Chapter Eight
Briggs
By the time I get to the practice arena from the airport, I'm exhausted. Sleeping with Tia in the next room was impossible, especially after listening to her come. It's all I thought about all night.
She'd probably kill me if she knew just how many times I tried her door, just to see if it was still locked. Every time it didn't move, this strange mix of relief and frustration coursed through me, making me more jittery than ever.
Had the door been unlocked, I would have fucked her last night. My self-control was in tatters, torn to shreds by the way she moaned my name through the wall. And had I fucked her, I think she would have regretted it this morning. She isn't quite there yet.
She's close, so fucking close, but she needs time to sit with what she's feeling. She needs time to fully separate me from Daniel in her mind and process that I play hockey…but I'm not the same hockey player who destroyed her trust and her confidence.
I can be patient until then. Well, as patient as possible. Can I keep my hands to myself? As I proved this morning, absolutely the fuck not.
It's ironic, really. After weeks of wishing she were right here, right now, I'm suddenly relieved that she's in a different state for the next five days. The distance will guarantee that I can't fuck up what's between us before it even truly begins.
Will it piss me off? Hell yes. But I can live with that. I don't think I can live with moving too fast and unraveling the progress we've made.
"Well, well, well," Ryan shouts from center ice as soon as I step into the arena, his voice echoing. The sharp, familiar smell of the ice does little to clear my head. Neither does the sound of a puck ricocheting off the boards. "He's returned!"
Half the team turns to look at me.
I just shoot them a two-finger wave and head for the locker room to suit up. I'm not even halfway down the old, scuffed hallway when Karsen growls my name.
I glance up to find him at the far end, near the weight room, a scowl etched onto his face, his skates slung over his shoulder. Fuck my life.
He immediately stomps in my direction.
"What's up?" I ask, wary. Karsen is a damn good captain. He can also be a crabby bastard who rarely minces words. When he's pissed, you know it.
"Your mother was here earlier," he says.
My entire body goes rigid. "What the fuck?"
"She said she was looking for you," he mutters, stopping in front of me. "Claimed it was an emergency."
"Jesus Christ." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Did she say what kind of emergency?"
"Nope." He eyes me sympathetically. Most of the team knows the situation with her. It's not like I've made it a secret or anything. "I told her that we'd let you know. She kept wanting to know where you were, but no one told her."
I drop my head, muttering a curse. I'd bet my left nut that there is no emergency, at least not one that matters. Her funding issue isn't my goddamn problem. But looks like she's going to keep trying to make it my issue.
"You need a restraining order, man," Karsen says.
"No shit," I mutter, tipping my head up to glare at him. "But then we have to deal with the goddamn fallout from that. You think the press won't be all over us filing a restraining order against our own mother?"
Harlan, Tye, and I are all professional athletes. Hattie is married to a professional athlete. And the press has spent too much time in our business lately with all the weddings as it is. If we file an order, they'll be all over it.
They won't stop digging until they know every sordid detail of our fucked-up family history—like how our father died leaving our mother, or how he was leaving her because she was abusive to Hattie, practically starving her because she wanted her to lose weight.
It'll all be out there, and I don't want to do that to Hattie, not when she's finally fucking happy and thriving.
I don't want to risk doing it to Tia, either.
The last thing she needs is for anyone to dig up her past because of my drama with my mother.
Daniel Jordan has caused her enough pain without the press getting a hold of the story in some quest to lay my entire life out for the masses.
I will lose my shit if she walks away from me because I wasn't careful enough with her.
Karsen clamps a hand on my shoulder. "We've got your back, brother. You know we do."
"Thanks," I sigh. This team has always had my back, but they can't handle our mother for me, unfortunately. That one is on me. "I'll go deal with her after practice."
I don't want to deal with her, though. I want to be back in Minneapolis, with Tia in front of me and my mother the furthest thing from my mind. I want it so badly it's a goddamn ache in the center of my chest.
"Hey," I say before Karsen can walk away.
He pauses, glancing at me.
"I need a favor."
"Name it."
"You know anything about Daniel Jordan?"
His brows furrow. "The center for the Pirates?"
"Yeah, him."
"Not much. I don't associate with pricks, you know that."
I grunt, not surprised he knows Jordan's reputation. There isn't much Karsen doesn't know. "Turns out, he's a fucking predator. I can't get into specifics or reveal names, but he likes to make bets about who he can sleep with and then publicly humiliate them after the fact."
"Jesus Christ," Karsen growls, his eyes narrowing. "You talking about Kingston's sister?"
I grit my teeth, refusing to answer that question. Doesn't matter if Karsen is my captain; I'm not breaking Tia's trust.
He must see something on my face because he doesn't push. Instead, he nods, his expression dark. "You don't have to answer me," he says. "Just know that I've got it handled."
"How?"
"I know people," he says, grinning savagely. "Like the coach for the Pirates. Trust me, if he has a spot on the team once I'm finished, it'll be a miracle."
"Shit," I whisper, gratitude rushing through me. "Thank you."
"You don't owe me thanks, brother." He pauses. "Is she good?"
"Yeah." I swallow. "She will be."
"Then that's all that matters."
I don't have to go looking for my mother. She's waiting on my porch again when I pull into the driveway, perched on the edge of a chaise like a made-up little doll. It's all smoke and mirrors. If the world knew what kind of ugly lurked behind her perfect mask, they'd never see her the same again.
She spots me before I even kill the engine, rising to her feet. She doesn't come to me, though. She waits for me to come to her.
I grit my teeth, stomping up the sidewalk to meet her.
"Briggs!" she cries as soon as I'm within earshot. "I've been waiting for you, dear."
"What are you doing here, Mother?"
"I came to talk," she says, wringing her hands like she's distressed. Like everything else about her, it's an act, though. It's always an act with her. "About Hattie."
Of course she did. She always makes it about Hattie at first, pretending she misses her or that she cares.
It's never that, though. The reality is that our mother is smart enough to know that Hattie's the only reason we tolerated her for as long as we did.
She thinks Hattie is her way back into the fold, that if she just pretends for long enough, I'll soften just like I have so many times before.
It's not happening this time, though.
"We aren't talking about Hattie," I growl, my hands tight around my gym bag. "You don't get to know anything about her anymore."
"But I—"
"No."
"She's my daughter!" she cries dramatically. "I deserve to know what's going on in her life."
It's funny. Harlan is the one who just got married, but she doesn't even say his name now, like what's going on in his life doesn't interest her in the least since he stopped sending her money.
"No, you don't. You lost that right years ago," I say. "And I warned you last time you showed up here that if it happened again, you wouldn't like the consequences."
"You can't threaten me, Briggs Gregory Ward."
"It's not a threat," I say, stepping past her. "It's a promise. Stay the fuck away from my sister. Stay away from my brothers. Stay away from me and—" I stop myself before Tia's name slips.
But my mother's eyes narrow anyway. "Who?"
Fuck.
"My teammates," I lie, my teeth gritted. Hell will freeze over before I tell her about Tia. "They told me you were at the arena this morning."
"Yes. Why weren't you there?" Her gaze darts across my face like she's searching for the truth. "You're never late to practice."
Goddammit.
"That's not your concern, Mother."
"I'm your mother, Briggs. Of course it's my concern."
She was never that, not really. I've played hockey in the same city since I was drafted, just so I'd be here for Hattie.
I can count on one hand how many times this woman has appeared at a game.
And every fucking time, she had an ulterior motive, something she wanted, something she needed, or some reason she needed to be seen.
Maybe she cared once. But I think her ability to love died when Dad chose our well-being over her.
She's resented us ever since, especially Hattie.
"You need to leave." I thrust the key into the lock, ignoring the way she sniffles behind me. It's for show, just like everything else she does. And I'm not buying a ticket to watch the play.
"Please," she whispers, "please don't just shut me out. I need you, Briggs. You're the only one who—"
"Who what? Can pay your bills? Convince Tye and Harlan to send you money?" I shake my head, not even turning around to look at her. "Figure it out yourself, Mother."
"You promised," she says, confirming precisely what I already knew. None of her little appearances have anything to do with Hattie or any of us. They're all about the money I stopped sending her months ago.