Chapter 28
Beau
Ihate what yesterday became. I hate it so much.
I wake up in bed, half-dressed and in pain, all alone.
A glass of Milo’s hangover juice is waiting for me beside the bed, along with some aspirin, but Milo is already gone.
Already on his way to practice this morning.
I’m currently banned from the arena, but I had every intention of begging Milo to at least bring me along so I can watch practice.
I’m so embarrassed by my behavior last night. So embarrassed by how drunk I got watching the game. Because, yes, obviously I watched the game. Okay, I listened to the game, so that doesn’t really count as screen time, and Milo can’t really get mad at me for that.
I sip the juice slowly, letting its crisp coolness run down my throat and soothe my stomach, and swing out of bed, desperate to get some pants on.
I keep myself busy making breakfast. It turns out cracking eggs is even harder when you’re down an arm, so really I just manage to make a mess of the kitchen. My scramble is more shell than egg, and I spill hashbrowns everywhere when I try to open the bag.
I look around at the mess I’ve made, and I have to laugh. This is ridiculous. I snap a picture and send the chaos to Milo. He replies seconds later. They must not be on the ice yet.
Me: *image of mess* don’t leave me alone in the kitchen lol
Milo: LOL
I smile down at my phone. I can practically hear his laugh ringing in my ear, a sweet, melodic sound. It makes me feel warm all over just thinking about him.
I down the rest of my juice, my stomach settling easily, and bring the plate of crunchy eggs and mushy hashbrowns to the couch.
It’s quiet in the house without Milo’s happy energy. He makes me unbelievably happy, so happy I can feel it in my toes.
The couch is warm and comforting, and I long for Milo’s embrace.
He is warmth and comfort and makes me feel like all the little pieces I shatter into can be pieced together again.
He doesn’t just hold me together, though.
It feels like he helps me hold myself together.
He helps me find all the tiniest lost pieces and put them into the open wounds of my soul.
God, I’m getting mushy about this guy.
I think I’m feeling things about him that I never even felt for Bianca, and honestly, that’s really scary.
Do I love him?
Fuck, I think I do.
Do I tell him?
A beat passes, and my belly fills with butterflies and hope.
I think I have to.
I sit with those thoughts for quite some time, letting them ruminate in my head. Letting them grow roots.
Before I know it, it’s midday, and Milo is pushing through the door. He has a big smile on his face when he sees me, and I try to match it, but I swear there’s this little worm digging around in my brain, telling me everything is moving too quickly.
Despite the little worm, I manage a smile at Milo.
“Hey, sweetheart.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at the term of endearment, but when his hand brushes my cheek and he leans down for a kiss, I meet his lips earnestly. The kiss lingers, him licking the seams of my lips a little before I invite him in.
Before long, Milo is straddling my lap and kissing me fervently, exploring my mouth with his insistent tongue.
He suddenly pulls back at the sound of a honk outside.
“Fuck, I was supposed to get you ready.” He looks down at what I’m wearing and shrugs. “We just need to get a shirt on you.”
“Get me ready for what?” I ask, a little alarmed. “Who’s here?”
“The community relations manager, Dre—I told you about her last week—set the team up with a visit to the hospital to see the kids there.” I definitely don’t remember who Dre is, but I nod anyway because I used to love these kind of team outings with Dallas.
“I thought it would be a good way to get you out of the house.”
I nod gently but excitedly. Getting out and cheering up some kids sounds like the perfect way to spend my day. It will definitely help me stop stressing about the man I may or may not be falling in love with.
I’m not going to think about it or anything.
Milo helps me up, and I’m not thinking about it. He gently helps me undo my sling and put on a shirt, and I’m not thinking about it. My head pops through the shirt hole and he’s smiling at me, and I’m definitely not thinking about this.
It’s Paxton and Brennan waiting outside for us, sitting in the front seat of Paxton’s Volvo XC90 Plus. Paxton smiles and waves at us. Brennan doesn’t look up from his phone.
I’m really empathetic, so I can tell from everything about the way Brennan acts around me that he doesn’t like me. I just can’t really understand why. Maybe this little trip will show him I’m not that bad a guy.
Dre pairs me up with Brennan to talk to the kids, and I’m not even kidding, he rolls his eyes.
I follow behind him at a slight distance, suddenly very aware of how I’m acting around him, and go to do just that when we walk into a room with two kids and their parents.
Brennan is a fucking natural with these kids. He jumps in immediately, making the perfect jokes and making them smile. I shake hands with the parents because it’s what I’m familiar with. I love kids, don’t get me wrong. I just don’t know what to do with myself around them.
Finally, I turn my attention to the kids.
They’re cool kids. We talk about hockey, and they shockingly know their stuff. One of them brings up Max, the winger who was traded for me, and I see Brennan look down and smile a secret smile.
I could almost swear his eyes glistened a little.
Maybe…
Oh.
Brennan and the feelings he may or may not have for his former line mate don’t matter to me. I guess the possibility of having yet another queer teammate should mean something to me, but more importantly, I understand Brennan’s animosity toward me.
I understand why he may hate me a little. If someone came and took Milo’s place…
Fuck, I don’t even want to think about that.
My own eyes glisten a little as the thought rolls around in my head. It makes me want to come out now and be open, scared I might lose him if they don’t know he’s mine.
The next room we wander into has two kids, but one of the kids is in a bed by herself.
Something about her draws me over. I sit on the edge of the bed, and she shoots me a shy smile.
“You’re Beau Bennett,” she says matter-of-factly. She looks up at me, and her shy smile grows. I chuckle and thrust out my hand to meet hers.
“I am,” I say, matching her tone, “and you are?”
“Priscilla Pailor.” She takes my hand. The size difference is astounding. She’s a tiny little kid, though I don’t know if that’s from her illness or her age. My hand swallows hers, but I steadily shake it. I can tell she’s really trying to squeeze, but her grip is weak.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Priscilla.”
I can hear Brennan talking with the parents of the other little girl in the room. I hear words like abandoned and alone and deadbeat, and I know Priscilla is just like me.
“So, Priscilla, do you like hockey?” I ask, digging around in my pocket for the little cardstock headshots they brought for me to hand out. I wish I could get her tickets to a game or something.
I sign the card of my stupid face, to my friend Priscilla, and my signature looks dumb, but she lights up when I hand it to her.
“We’ll have to get y’all to a game sometime,” I say, to both kids in the room, but really to Priscilla. She smiles a sad smile and shakes her head.
“I wish I could, Mr. Bennett,” she says solemnly, “but I’m waiting on a new heart.” She puffs up her chest a little. “The nurses say that they’re looking for the perfect one for me. It has to be just right.”
Brennan goes to talk to her and gives her a card of his own, while the mom in the room pulls me aside.
“Her parents have sort of abandoned her here, so she has no way to be approved for an outing like that.” She looks at me with a sad smile, as if to say what I was offering was sweet, but…
I turn back to look at the sick little girl, and sit down on the edge of her bed. Brennan pats my shoulder to indicate that he’s moving to the next room, but I wave him off. This is where I’m staying for the rest of the visit.
Priscilla and I play Go Fish for quite a while, laughing and talking. She tells me all about how much she misses school and her friends. Her favorite subject is math, and she likes hockey, but she’s never gotten to learn how to skate.
She doesn’t bring up her parents once.
Finally, a familiar presence enters the room.
“Hey, Beau.” Milo’s voice is soft and warm, the sweetest sound. “Who’s your friend?”
“My name’s Priscilla Pailor, I’m eleven,” she says proudly, jutting out her hand to shake his, just like she did with me.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Milo takes her tiny hand in his. “I’m Milo…”
“I know who you are,” she says again, so matter-of-factly. “You’re Milo Hall, starting goalie for the Minnesota Fury.”
“I am.” His smile at her is so warm. I wonder what he’s like with kids. I bet he’s so patient with them.
He looks over at me, placing his hand on my good shoulder and giving it a little squeeze.
“We’ve got to go.”
I don’t want to leave her all alone again. I don’t want to abandon her.
I turn back to Priscilla and give her my strongest smile, zero wobble to it.
“We’ll come back and visit, okay? I know you cheated at Go Fish, so we’re going to play for real next time.” I give her a wink, and she giggles.
“I didn’t cheat, Mr. Bennett,” she says faux sternly.
“Sure you didn’t.” I ruffle her hair and stand up. My eyes start to burn a little as we turn and walk out.
“Goodbye, Beau!” she calls.
I turn at the door and give her a final wave.
We’re back home, and my heart is racing. I know Milo can tell I’ve been feeling sad since we left, but I’m scared to just trauma dump all over him. The last thing I want is to be an emotional burden on him.
He walks over to the couch and pats the spot next to him. I plop down, my back creaking as I get myself comfortable. He pulls my head down to his shoulder and begins running his fingers through my curls.
My cheeks burn, and I rub them, my hands coming away wet. Why am I always crying?
“Do you want to talk about it?” Milo asks softly, his hands a gentle caress. I nod slowly because I really do. I don't want to talk about her.
But I have to.
“My mom wasn’t the best,” I start, because where else can you start?
“She was only fifteen when she got pregnant. She lied to her family about her pregnancy with me, for who knows what reason. The reason changed every time I asked. She didn’t want them to force her to abort, she didn’t want them to force her to get married, she didn’t want them to force her to give me up, et cetera, et cetera.
” I roll my eyes. “One day, she decided she didn’t want to be pregnant anymore and decided to try to self-abort.
She failed and was put in the psych ward, where everyone finally realized she was pregnant with me.
She was force-fed all the vitamins she hadn’t taken in the previous months.
When she finally had me, my father married her because ‘it was the right thing to do’, which is such bullshit. ” I scoff before continuing.
“She babied my father growing up, did everything for him. But me…” I pause, kind of stuck on how exactly to word this.
“She treated me like I was nothing to her. I was a burden to them. She never missed an opportunity to tell me how difficult I made their life.” I sigh, breathing in Milo’s citrus-and-rain scent.
“I got to play hockey, and everyone kept telling me how good I was, and I thought, ‘Hey, here’s my chance to pay them back.’ I kept working hard and getting better and got drafted when I was eighteen.
” The tears are starting to well up at this point, overflowing down my cheeks and soaking Milo’s shirt sleeve.
“The night of the draft, my mom just left. No note, nothing. I used my first paycheck to hire a private investigator to try and find her. He found her.” It’s starting to get harder to talk as I cry harder.
“She was with a new husband, one that didn’t gamble away all their savings and was taking care of his two kids. A proper little family.”
Milo is straddling my lap, holding my head close to his chest and whispering soothing words to me.
“She said she deserved a chance at a real family,” I sob. “I still only hear from her once in a blue moon when she asks for money for her stepkids.” And I give it to her. I have nothing against these kids, and if she just wants them to go to a good college, who am I to hinder that?
“That wasn’t fair of her to put on you,” Milo says, pulling me close. “Her inability to be a mother to you was on her, not you.”
Milo takes me to the bedroom, and we curl up together, me crying and him holding me.
“I feel safe with you,” I whisper into Milo’s neck. He responds by covering my face in kisses.