Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
REESE
“Right here! Look at Mommy!” I snap my fingers a few times to get Charleigh’s attention. “Charleigh-girl! Let me see your cute bow!”
Daisy laughs from the couch.
Charleigh is clearly ignoring me on purpose. She takes her little fingers and rubs them over the rug in the living room like it’s some sort of magic carpet.
“Oh fine,” I huff. “I won’t send your picture to Malaki, then.”
No more than a second later, Charleigh perks up.
“Da?” she says.
Not again.
When I say nothing, she does it again, only this time louder. “DA?”
“Is she—”
I interrupt Daisy. “No! She isn’t.”
“I’m pretty sure she’s calling Malaki–”
I hop up from being on the floor. “Nope!”
“Okay…whatever you say…” she muses.
I flop onto the couch, my camera still ready to snap a photo. “It’s Zoe’s fault! She made a joke, and it stuck.”
“It wasn’t a joke.” Zoe walks into the living room with popcorn.
She sits it down on the coffee table—the same one Charleigh is using to stand.
I smile at the colorful Skittles mixed in–something Malaki started the other night while we all sat in the living room, learning all there is to know about mediations.
He’s kept my feet on the ground, always knowing when to distract me and even forcing Charleigh and me to his last home game just so I wasn’t stuck at home, researching more custody cases.
That, and I think he may have wanted to show Charleigh off. He took her for a spin on the ice, and the image will stay with me forever.
“Either way,” I reach for a Skittle, going back to the conversation. “It isn’t funny.”
“Malaki thinks it is,” she mumbles.
I sit taller. “Excuse me?”
“Isn’t that right, Char?” Zoe straightens Charleigh’s blue bow, gifted to her by Emory’s wife. “Malaki’s been teaching you to say Dada, huh?”
Charleigh smiles. “DA!”
My jaw hangs loose.
“Hurry! She’s smiling!” Daisy snatches the phone from my hand and snaps a picture. “Oh my god, look at how cute she is.”
She angles the phone toward me, and I immediately smile.
“She is pretty cute, huh?” I take the phone back and glance at the TV.
It’s only a few minutes until the puck drops for their first playoff game, but I take my chances and fire the photo off to Malaki with a message that says Char says good luck .
I settle back onto the couch. My stomach fills with nerves, like I’m the one who’s playing in the playoffs.
“You know, this is all Kane has ever wanted,” Daisy says, leaning back beside me.
We’re both wearing Blue Devils jerseys, courtesy of Kane and Malaki. When she showed up to watch the game with me, wearing Kane’s, she forced me up the stairs to wear one of Malaki’s. She says it’s a game-day tradition, something about it being good luck.
“You mean, besides having you?” I say, laughing.
Daisy tucks a strand of her blonde hair out of her face, showing off her blush. “Shush.”
My phone vibrates in my lap with Malaki’s name flashing on the screen.
“Why is he calling?” I exclaim. “Shouldn’t he be on the ice by now?”
I glance at the TV, but it’s a commercial.
“Well, answer it!” Zoe urges.
I scramble to pick it up. “Hello?”
Malaki, helmet and all, smiles when I come into view. Even with his helmet on, I can see his clear blue eyes as if he’s in front of me and not in a completely different state. “Let me see my girl,” he says.
I turn the camera quickly to hide my smile.
Charleigh’s eyes light up. She moves up and down with her hands smacking on the coffee table. “DA!”
“Charleigh-girl! Are you rooting me on?”
She bounces again, her gummy smile so wide my heart catches.
She loves him. How could she not?
I turn the phone back around with the chatter increasing in the background. Several Blue Devils players appear in the frame, most likely walking toward the rink. “You better go,” I warn. “It’s not like you’re about to play one of the most important games of your career right now!”
Malaki’s eyes narrow through the phone. He pauses, the phone no longer swaying. “Excuse me, future Mrs. Young…are you wearing my jersey as opposed to the one I got you?”
I pan the camera to Daisy. “She made me! Something about it being good luck.”
Kane’s face comes into the frame. “That’s right! Thanks, baby!”
She smiles. “Get on the ice, Barlow!”
I bring the phone back toward me. “You too, Young!”
Malaki starts walking again. “Yes, ma’am. Happy wife, happy life.”
“I’m not your wife!” I remind him.
He smirks. “Yet. You’re not my wife yet.”
I roll my eyes and scoff. “Bye…”
“Wait!” he says.
“Malaki!” I scold through the phone. “Go get on the ice!”
“I am, I am. But…you didn’t say I love you.”
My fingers tighten around my phone. Malaki’s narrowed gaze is set in a challenge. I quickly scan the area behind him, but there’s no one near that I can see.
“I’m waiting, Dimples.”
My heart pounds, my stomach on a wild ride of confusion and butterflies.
Just because I say it aloud doesn’t mean it’s true.
Oh, but it is.
I rush the three little words out without thought. “I love you.”
His face fills with surprise.
“Now go get on the ice!”
I quickly hang up the phone and toss it far away.
The only noise is the TV and my pounding heart.
Zoe, now holding Charleigh on her hip, stands with her jaw on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Daisy staring at me.
I’m certain her eyes are twinkling, but instead of confirming, I snatch the bowl of popcorn into my lap and search for a Skittle.
“What?” I finally ask.
Zoe, for once, says quiet, but I wish she’d say something, because with the stark silence in the living room, we all hear my phone vibrate with a text.
Zoe laughs. “Ten bucks it’s Malaki.”
“Twenty.” Daisy sticks her hand out.
I huff. “You two are ridiculous.”
But sure enough, they’re right.
Malaki
Hanging up the phone before I can say it back doesn’t negate the fact that I love you too.
Me
Are people screening your messages now too?
He does not love me.
Malaki
Nope. That message is just for you, Dimples.
I glance at the TV, and Malaki’s name is announced. The camera suddenly pans to him taking the ice.
I click my phone screen off and suck on another Skittle to keep myself from floating.
It's at this moment that I finally understand the term lovesick.
The thought of Malaki loving me is terrifying and wonderful all the same. I want to argue that he doesn’t, but I’m desperate to believe he does.
As if this strange, unexpected thing between us that started on a whim could turn into something more.
My phone goes off again.
I race to see what else he has to say, completely blindsided by my messy thoughts to remember he’s on the ice.
Benedict
Since you don’t check your email, I thought I’d give you a heads up that the mediation is moved to tomorrow at two. Wouldn’t want you to miss it, and then we find ourselves in a courtroom.
And just like that, reality is back.
I haven’t eaten all day.
I’ve done nothing but read between the lines of every message from Benedict over the last week since I was served with papers for this mediation.
Benedict
I didn’t do this to be malicious, Reese.
There is no hidden agenda.
I came to terms with the fact that you are marrying another man, so there is no use in trying to get our family back together. Thus why I moved forward with a mediation.
Would you rather go to court and hash this out in front of a judge? We can do that, if you prefer.
You’ll need a lawyer for that. In case you’re not up to speed on the process.
Of course I’m up to speed on the process.
Benedict has made it very clear in the past that he believes he’s smarter than I am, given where I grew up and where I got my education from. I dropped out of college—something he likes to remind me of—whereas he graduated with honors and now owns a multimillion-dollar company.
It was handed down to him by his father, but he likes to leave that part out.
His reassuring texts hold the weight of a feather as I wait for the mediation to start.
“Ms. Moreno?”
My heels click to the shiny marble floor as I stand from the bench.
I smile at the woman, who I assume is the mediator. “Hi.” I reach my hand out to shake hers and move toward the room. “I’m so sorry,” I say, glancing down the empty hall of the courthouse. “I’m not sure where Benedict is–”
Shock fills me as I step into the room.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
My limbs grow heavy, and my heels stop clicking against the floor.
Benedict, in a nicely pressed suit, sits across a large chestnut table with a tall stack of papers in front of him, clearly prepared for something I’ve been made unaware of.
“Benedict,” his name ghosts out of my mouth.
A wicked smile curves against his mouth. “Sit, angel. We have a lot to discuss.”