CHAPTER 1
FREYA
I need to get up. I’m a mom, and my kids are depending on me to get my ass out of this bed.
The thought is there. I’m fully aware that I need to get downstairs and tend to my kids, just like I do every day of my life. At least I did before everything changed.
Now, I stay in bed a little longer, and I cry into my dead husband’s pillow, asking God why he’d take away a man with three young children. I ask what I did in a former life that would make me have to look at their sad faces every single day, over and over, knowing that they miss him so much.
My mom’s downstairs, picking up my slack, just like she has the past ten days since I got the phone call that changed my life forever. The call telling me that Jamie—the love of my life, my husband, and the father to my three kids—had been in a car accident and was killed on impact.
I keep my cheek against his pillow, tears streaming down my face as my nose runs. You’d think I’d be all out of tears from doing this every night and every morning. Actually, anytime my kids can’t see me, this is what I do … I cry. Yet I can’t stop.
Images of my kids’ faces during the moment when I ruined their lives forever flash through my mind.
I wanted to be the one to tell them. I thought, It has to come from me.
But when I said those words—that their daddy had been in a terrible accident and wasn’t coming home—and I watched the light slowly leave their eyes …
I hated myself for being the one to steal it.
They had their entire lives in front of them, and yet they would have to do it without him.
Cane is seven. He was Jamie’s number one fan, and he would have attached himself to him if he could. He was just like a shadow. He’s gotten really into hockey, and that was something he and Jamie did together. His dad took him to his practices, and Cane’s been playing goalie lately, loving it.
Cash is only five. He tended to come to me more than Jamie when he needed something, but he thought his father had hung the moon. Jamie was Cash’s hero.
The door squeaks open, and I hardly hear the tiny footsteps, telling me it’s Avy and that she’s made her way past my mom and gotten upstairs. Quickly, I wipe my eyes just before she comes beside the bed.
Tucked under her arm is her blanket, and I smile at her even though every part of me hurts. Her blonde hair is brushed, thanks to her grandma. And she’s in a fresh set of clothes for the day.
“Hi, baby,” I whisper. “Want to get in my bed?”
She nods her head, so I lean forward and help pull her up. I bring the comforter over her, and our heads lie on the pillows, just inches apart. She’s only two years old, but her eyes are filled with sadness, and it sends a pain right through my chest.
“We can put the TV on if you want?” I say, trying to cheer her up. “Would that be nice?”
“Okay,” she answers softly, and I smile, sitting up and reaching for the remote on the nightstand.
Settling back in, I pull her against me and kiss the top of her head as I pull up the Disney+ app and put on one of her favorites—Toy Story 4.
Holding her close to me, I keep my tears inside as best I can.
But after she quietly watches for a few minutes, she says the words that break me all over again. “I want Daddy.”
My heart breaks more inside my chest, and a stabbing sensation causes my heart to tighten, and my throat aches from holding in the sobs that I so badly need to let out.
And even though I do my best to keep myself under control, it’s hard.
Because as a mom, all I want to do is take away her pain, but I can’t.
I can’t do anything to make this better. Not for her and not for her brothers.
My daughter—the light of my life—will never have her dad to do all the things that he’s supposed to be here doing.
Because life is so fucking unfair and makes absolutely no sense. And even though I know I need to hide it from my kids, a part of me is dead now. And I don’t think it’ll ever come back to life.
Chapter 2
Tripp
Age 33
During practice, I stand in front of the goal, just as I always do because it’s practically my second home. When Logan Sterns attempts to get one past me, I stop it. A slight pain radiates in my hip, but I ignore it because that’s just part of my body now. It exists, just as I do.
“Not today, Logie Bear,” I mumble as playfully as I can possibly muster, and instantly, I see his bright smile through his shield.
He’s the best of the best when it comes to the ice, but he’s like ten percent serious and ninety percent goofy, despite how good he is at hockey.
Something I wish I could do is loosen the fuck up from time to time, but that’s not something that comes easily to me because I’ve always been afraid to slack off at all, scared I’ll fuck up my career or something.
Because for a long time, making it here—to the NHL—was the only thing on my mind. I ate, slept, breathed to make it to the top. That didn’t leave time for fucking off, and now that I’m here … well, I guess muscle memory has me being a grumpy, serious asshole.
“Yeah, yeah,” he tosses back, wearing his signature, no-shits-given grin. “I’ll get one past you, you handsome devil. You just wait.”
If anyone can get a puck past me, it’s him or Ryder Cambridge. I wouldn’t say it to their faces—they’d think I was having a medical episode because … it’s me, but the two of them are insanely talented players. And even from the goal, it’s pretty cool to watch them work.
I’ve been a Bay Shark now for eleven years, and truth be told, my body isn’t happy with me that I’ve been playing professional hockey for this long.
Though I will say, I consider myself damn lucky that I’ve spent my entire career as a Shark, wearing that navy-and-light-blue jersey, and they’ve never traded my ass somewhere else.
Ryder skates toward me as practice comes to an end and pulls his helmet off. The dude is a weapon on the ice, but he looks like he just walked out of an American Eagle catalog.
“Don’t forget, it’s you and me this weekend at the skills clinic,” he says with a grin. “Try not to look too scary. These are kids we’ll be working with.”
Skating away from the goal, I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
I know the clinics that the team has been putting on once a month are for a good cause.
I mean, shit, it gives the opportunity for young players who might not get the chance to attend trainings to work with some of the best coaches and a few NHL players.
It’s an amazing program. But it means I have to work with kids, and I don’t know the first thing about them.
This will be the first clinic I’ve volunteered at.
Ryder’s, too, but he’s a talkative, charismatic guy.
Me? I come off as a dick, but it’s just my face.
As I head toward the side of the arena, planning to do some cool-down stretches, Ryder stays beside me. “Oh, cut it out. You’re not fooling me after all these years. I know you’re a marshmallow inside.”
“Oh, yeah. The squishiest,” I utter. “I’ll be there, Cambridge.”
“And you’ll look friendly?” Ryder asks, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. “Remember, these are kids we’re talking about. They get scared easily.”
“I’m not an asshole, you know,” I say quickly, a bit offended. “I do know how to communicate with people.”
Flashing an amused look, he smirks. “Well, all righty then. Put on your happy pants and be ready to teach some kids, motherfucker.”
“Oh, I’ll be ready,” I shoot back as he skates off, heading toward Walker James and a few others.
Once he’s gone, I drop down onto the ice and start some stretches, and instantly, I fight a wince when a pain shoots across my hip.
Coming out of nowhere, Kolt Kolburne steps onto the ice. He’s in his sneakers because of an injury a few weeks ago that took him out of the season early.
“You know, eventually, you’re going to have to stop ignoring the pain, fuckhead.” He keeps his voice low, making sure nobody hears him.
Kolt is quiet, like me. Or I guess I should say, we just aren’t as loud as most of the dudes on our team. Even though he’s quiet, he sees absolutely everything.
Kolt is sort of the voice of reason on the team, even though he’d roll his eyes if we told him that.
“I’m not ignoring it, asshole. I go to PT multiple times a week. I’m just getting old.”
“Is that why you’re so ugly?” He smirks, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve been wondering for a while now.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t be jealous, Kolburne,” I say and give him the finger. I continue stretching, not giving him the satisfaction that it hurts as bad as it does. Wear and tear—that’s all it is. I’ve been playing at this level for a long-ass time, and my body is tired.
“Well, be careful making those faces while you’re stretching, big guy,” he mumbles. “Coaches see that, and that new, fresh, young goalie they’ve got coming in may be taking your place.”
He says it as a joke, but I know there’s a hidden message. Kolt and I don’t have to come out and say how we’re feeling; we’re so much alike that we just pick up on shit that our teammates would miss. So, I know Kolt is telling me that if I don’t get it together and fix my body, I will be replaced.
He doesn’t realize part of me wants that.
“Anyway, a bunch of us are going to Cambridge’s after practice to watch the football game. You in?”
“Since you asked, handsome, I’ll be there,” I say, and he gives me the slightest head nod before exiting the ice.
These guys are my family. I can’t imagine what life would be like if I wasn’t around them every single day.
***
Freya
I glance up at the clock, noting that I have roughly six minutes to finish frosting these cinnamon buns before I need to leave to pick up the kids from school. Which would be okay for anyone who can frost messily, but that is not me.