Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
WILDER
Jealousy looks good on Maisie Delacroix.
So fucking good that it took the very little restraint I had left to walk away and not drag her into my office and say fuck it.
To say fuck this event and fuck it all.
Every bit of it.
Just fuck it.
She looked good enough to eat with her chin held high, her shoulders squared like she could take whatever I gave her back. Her cheeks flushed red in anger, those pretty blue eyes flaring with heat I didn’t know she possessed as she threw her words my way like they were a weapon.
She was wrong. She had no fucking clue just how wrong she was, but all I could think was… good.
I’m glad she’s jealous.
I’m glad she’s feeling the way I have for the last couple of weeks, watching her interact with my players. Watching them look at her heart-shaped ass as she walks away.
At least I’m not the only one of us fighting a losing battle.
I nod to Devereaux as I pass by, crossing my arms over my chest and watching the team interacting with the kids. I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing here, but I showed up because it was required.
That’s what I’m telling myself, at least.
It definitely wasn’t because I knew if I didn’t, Maisie would be disappointed, or for some stupid fucking reason, I might give a shit if I’m the one disappointing her.
What I didn’t realize was that this entire time I thought the reason she was doing this, the program shit, working with the kids, spending her free time putting together all of this… I thought it was because it was required of her.
For class, whatever credit she needs, or some resume boosting. That is, until she just stood toe to toe with me and told me I was an asshole without actually calling me an asshole.
She’s genuinely pissed that I didn’t show up when I was supposed to, and it’s because she cares about these kids.
It’s not just about what’s expected of her.
Or what’s in it for her.
I see now that she’s here, doing all of this, because she cares. She wouldn’t have just lost her shit on me if she didn’t.
It’s a realization I wasn’t prepared for.
Because that means that I’m fairly certain now I was wrong about her. If I had any doubt before, this seems to make it louder than I can ignore.
That all of those things I’ve assumed about her aren’t who she is at all.
That she’s not the carefree party girl who goes to bars and hooks up with random strangers in bathrooms. She’s the girl who hand paints a fucking banner for some kids and shows up an hour before classes just to make sure all the details are right, who puts up with my dick behavior because it’s the only way to make sure this happens for them.
Who helps elderly people who drop things and shops for them when they need help taking care of themselves.
That’s not a ditzy, self-absorbed girl who only cares about trivial shit like when the next party is or what gossip is being passed around.
“Glad you could make it, Coach.” Legros slides up beside me, lips curved into a grin. “Mais was worried, but I told her you were probably in traffic or something.”
Or something.
I nod, my fists clenched tight against my chest. “Yep. Made it.”
The kid must be the most oblivious fucker on the planet to not realize that I do not fucking like him, because he just keeps talking in between shoving a chocolate chip cookie into his mouth like he’s a human vacuum.
“Great turnout, don’t you think? I’m glad as hell, though, because I know how hard she worked on it. That’s Maisie for you though. She’s like a saint or something, man.”
I turn toward him, unable to stop myself as I respond, “She too good for you, Legros? That why she keeps turning you down?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, for sure. Gonna keep trying though. I’m persistent. I’ll wear her down eventually.”
Yeah, not fucking happening.
I keep that part to myself.
“Anyway, I’m going to get another cookie before that fucker Tyler takes them all. Later, Coach.”
“Dumbass,” I mutter beneath my breath once he’s out of earshot.
“Why’s he a dumbass?”
My gaze swings lower to where the voice comes from, and I find a little girl with blonde pigtails and wearing a toothless grin blinking up at me.
Shit.
“Don’t say that,” I say quickly. Quietly as I look around the room for whoever this kid belongs to.
Surely, someone’s missing her if she’s here alone talking to me, arguably the most unapproachable person here.
“Why not? You said it first.”
I squint at her, my eyes narrowing. “Yeah, well, I’m an adult. That’s an… adult word. Just don’t say it, alright?”
“Whatever you say. But I know what it means.”
I hum but don’t respond, hoping that she’ll get bored and amble off somewhere else.
“It means you don’t like him. Why don’t you like him?” Her bright eyes are curious and imploring.
Reaching up, I drag my hand along the length of my jaw, realizing how unfit I am to deal with this.
I can handle slamming a two-hundred-pound, six-foot-three defenseman into the boards like it’s not shit, but this? Adorable, sassy kids?
Nah. Not my thing.
“Where’re your parents at?” I finally ask.
“Dead.”
She says it so simply, so casually, as if she’s responding with the weather, that I almost fucking choke.
Holy shit.
“Uh… I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugs. “Not your fault. My foster mom is over there.” She lifts her finger, pointing it in the direction of the table on the other side of the room to a short, dark-haired lady who’s speaking animatedly with a man.
“She likes to bring me to stuff like this because she says I’m socially awkward. ”
Jesus Christ, this kid has zero filter.
Nada.
I nod. “I see.”
“I’m Kori.” Suddenly, her hand shoots out toward me. “Nice to meet you.”
After a beat, I slide my hand around hers, and she shakes it. “Wilder.”
Truthfully, I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation with a kid. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a situation like this, and my neck feels hot. Prickly. I have no fucking clue what to say or do.
But there’s something about this kid that keeps my feet rooted in place, carrying on this awkward conversation.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Nine. How old are you?”
I can’t fight the curve of my lip as I say, “Thirty-four.”
“Wow. That’s really old.”
I cut my gaze to her. “Thirty-four is not old, kid.”
“Uh, yeah, it is,” she retorts, placing her palm on her hip. “Life expectancy has gone down in the last few years. You’ve got another forty years at best. Fifty if you’re lucky.”
“Shit. That’s kind of… morbid.”
Her shoulder lifts in a nonchalant shrug.
“Not really. It’s just facts. At one of my foster homes, the one before the last one, one of the dads got this magazine about science, and sometimes when they…
” She trails off, and my brow pulls tight.
“When they would yell at each other, I’d use my flashlight under the covers and read.
Sometimes I didn’t know the words, but I would ask about them at school the next day. ”
Fuck. There’s a tug in my chest beneath my rib cage, someplace where the heart that I don’t have would be. A foreign feeling spirals inside of me, taking me back to my childhood, my stomach tightening.
I clear my throat with a cough into my fist. “That why you’re here? You like to read?”
Kori nods, her too-long bangs falling into her eyes. She reaches up and hastily pushes them away. “I love to read. It’s my very favorite thing over anything! Dolls, or toys, or Barbies and stuff. I don’t play with those, really. Not anymore.”
“I thought it might be hockey,” I tease. “The reason you’re here.”
“No. I don’t think I’d be very good at hockey.”
“Yeah? Why not?”
“I dunno. Seems real hard to hit that little ole puck into a net. I don’t even think some of these guys can do it.” She shrugs and lifts her thumb, gesturing to some of the guys on the team.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.” I laugh, the sound expelling out of me so quickly even I’m surprised. Jesus, when was the last time I laughed like this? Fuck, I can’t even remember the last time I laughed in general.
Kori goes quiet beside me, and we stand just like this for a while, both of us just observing the people around us. She seems comfortable that way.
“Have you… been in a lot of foster homes?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“Nine. That’s not the most, but it’s still a lot.”
It’s way too many for a kid to have to go through at only nine years old. I’d know better than anyone.
Something I find myself telling her. “When I was your age, I was in foster care too.”
Her eyes widen, and her mouth falls open. “Really?”
When I nod, she adds, “Did your parents die too?”
The question catches me off guard, and I freeze, every muscle in my body coiling tight.
It brings everything from earlier this morning stampeding back to the forefront of my mind when I’ve been desperately trying to purge it from my thoughts.
The notification that popped up on my phone this morning that made me physically ill.
My mother’s been released from her latest prison stint.
If you could even call her that. She was never a mother to me. I can’t remember a single “motherly” thing she ever did in the span of the time she had me. In between bouts of rehab and overdoses, I was a kid stuck in the most fucked-up situation imaginable with no way out.
This morning, the notification slipped across the screen, and I almost didn’t check it at first, but I was worried it might be an email from Taylor or something, so I checked it.
No, it was a notification from the service that notifies victims or family members about someone’s release from prison, telling me the last thing I ever wanted to fucking see…
My mother was out. They included her mug shot, and my stomach heaved.
She looks like she’s been to actual hell and back in the years since I’ve seen her.
I almost didn’t recognize her, but her eyes, they’re… the same as mine. The one thing familiar that remained in her.
No matter how much distance I put between me and this fucking city, it’s impossible to truly forget her existence entirely when every time I look in the mirror, I see her looking back.
I dropped my phone and ran to the bathroom so fast I almost tripped, emptying what little contents of my breakfast there were in my stomach into the toilet.
Because it makes me physically fucking ill to know she’s out and living free again.
So that’s why I was late this morning. But there was no goddamn way I could explain that to Maisie. Not that I even wanted to.
She can think whatever she wants.
“Yeah, my parents are dead too,” I finally say to Kori, who just stares at me and nods.
My mother might not be in a casket six feet deep, but she’s fucking dead to me.
“Sorry I brought that up. My foster mom says I always bring up the wrong things,” Kori says quietly, dragging the toe of her sneaker along the ground. “What about you? Are you here to read, or do you play hockey?”
“I coach it. And no, not really a fan of reading.”
“Hm. That’s sad. Books make you smart! And books…” She trails off, expression sobering while looking up at me. “Can I tell you… a secret?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Sometimes when I’m scared or if I feel lonely…
I just read a book and pretend that I’m there instead.
” She whispers the words, and fuck, they hit me directly in the chest. Like physical, painful blows that suck the air out of my lungs in the same way that it feels to take a hit on the ice, to have the breath knocked out of you.
“I can go to all the happy places where I only smile and never cry like in real life. Where there’s puppies and unicorns and fairies and no monsters hiding in my closet!
But I… I don’t want my new mom to find out because then she might want to get rid of me, so you have to keep it a secret, okay?
” She reaches out, her small fingers curling around mine and squeezing tight. “Promise?”
I find myself crouching down to her level before I even fully think through what I’m doing. “Promise. Your secret’s safe with me. Can you promise me something though?”
Kori nods.
“No calling people dumbasses.” I grin, but it doesn’t relieve the tightness in my chest. If anything, it makes it worse, knowing that as badly as I want to tell this innocent little kid that it’s going to all be okay, that it gets better, that you forget all of the shit you go through when you live life like this, I can’t.
Because I’m not going to lie to her. I’m still fighting every day of my fucking life.
Because even now, sometimes it feels hopeless, and I don’t know how to let go of it all. I don’t know if I ever will.
“I promise,” she says with a small smile, her dimples popping. “But that means you can’t either. Fair is fair.”
I nod. “Kori?”
“Yeah?”
I swallow down the heaviness squeezing in my throat, forcing myself not to reach up and rub at the physical ache in my chest. “One day, when you’re old like me, happy places won’t just be in books. They’ll be real. And you won’t have to pretend anymore.”
I need her to believe the lie. Even if I don’t.