Chapter 47 Rhea
I’m wandering down the hallway at school when I hear a commotion coming from Mr. Disson’s class. I slow my steps and tuck my papers under my arm, intending to help, but it’s Riona who barrels out of the classroom. Her hair hangs in blonde waves around her sharp features.
“Oh,” I open my mouth and shut it again.
“Ms. Drake,” Riona inhales slowly, righting herself.
“Are you alright?” I ask, against my better judgment. I don’t know how much she knows about everything, and I’m nervous that her opinion of me has changed. But her expression shifts, and it’s clear she’s overwhelmed.
“No,” she swallows.
“The art room is empty,” I say, pointing back to my room, and Riona takes a second but follows me. As we enter, I shut the door behind us, and she sets her bag down on the desk. “Mr. Dickson can be a real prick.”
“That’s a good name for him,” she compliments. “And yes, he is a prick.”
“Are you here about Daisy?” I question as she wanders around the art room, taking it all in.
“Did you do all this?” she asks about the paintings that decorate the walls instead of answering me.
“No, students,” I answer honestly.
“Freedom to express is important at this age. It fosters emotional independence,” Riona says, laughing at one of the paintings that Lori has done. It’s a polar bear in a Speedo.
“So I’ve heard,” I say, and she looks over her shoulder at me. “Daisy says stuff like that all the time; it’s pretty obvious she doesn’t get that emotional independence from her dad.”
This makes her laugh, genuinely, her shoulders relax a bit, but I can tell she’s still on guard.
“She’s been doing well, if that’s why you’re here. Although she’s been spending a lot more time in the music room.” I tell her.
“Auggie.” Riona swallows tightly. “If someone told me fourteen years ago my daughter would crush on Silas Shore’s son, I’d have throat-punched them.
” Silas Shore is a retired Hornet’s baseball player, his father is Charles Shore.
A filthy rich idiot currently on trial for a lot of fraud, tax evasion and money laundering.
The connection to Riona is a little rattling.
I didn’t take her for the bat bunny type.
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Don’t judge me,” she laughs, “he was a work of art back then.”
“I was going to say you have good taste in men.” I give her a look, and she rolls her eyes.
“I had. I think I'm sick of athletes.” She corrects me.
"You're being liberal calling Brighton an athlete," I tease and she laughs gently with a small nod.
“He’s different with you.” Anyone else might have taken it as an insult, but there’s a softness to the way she says it. Something that makes me believe she’s genuinely happy about it. “He thinks I don’t see it, but I do.”
I open my mouth to argue that he’s not different; their relationship is, but she shakes her head softly. Riona spent her life with him; she’s got the upper hand.
"I think trauma had a hand in that," I say, refusing to take the credit.
“They warned me that he’d come home differently. I took classes, sat in group therapy, and did everything I could to prepare myself for it. I thought if anyone could ground him in reality, it’s me,” she sighs quietly. “I thought he’d come back with pieces of himself. Instead, he came home hollow.”
The bar. I should’ve known it was something that was said to him at some point.
“Yeah, Boone thinks that’s hilarious, too.
” Riona sighs, tracking my expression. “I didn’t come in here to act as I know him and warn you away or anything.
” She tells me, picking up her bag again.
“Bright’s a good dad. He loves Daisy. Sometimes, I think it’s all he has room to do.
So if he’s making room for you,” she stops at the door, hand on the knob, “utilize it. Because the man I loved would burn the world down for the people he cares about, and that’s a big way to love.
It’s not something you just forget how to do. ”
A week later, I’m dragging Brighton along on the thousands of errands I have to do.
I’d much rather be spending my Saturday in bed with him, ignoring the world, but unfortunately, my Mom is at work, and Hockey doesn’t stop for anyone.
The arena is a lot colder than I expect, and the raw stench of cold sweat hits my nose like a tidal wave as Brighton holds the door open for me.
“You want this?” he asks, pulling off his hat, and already half out of the hoodie he’s wearing, like he knows I’m going to refuse and he’s not going to let me. The long sleeve he’s wearing beneath is tight and clings to his oversized body like it was stretched around him a size too small.
It’s unfair that he looks that good, clothed and naked.
“Rhea,” he chuckles, waving it in my face as I stare. I take it as he smooths out his hair back under the hat and watches me.
“Thank you." I pull it over my head, expecting to fit it like it’s mine, but it hits my body like a blanket, roomy in every way possible. I tuck my chin inside the collar, and Brighton smiles at me, pleased with himself.
“What’s his number?” He asks, following me up into the stands.
“Seventy-one,” I point to where Reid warms up with a few of his teammates. He currently plays for an AA team, but his skills are growing and developing so fast that he’ll just keep climbing through the ranks.
“Why seventy-one?” Brighton slides onto the stone bleacher beside me.
“Uh…” I try to remember the player's name. “He’s always been obsessed with the Penguins? I don’t know the guy's name.”
Brighton just nods, his eyes trailing the ice as Reid moves back and forth between the boards, getting faster with each lap until his team starts to circle back to the bench to get a word from their coach.
“Is he going to be pissed you brought me here?” Brighton asks. Mostly because when the game starts, Reid turns his head to look over at us, and his expression is cold.
“He wasn’t even mad you came for dinner,” I say—which is a lie. That’s just Reid.
“You’re full of shit, Hellcat. You forget I’m that brother,” he turns to look at me, and his glare is knowing.
“He was upset I didn’t tell him, not that you were there,” I correct myself. “He’s just protective for all the wrong reasons. He was so little when it all happened, and he spends every day trying to prove he’s not a victim anymore.”
Brighton’s jaw tightens at the mention of what happened. For a while, I thought maybe he’d forgotten what I told him. He was a little dazed that night, and there was a chance he didn’t retain anything but that strained tick tells me he does. Every single detail.
“I still wish you had warned me,” he says. “Having me show up there couldn’t have been easy on him.”
“He had a few choice words about your size.” I laugh at the look Brighton gives me. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Gabe isn’t exactly what someone would consider the man of the house.”
“You and I both know you’re the man of that house,” Brighton teases.
“But I let Reid believe it’s him, and unfortunately, that was a little threatened. He’s fine now. I think…” I shrug and turn my eyes back to the game.
“Teenagers are terrifying.”
“You’re telling me,” I scoff.
Reid moves down the ice with precision, and I watch as he slots through the legs of a defenseman, regains complete control of the puck, and pockets it into the top left corner of the net, completely bypassing the goalie without breaking a sweat.
I jump up, screaming as loud as I can for him, and don’t stop screaming until he turns to me with his stick extended and a stupid grin on his face. He doesn’t wear that one as much anymore, and it’s always nice to see it.
“I understand better now,” Brighton says after the first goal is scored.
“What?” I ask, sitting back down.
“Why you are the way you are,” he says, like it's supposed to clear up the confusion. He chuckles because he can see my expression out of the corner of his eye while he watches the game. “You’re so content being the last priority because it’s always meant that the people you love are the first.”
I scoff, both because he’s not wrong but because the statement comes out of nowhere.
“Sunday said they never show up and yet…” he nods to the ice. “You’re always trailing behind them, making sure they never feel that way. Why?” He finally looks at me when he asks.
“Because they didn’t ask for any of this. They’re just kids,” I say as Reid scores his second goal of the game and the crowd surges.
“Neither did you.” He argues gently.
“I have the power to make sure they don’t feel the way I do,” I explain to him. “Showing up is the bottom line.” I whisper, the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes because it’s true.
“Hey.” He hooks his finger into the collar of my hoodie and pulls me toward him until our noses are touching. The sudden show of public affection set me off balance a little, but he doesn’t even blink when he says, “Every game, if I can’t be there, it goes on the big TV.”
I smile as my eyes fill with more uncontrollable tears. “Even when the Huskies play?” I ask quietly.
“Especially when the Huskies play.”
“Why?” I ask him.
“Because I have the power to make sure you don’t feel like that anymore either.” His tone isn’t harsh; it’s the same as the voice he used the night I was nervous to wear my heels. I nod, only because if I open my mouth to agree, I’ll cry harder, and we are still very much in public. “Good.”
He pulls the hood over my head, kissing my temple as he pulls me into his side so I can stop what tears are falling without anyone paying attention to me, and we watch the rest of the game like that.
Brighton even starts cheering with me for Reid every time he makes a play, and for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like I’m burdening anyone.
We’re just here, enjoying the game and the afternoon.
When the game finishes, Brighton waits with me by the locker rooms as Reid showers and collects his bag.
“Why’s he here?” is the first thing out of his mouth when he steps into the tunnel.
“Good game, Reid.” I sigh.
He looks at me, and all I see is the anger behind those green eyes, but it fades as he takes in my expression. He turns to Brighton and unclenches his jaw.
“Sorry,” he clips.
“Can I take that?” Brighton points to his hockey bag, and Reid questions his motives for a second but drops it on the floor. Brighton bends down and scoops it up as Reid throws his hand through the damp, dark hair on his head.
“You did really well today,” I say, trying to diffuse the tension.
Neither of them is paying attention to me, though. My brother is too busy trying to find things he hates about my— about Brighton. Is he my boyfriend? We’ve never had that conversation… Oh god, Rhea. Every turn you stumble around like Bambi in the dark.
Brighton looks at the sticks Reid carries, three, all identical. “Right down to the stick,” he says, and Reid gives him a dirty look as we wander out to the parking lot.
“What?” He scowls.
“Seventy-one. These are expensive. You really like the one-ten flex?” he asks, and my brother turns into a different person I’ve never seen before in my life. “You can’t be more than one-eighty.”
“I’m one-fifty-two, but the one-ten flex has a better give to it than what they recommend for my size. So yeah,” he says as Brighton throws the bag into the back of his truck.
“Evgeni barely handles a one-ten, and he’s twice your size.” Brighton shrugs and closes the cover as he turns back to Reid.
“Geno is the best hockey player of this generation,” Reid defends with a wicked grin on his face. “Don’t tell me, you’re an Ovechkin fan boy. Ree… who the hell is this guy?”
I raise my hands in the air because the way Brighton is talking, I barely know.
“Now you’re just insulting me,” Brighton laughs. “Jagr is who you should idolize,” he says. “That’s a next-level Russian superstar. Geno is just following pace.”
Reid inhales, and his smile grows. “Alright, alright,” he nods. “That's better than I expected. I can work with that.”
“You hungry?” Brighton asks him.
“Fucking starving,” he swears, and I scowl. “I’m practically eighteen, Ree,” he waves me off and climbs into the back seat of the truck. Brighton walks me over to the passenger side and palms the handle.
“That was impressive,” I say, and Brighton smirks at me.
“I own a sports bar, Hellcat. It’s my job.”
“Right. Well, still, he’s not the easiest. He definitely bites.” I joke.
“So do you," he teases, popping the door for me.
“You’re a sadist.” I roll my eyes. When I climb in, I turn to Reid in the back seat, and he just shrugs in approval, which is more than I was expecting to get today.