepishly with a shrug.
He rises from the chair, stretching and yawning before giving a wave and heading to the hallway.
Obie trails along behind, and the rest of the group slowly begins to follow his lead.
Crosby and Violet help Natalia clean up the stack of board games.
Leo gives a nod as he makes for the entryway.
Charlie offers me a hand, and I let him pull me up for a hug.
When he steps back, Violet is there, slipping in for a quick squeeze before she slides over to Bea for a longer embrace.
The two talk in low voices, words I don’t catch when Cal stands before me.
“Morning skate is open to you whenever you’re ready to come back,” he says.
Natalia stands between us, one arm wrapped around each of our legs.
There’s a pout on her face, but Cal wipes it away when we look down at her.
“And, of course, I need my specialty coach to whip these boys into shape.” He ruffles her hair and bends down to give her a hug and wish her goodnight.
Natalia returns to me as Bea shuffles with everyone to the door.
I sit on the couch, opening my arms to her.
Eagerly, Nat climbs into my lap, and I am nearly complete with her tucked under my chin.
We sit together, listening to the sounds of our friends leaving, quiet and content in a way I’m used to. It’s almost perfect.
The front door closes, soft footsteps sounding in the hall before Bea comes into the living room.
She takes us in on the couch, a soft smile pulling at the corner of her lips as she leans against the entrance, arms folded under her breasts.
She doesn’t cross the room or interrupt in any way.
She just gives us this moment. But I feel her support, her affection, and her happiness wrapping around us in a way that makes me wonder what it was like before. How I never noticed she was missing.
The next revelation doesn’t come with the thunderous shaking of my soul, like I expect from watching fairytale movies with Nat. It blooms like a firefly in the summer night sky. Dark one minute, and alight the next, the warm glow cast over those lucky enough to witness it.
I love her.
“Daddy?” Nat pulls my attention to her. I hum in acknowledgment, rocking her in encouragement to continue. “Does your heart beat right now?”
Bea’s hand rises to her chest, pressing. I kiss the top of Natalia’s head, angling it so her ear rests over my chest.
“Yes, milaya, my heart beats right now.” I lift my eyes back to the woman across the room. “Maybe for the first time ever.”
“Is she asleep?” Bea asks from the landing.
“Yes,” I reply, quietly closing Natalia’s door behind me.
I’m exhausted—again—but being able to put my little girl to bed is worth it.
I cross to the banister Bea stands beside and lean heavily on it.
Bea’s arms are around my neck in a flash, holding me as she looks into my eyes.
Her fingers flutter against my skin, one hand soothing the strands of hair at my nape and the other resting gently on the other side.
“The fatigue is normal. It will get better, but I’ll need to work on it,” I tell her, straightening toward her.
I ignore the fading rasp in my throat that has almost vanished.
I grasp her wrist gently, pressing my neck deeper into her hold.
“Until then, take my pulse whenever you need to if it helps.”
“Sorry.” Bea flushes and tries to pull her hand out of my grip. I don’t let her, wrapping my other arm around her waist, banding her against me.
“Don’t apologize.” I guide her hand to join the other at the base of my skull before running the back of my fingers down her arm to brush them against her smooth cheek. “I trust you with my heart, solnyshka. You and no one else.”
Bea leans into me, her head twisting to lie flat against my chest, and I cradle her there.
I want to say three words to her, but it’s not the right time.
As much as I want to buy into the philosophy that “there’s no time like the present,” after dying, it’s because of that I know I shouldn’t say anything yet.
Dr. Knowles was right to discuss the trauma my injury brings to the surface, but it’s not just me I need to be aware of. It’s the people around me.
Natalia
Charlie.
Bea.
“I should probably go,” Bea mumbles, her tone suggesting she would like to do anything but leave.
“Ms. Margaret will be here at six tomorrow morning, so you won’t be on your own for too long.
All your discharge paperwork said it’s fine, and Margaret will get Natalia to school so you don’t have to worry about that. ”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask, aiming for bewilderment even if what I feel is frustration. Bea pushes back, looking up at me with confusion. For a second, I think I see anger flash in her eyes, but she blinks, and it’s gone as she waits. “Where will you be?”
“Oh,” she considers and answers in a quieter voice, “I didn’t want to assume anything.”
I lace my fingers through hers and pull her alongside me toward my bedroom, the massive king-sized bed perfectly made.
It’s the opposite of how I left it that afternoon before the game.
I had taken a nap, slept late, and was in a hurry to keep to my pre-game schedule.
The sheets still smelled like Bea from the night before when she had snuck over after I put Nat to bed and left at the first stirrings of tiny feet.
I’m glad it isn’t in the same shape. I don’t want any memories of before to cloud the experience of now.
I gently guide Bea on top of the covers, positioning us until she’s wrapped in my arms and draped across my chest. There’s no protest from her, even if I sense confusion, as I settle us in bed. I let my fingers toy with her hair, gathering my thoughts.
“I don’t want you anywhere else but with me,” I start.
Bea shifts, a sign that she’s listening.
“And not just because of everything that happened, but because of everything that came before and after. I know there wasn’t a name for us, but there was an ‘us.’ I don’t want that to change.
I want you here because I am crazy about you. ”
The tips of Bea’s fingers stroke up and down my arm in a soothing fashion.
They don’t tease with their gentle touch; they connect, they reassure.
They trail along the links of my chain, lifting it and tucking it under my shirt collar.
I found it waiting on the counter in my bathroom, and it warmed me to know Bea held it in her care.
Grounded by her ministrations, I find my voice to keep talking.
“What you did this past week—taking care of Natalia, managing things with the team and the crew, arranging my post care appointments.” Bea’s fingers still, and I squeeze her, a small laugh escaping my lips.
“You think I don’t know? You’d make one hell of a defenseman on the ice with the way you’ve looked after me.
The way you’ve looked after everyone I care about. ”
“I know it was supposed to be Cal, but I was already here when he called.” Bea’s voice is small, drenched with an emotion I can’t quite name but I’ve felt every day since Natalia was born.
Paternal. Visceral. Ancient in a way that can’t be explained until it’s experienced.
“I wanted it to be me—I needed it to be me to take care of her.” A shaky exhale crackles through the darkness around us. “I love that little girl.”
“She loves you, too.” And so do I, I want to tell her, the temptation growing greater with every passing minute.
Instead, I give another truth. “I can see it in the way she responds to you, looks to you for things she needs—not a snack or her shoes. The intangible things. I don’t think there is anyone else I would have wanted to be with her through this.
I’m never going to be able to thank you enough, solnyshka.
But it also means I can’t go back to having you be apart from us. Will you stay tonight?”
“Only tonight?”
Bea’s head shifts, looking up at me with unrestrained vulnerability.
I know what she means. It’s the conversation we never got to have.
The conversation that seems trivial after the events of the last week.
We have never needed a definition, but I’m happy to give us one now.
Because she needs to know, maybe not all of it, but enough to reassure her that this is real.
“For a start,” I lean down, awkwardly twisting in half to brush a kiss on her lips.
The next time I open my eyes, the darkness of the room is slowly being overtaken by streaks of blue-gray light.
The transition from sleep to consciousness mirrors the movement of night to day.
My head is catching up to the reason I’m awake, but not as quickly as the body next to mine does.
Bea bolts upright and leaps from the bed before the sound finally registers with me: Natalia is crying.
My long legs can’t close the gap between me and Bea when she runs from the room, down the hall to Natalia’s.
With practiced efficiency, Bea wrenches the door open and crosses to Natalia’s bed, where my daughter hugs Floppy tightly to her chest and cries into the pink ears.
Words tumble from Natalia’s lips between heaving sobs, trying to tell Bea about the terrible dragon that took her daddy and wouldn’t give him back.
It doesn’t surprise me that Natalia uses Russian to explain herself; she often reverts to the language when she’s scared or tired.
I step forward to translate for Bea, my fatherly instincts kicking in to care for my child.
But before I can, Bea gently eases the covers back and slips into the full-sized bed, curling herself around my crying child.
“Vso v poryadke, ya zdes.” Bea shushes and pulls Natalia closer. Her lyrical delivery of my other language softens the edges of a distraught Nat. “Smelaya, prekrasnaya devochka. ya budu tebya zashchishchat.”
Natalia quiets as Bea tells her over and over again how beautiful and brave she is.
How safe and cared for she is with Bea by her side.
Awestruck, I watch as Natalia quiets and cuddles into her, tiny hiccups giving way to soft snores as the nightmare fades and sleep claims her once more.
But Bea never moves. She stays wrapped around my daughter, protective and fierce, even as the terror that held her passes.
When she finally lifts her gaze to me, there’s a blink of surprise, as if she forgot I was here.
“They started when you didn’t come home.
I thought it wouldn’t happen now you’re here,” Bea whispers.
Her words are low, the volume enough not to disturb Natalia, but the weight loud enough to unsettle me immediately.
I reach them in three strides, climbing into the too-small bed.
Bea helps me adjust Natalia between us, and I lie an arm across both of them.
“Solnyshka? Ya tebya lyublyu.”
So much for not saying those three words.