Chapter Eight
SIDNEY
The second I step into my condo and drop my gear bag, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I don’t bother checking it at first—probably a team update or Mason sending me another meme of a goalie getting annihilated by a toddler.
When he’d returned from making sure his girlfriend was okay a week ago, he’d been in a pretty mellow mood. It’d taken Max and me a good day to shake him out of his funk and get him back to his easygoing self.
He’d been worried about Victoria, I got that. But we also had a stellar season to prepare for. Every one of us needed to lock in and give it all we had.
Training camp had been brutal at times. No matter how hard you continue to train in the off-season, that first team practice always humbles you. I wasn’t zooming up and down the ice like the rest of my team, but after that first day, my hip flexors were singing.
It feels nice to be home though. Two weeks was enough time for the team to bond without draining anybody’s social battery, but I’m looking forward to sitting in silence for at least a day to recover from all the constant noise.
Speaking of noise, why is my cell going off non-stop? Pulling the device out of my pocket, I glance at the screen, instantly on alert when I see who’s calling.
Eddie Watson.
My heart stops, then punches back to life so hard it feels like a misfire. She’s calling.
Calling. Not texting. Calling.
I stare for a beat too long, hand frozen mid-air, when it stops vibrating. Part of me doesn’t want to respond right away—the juvenile side of me that’s butt-hurt over her ignoring me for two weeks.
The other side of me wants to do a happy dance and answer immediately. Talk for hours and get every update imaginable from her.
But before I can decide what I want to do, the call goes to voicemail. I fumble the phone and swear under my breath at my stupidity. I tap into my cell and call her back.
H-Hey, Eddie. How’s it going? I say, trying to sound casual, normal, not like I’d been borderline pathetic, waiting for her attention.
But the voice that responds isn’t the one I was expecting.
Sidney?
Joey? His voice is low, almost sacred.
Every muscle in my body tenses. Joey? Hey, man. What’s going on?
There’s a small inhale, the sound of a kid trying to keep his emotions under wraps. S-something’s wrong with my mom.
The world slides sideways, and I stop my progression into my condo, frozen in the middle of the hallway.
What do you mean? I force my voice to be steady, calm. Tell me what’s happening.
She’s really hot. And sweaty. And she’s coughing a lot. She won’t get out of bed. I tried to give her water, but she didn’t want any. I-I don’t know what to do.
Fuck. That doesn’t sound good at all.
Do you know any of your neighbours? Are they home? I ask.
Umm, I know Mr. Alverez, but he’s not home. And my Aunt Bri isn’t answering her phone. His breath hitches. I don’t know what to do, he repeats.
Joey, I say, already pocketing my keys and heading for the bathroom cabinet, I’m coming. Right now. Can you tell me your address?
He rattles it off, voice trembling, and it kills me. I hate that he’s feeling helpless right now. Hopefully, I can help. I pull up my Notes app quickly and type it down. My brain is too frazzled to remember anything right now, so this will help when I’m back in the car.
I’ll be there as fast as I can, I promise. Keep the phone with you. And stay near your mom’s room. I’m on my way.
I hang up, then dump half my medicine cabinet into a gym bag I grabbed along the way.
Acetaminophen, electrolyte drinks, thermometer, cold compresses, it all goes in the bag.
Then, I raid my fridge like a lunatic, grabbing bottled water and whatever else looks remotely helpful.
Minutes later, I’m sprinting out the door.
Toronto traffic is its usual brand of hellish, but once I hit the outskirts of the core, the roads open up. I drive faster than I should, but not recklessly. My brain is too sharp, too focused to do anything stupid. It knows exactly what matters—getting to Eddie and Joey.
She hadn’t returned a single one of my texts in two weeks.
Was this illness part of the reason why?
There has to be another part to this explanation, but if she’s as sick as Joey is saying, then this must have been building for days.
I can’t believe I made it all about me. Thinking that her lack of response was somehow tied to my self-worth. What an idiot I am.
One thing I’m learning as I travel down this new path is that none of my past relationships prepared me for Eddie. And I need to stop thinking the world revolves around me.
I pull onto a quiet street lined with attached townhouses—older and well-worn, nothing fancy, but sturdy. Waiting at the curb, shivering in the November cold, is Joey.
My chest squeezes. The kid looks miserable.
He’s in jeans and a sweatshirt, his hands clenched in the sleeves.
His hair, which I’ve never seen in any other style but messy, looks extra crazy right now, telling me that the kid has been non-stop worrying.
I barely throw the car in park before I’m out, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
Hey, I say softly as I reach him. You okay?
For a second, I think he’s going to tell me yes, that he’s holding it together, but he changes his mind. He shakes his head, pressing his lips together to stop any emotion from escaping. She won’t wake up. She keeps making all these weird noises, and I don’t know how to help her.
You did exactly what you’re supposed to, Joey. You took care of her, and you called for backup. I rest a hand on his shoulder. Let’s go inside, yeah?
Joey nods, turning without any further prompting, and rushes through the front door. Adjusting the bag over my shoulder, I follow him and prepare myself for what I’m about to walk into.
Inside, the townhouse is warm. Not just from the heater.
Cozy. Clean. Bright colours and soft touches everywhere in the form of plants, blankets, and family pictures.
There are hockey posters taped crookedly on the hallway walls that make me smile.
I’m a little offended I’m not on the wall of Watson greatness, but maybe there’s still time.
The place is a little messy, but it’s a well-loved home.
And, weirdly, I feel myself relax in the space. Like I’ve walked into something familiar. I honestly expected there to be more signs of sickness around the place. Scattered tissues and the like. Which means whatever is wrong with Eddie came on suddenly.
Joey waves me forward, and I follow him to the bedroom.
He opens the door with such caution that I feel a bit of my worry disappear for a moment before I peer into the dark room.
My eyes catch on Eddie instantly in the middle of her bed, sheets thrown down and tangled around her feet.
Her arms are crossed over her head, blocking her eyes from the light or something that I can’t pinpoint.
The long-sleeve top and sleep pants she’s wearing are drenched in sweat.
Oh yeah, she’s ill.
I’m not talking about simple day-one flu symptoms either. From where I’m standing across the room, I can hear the raspiness of her breaths. She’s struggling.
Eddie is curled on her side. From what I can see, her face is flushed, and her breathing is too shallow and too fast. A bottle of nighttime cold medicine lies on the bedside table, half-empty.
Both Joey and I jump when Eddie bursts out into a fit of coughs. They rack her body, making her gasp for breath. The sounds she’s making have my stomach in a knot. I know I have to be the adult here, but my God, she could be possessed.
When her coughing stops, she still hasn’t woken up. Giving Joey a quick look of reassurance, I hope at least, I move farther into the room. Stepping up to the side of her bed, I bend and gently press my hand to her forehead. Shit. She’s burning up.
The first thing that pops into my head is that this has to be pneumonia. Or walking pneumonia at best. I’m no doctor, but I remember my mom having that a few years ago and needing a puffer to help with her cough.
She’s really sick, Joey murmurs from my side.
She is, but you did the right thing, bud. We’re going to help her.
She’s not gonna die, is she? Joey whispers.
My heart cracks clean in two. I turn to him, taking a step forward so he can see how serious I am.
No, I say firmly. She’s really sick, but I’m here now. And we’re going to take care of her together. Once she wakes up, I’ll call a doctor to check on her. We’ll get her the right meds, and then she’ll be back to her normal self. She’s going to be okay.
He nods, but his eyes are still glued to the bed, fear hovering at the edges.
You hungry? I ask gently, trying to distract him. You eat dinner?
He shakes his head. Another clear sign that he was very worried about his mom.
Okay. How about we fix that? I force a smile. What do you say to ordering a couple burgers with onion rings? I’ve been at training camp all week, eating rabbit food. I want something greasy.
The first flicker of hope crosses his face. Burgers?
And… I add, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze, I’ll challenge you to a hockey game on your Xbox. Winner gets bragging rights. But I warn you—I’m extremely competitive.
He perks up, the tiniest spark of excitement breaking through the fear. His gaze goes from me to his mom and then back. I’m gonna destroy you.
Bold claim. I respect it.
I motion toward the living room and pick up my phone to place the food order. Joey hovers at my side, still glancing toward his mom’s room every few seconds, but slowly—slowly—he begins to breathe easier.
While the game loads and Joey collects the controllers, I unload my bag of sick day essentials. Placing the water and electrolytes in the fridge, I stop myself and grab one. Walking back to Eddie’s room, I uncap the water.
Eddie? I say softly. It’s Sidney. Can you drink some of this water for me? Just a tiny sip?
She makes a low moaning sound, close to a gurgle. Her body twists towards me, but her eyes are still closed. Taking that move as a sign of permission, I sit on the edge of her bed and gently guide the water to her lips. She doesn’t take more than a few sips before turning away.
Content that she has some fluids in her body now, I place the water on her bedside table, take the old, empty glass, and leave her to rest again.
Everything okay? Joey asks when I come back into the living room.
Yeah. Just wanted to make sure your mom had fresh water.
He nods, going back to the game that’s loading on the TV. Dropping onto the couch, I let myself sit back for a moment, absorbing the room, the quiet, the weight of tonight’s adventure.
For the first time in two weeks, something in my chest loosens.
Maybe she hadn’t been avoiding me. She’d just been dealing with the stress of being a single parent, battling an illness that wouldn’t go away. I don’t know her well, but I know enough about her that asking for help must be something she tries to avoid.
I admire her strength and resilience, but it’s time to show her that asking for help, asking me for help, is okay. I want her to need me, to trust me enough to reach out when she needs a little support.
Her son saw something in me worth believing in. I’m hoping Eddie sees it too, in time.
I don’t want to block her path. I want to be the one walking behind her, ready to assist with anything she needs.
I’ll just have to show her that I’m more than the playboy goalie the media makes me out to be. I’m serious about her. I’m serious about exploring the connection I feel for her. And I’m not going anywhere when the going gets tough.