31. Georgia #2
“You pushed the same woman who left them back onto them. Why?” I clench my jaw, a headache forming as she sighs.
She looks up at the sky before responding, “I wanted Delilah to know her mother. Everyone deserves to know their family.”
I scoff, “Did you ever stop to think about what Derek wanted? He’s been Delilah’s sole provider for her entire life. You went behind his back and brought around someone who hurt them. I can’t forgive you for that. No one hurts my family.”
“I like you, Georgia—”
“Don’t lie to yourself.”
“No, I do. You’re good for them. When Rosemary approached me a few months ago, she only mentioned my son.
I should’ve seen that as a red flag, but I didn’t.
Just now, you called them your family. If you can ever find it in your heart to forgive me, I’d love to have a relationship with my daughter-in-law. ”
I hold her gaze, certain that she’s playing a trick on me, but when I see nothing but brutal honesty reflected back at me, I nod.
“I’d like that.”
Lidia gives my knee a squeeze, and it means everything to me. The squeeze of her warm hand erases all malice and hard feelings between us. She gives me a sideways hug before standing, dusting off her jeans.
“It was good talking to you, Georgia. I’ll see you down there.”
When Lidia walks away, I let out a deep breath.
Today has been hell, and it’s only just begun.
I think over Lidia’s words about Derek’s father and frown.
He’s been through so much at such a young age.
Running a hand through my hair, I shake everything off and head down to our seats.
The girls and Delilah are already ready, munching on hot dogs and popcorn as the boys begin to skate out onto the ice for the face-off.
Everyone in the arena is on a hundred, and the energy of Summerfield’s fans is through the roof as the boys win the face-off and immediately break into action.
Blake is a beast on the ice; he’s like a bullet, moving faster than the speed of light as he dominates against Boston's defense. But the real star of the show is Derek. He’s like an assassin in the net, killing his opponent's chances of scoring as soon as the puck releases from their sticks.
I’ve never truly taken an interest in hockey, even though it was all that I grew up around, with Jace being a player, Cleo’s obsession with the sport, and her dad being one of the greatest players in the NHL.
I just found it boring. But when Derek’s on the ice?
My eyes are on him, always. It’s like a moth drawn to a flame, the way that he steals my focus and makes it his.
When he’s on the ice, not only does he dominate, he executes.
I have no idea how he moves so fast and nimbly, especially with all of his gear on.
As the game moves into the third period, there’s a minute left on the clock. Boston and SFU are tied two-two, and all of the boys on the ice are playing for blood. There are numerous penalties on both sides, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a game as intense as this one.
Our boys need this win.
It’s the last game of their season, and this game right here can determine whether or not they go to the playoffs—I believe. I overheard Derek and Cleo going back and forth over it a few days ago.
Boston’s winger has the puck, slicing through the ice with peak precision.
I’d say that he could give Jace a run for his money, but that’d be a lie.
Jace is a phenomenal athlete—never tell him that I said that.
The winger for Boston is good. He may even be great, but he’s not Jace Heart.
That statement is made painfully obvious when he goes to shoot the puck into Derek’s net.
Derek is like a freaking warrior the way he blocks the puck and shoots it back out onto the ice, straight toward Blake.
Blake is quick to gain control of it before shooting it to Alec.
The boys work like a well-oiled machine, moving on the ice stealthily against Boston.
Boston’s winger tries to battle Alec for the puck when it’s shot to Blake. He’s too far. He’ll never be able to—
Blake Wilder somehow gets a hold of the puck near center ice. There are four seconds left on the clock, and the arena goes deathly silent as Blake shoots. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd as the puck soars.
Boston’s goalie doesn’t stand a chance; they’re too far out of their box to stop the greatness of the shot.
The puck lands in the goal, and the crowd goes ballistic.
“You guys absolutely crushed them!” I exclaim through a mountain of foamy toothpaste as I walk into our bedroom.
Derek is already ready for bed, lying down shirtless with his glasses and frog-print pajama pants on.
As soon as the game ended tonight, we all went out to eat to celebrate the boys’ official last game of the season and their win.
After dinner, Derek and I went for a dessert run at The Sweet Tooth and went home.
Deli’s staying with her abuela tonight, leaving us all alone.
“It feels bittersweet.” He sighs, turning in the bed to face me.
I continue brushing my teeth, weighing over my next words as I finish up.
I don’t want to ruin his night, but I also know that he’d go absolutely insane if I hadn’t told him about what happened before the game started.
He was an overprotective Mama Bear when he heard that Rosemary tried to spit on me, so I can only imagine how he’d be when he hears about her kidnapping plan and our fight.
The second my butt hits the sheets of our bed, my body is moved and cradled against his chest. He rests his arm around my back, placing it on the swell of my ass. We sit in silence. The only sound to be heard is our breathing before Derek breaks it.
“Tell me what happened,” he says, and though he doesn’t look at me, I know that his face is twisted up. “I know something had to have happened for you to not walk with me on the ice. You don’t have to hold it in, just tell me.”
And so, I do.
I tell him all about Rosemary: her trying to take Delilah from my arms, all the way down to the fight with her. Through it all, Derek remains silent, but the grip he’d had on my ass moves to my hip and tightens with each word.
“Your mom and I talked. She uh… I think the two of us are good now.”
Derek doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lets out a deep breath and pulls me closer to his chest, as if the closer I am to him, the easier it would be for him to protect me. His heart is beating fast and furiously in his chest, and yet it soothes me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I stiffen.
“What are you sorry for—”
“I should’ve been there to protect you—to protect the both of you. Delilah was probably so scared, and you had to handle that by yourself. You didn’t deserve that, Georgia. Tomorrow, we’re getting this shit handled,” he says, and that’s that.
There’s no more talking between us. Instead, we fall asleep, safely wrapped in one another.