34. Sutton
Chapter thirty-four
Sutton
“Excuse me?” I repeat, my heart racing as I twirl my thumb ring.
“I don’t think it’s worth it to fix your car.”
He’s barely finished his sentence when I say, “Says who?”
“Sutton, love, it’s not safe to keep driving that car anyway. Even if we pay to get it fixed, I’m going to be worried about you every time you drive it.” What the hell? Why is he making the decision? “This makes way more sense.”
I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt, my eyes flickering to my office door, grateful that I closed it earlier, because I am about ten seconds away from either crying or yelling and hanging up the phone.
“And you’re just deciding for me?”
He’s silent for a few beats before speaking again. “I’m not. I’d never try to control you, Sutton. I’m not him. If you really want to fix the car, fix it. I just don’t think it’s worth it.”
I swallow, feeling all the remaining tension leave my body as I take a few deep breaths. How did he know that’s what I needed to hear? Because he knows you. He sees you, and he loves you.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice cracking.
“I love you, and I want you to be safe. You and our daughter. I don’t think you should throw away your money fixing the car just for it to break down again in a few months.”
“I know,” I whisper, swiping the tears away. “I panicked.” I tip my head back, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know why. I trust you. I know you aren’t trying to control me. I know you have my best interest in mind. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I probably could have approached it differently. I’m sorry too.”
“I forgive you.”
He’s silent for a few beats before he says, “Do you want to talk about this? Want me to send you the quote?”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re right, it’s silly to spend all that money to fix it. My grandmother’s lawyer called earlier about my inheritance. I just need to sign the paperwork next week, and then it should be mine.”
“Good, that’s good. I wish I was going to be there with you. Do you want me to come home and go with you?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine. I’m just signing some paperwork at a lawyer’s office. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Are you sure? Maybe take one of the ladies?”
“I’m sure. I’ll be fine. Once the money clears, I’ll buy a new car.” I pick up the pen on my desk and twirl it around.
“Do you want me to help you shop for one? Go with you to look?”
“I’d like that.”
We chat for a few more minutes before hanging up.
I set my phone down on the desk and drop my head into my hands.
Not the news I wanted to hear about my car, but then again, I’m about to have enough money to buy any car I want, so does it really matter?
It was the first new car I bought after my used one died a few years after graduation.
Something about being able to buy it by myself and pay it off made me feel like I was finally going to be okay on my own without my father’s money or help, and I’m a bit sad to say goodbye to it.
But that’s life, and maybe it’s fitting that I buy a new one as I’m about to enter a new season of life as a mother and a wife.
I yawn again, stretching my arms over my head. Why am I still tired after taking a two-hour nap? I rub my hand on my belly. This wasn’t what I had planned to do with my Saturday afternoon, but alas, little miss had other ideas when she kept me up most of the night rolling around.
“You’re not even here yet, and you’re zapping all mommy’s energy.”
Her response is to kick, and I can’t help but laugh.
Maybe I should call Becca and tell her I’m not coming over to watch the game, but I’ve been looking forward to hanging out with everyone, and besides, it’s lonely here without Bash.
I force myself to get out of bed. When I’m finished in the bathroom, I change into a Storm shirt and a pair of leggings, slide on my favorite pair of flats, grab my purse and the veggie tray I picked up at Publix, and head out the door.
“Hey,” Becca greets me twenty minutes later when I ring her doorbell, taking the veggie tray from me.
“Hi.”
She leads me into the living room where Hadley is playing on the floor with Hazel.
“Sutton.” Hadley greets me with a hug. “How are you feeling?”
“Good, but exhausted. I almost didn’t come.” I take the bottle of water that Becca hands me, open it, and take a sip.
“We’re glad you made it. Mads and Aub are on their way,” Becca says as the doorbell rings, and she excuses herself to answer it.
“I’m excited to watch the game and hang out together. Feel like we haven’t done this in a while,” Hadley says.
“Me too.”
Becca comes back into the room, followed by Madison carrying Tate in his car seat. She quickly unstraps him and settles down on one of the oversized chairs with him.
Hazel makes her way over, reaching for the baby. “Baby.”
“Yes, that’s your cousin, Tate. Can you say Tate?” Becca asks her.
“Tae,” Hazel says. Adorable. She’s so stinking cute.
“Close,” Becca says.
The doorbell sounds again, and this time Hadley scrambles to her feet. “I’ve got it.”
She comes back two minutes later with Aubrey who is carrying her daughter Abby. We spend the next few minutes passing the babies around, and I hold Abby for a few extra minutes. She’s such a happy baby. All of them are. I’m sure they have their moments, though, as all kids do.
“Do you know what you’re having?” Madison asks me once the littles are situated, Abby and Tate in the play pen set up in the corner, cooing over the mobiles, and Hazel content to play at her toy kitchen.
I glance around at my friends. “A girl.”
Madison squeals. “How exciting.”
Aubrey turns to me. “Congrats.”
“Thank you.”
“We have a bin of clothes she doesn’t fit into anymore in the garage. You should come over and go through them. Most of them, she only wore once or twice, so they’re in great shape,” Aubrey says.
“I’d love to, if you don’t think you’ll need them.”
“Brod and I are one and done,” Aubrey says matter of factly.
I love that for them. I’m happy for my friends, all of them, no matter whether they choose to have no kids or as many kids as possible.
“I appreciate it,” I tell her.
“Of course.”
The conversation shifts, and we spend the next while discussing random things and diving into the pizza, garlic bread, and antipasto salad Becca ordered from the local pizza joint. Before long, it’s time for the game to start.
“The Pirates are doing well this season,” Becca says as the puck is dropped. “I’m kind of shocked. Especially after they spent the last few seasons at the bottom of the league.”
“Some of the guys they acquired in the off-season are really helping,” Aubrey says. “Plus, they’ve had some great draft picks.”
“What the heck was that?” Hadley yells as one of the Pirates players clearly trips Elias with no call from the refs. Even the Storm announcers notice, commenting about it.
Play continues, and the Pirates get away with a few more penalties.
“That wasn’t tripping. The guy fell over,” Becca yells at the television as Hunter is sent to the box for two minutes for a trip that was clearly not a trip.
We’re on the edge of our seats during the two-minute power play the Pirates get, but thankfully, the Storm manage to kill the penalty.
The first period ends with no goals, and Becca mutes the TV as the intermission report begins. The moms get up to take care of the littles, and I’m left on the couch with Hadley.
“So,” she says, turning to me.
“Yes?” I pop a baby carrot into my mouth.
“Have you picked out names yet?”
I shake my head. “No, not yet.”
“I’m so excited for you and Bash. You two are going to make such great parents, I just know it. The cutest family ever.” She leans closer to me, dropping her voice to a whisper, “Don’t tell the others I said that.”
I chuckle. “Right, because you say that to all of them.”
“Hey, now.” She swats at my shoulder.
“What’d we miss?” Becca asks, walking over carrying Hazel.
“Nothing, we were just talking about names,” Hadley says.
“Oh, names. Have you picked any out?” Madison asks as she sets Tate back in the playpen.
“Not yet,” I tell them.
Madison launches into the story of how they picked Tate’s name, and we spend the rest of intermission talking about baby names before the game starts again.
The Storm score in the first two minutes of the period, but the Pirates coach challenges the goal for goalie interference.
“What the fudge?” Madison says as we’re shown the slow-motion replay while the referees confer. I bite back a laugh at her use of the word fudge instead of fuck. “There was no goalie interference.”
I nod, because while Elias was in front of the Pirates goalie and did indeed bump into him right before he tipped the puck in, from what I can tell, the Pirates defenseman pushed Elias into their goalie.
That should not be goaltender interference, but then again, I swear what constitutes goalie interference changes every game.
“After review, we can confirm that there was goalie interference; therefore, we have no goal,” the ref says.
“What?” Hadley yelps, shaking her hands at the TV.
“The hell?” Becca grumbles, throwing her hands in the air.
Play resumes, and the Pirates manage to score a goal to end the second period.
“Is this game rigged?” Hadley asks, looking around at us. “Like, this seems off, right?”
“I bet Dad is so mad,” Madison says.
“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Becca agrees.
We spend the rest of intermission complaining about the terrible calls. Eventually, the third period gets underway, and halfway into it, Bash is checked into the boards. Hard.
“Frick,” I yell, staring at the screen and praying to anything and anyone that will listen to me that he’s okay. Fuck. My heart pounds in my chest as I watch the man I love, clearly hurt.
“Sure seemed like a dirty hit. Bet they don’t call it,” Hadley says as we watch the head trainer hurry onto the ice and kneel down and talk to Bash.
Bash shakes his head, and I breathe out a sigh of relief when he eventually gets to his feet, helped by the trainer and Wes, and makes his way off the ice and down the tunnel.
“I’m sure he’s going to be fine.” Madison glances over at me.
I rub a hand over my chest, trying to ease the ache that’s taken up residence there. Becca puts her arm around me, and I lean into her.
“That sure appeared to be an elbow to the back of the head,” one of the announcers says as they show a replay of the hit again. “At least as far as I can tell.”
I gasp.
“He got up off the ice on his own. That’s a good sign,” Becca says, trying to reassure me. “I’ll try and find out how he is after the game ends.”
“Thank you,” I say as play resumes with no penalty call.
Bash doesn’t come back out onto the bench for the rest of the game, and I force myself not to spiral and panic that he’s really hurt. The Storm end up losing two to one. True to her word, Becca texts the head trainer once the game is over.
“He’s banged up and sore, but he’ll be alright. They’ll reassess tomorrow,” Becca says, reading from her phone. “Translation: they’re watching him for signs of a concussion, and he probably won’t play in the next game.”
I know that’s protocol when a player goes down that way.
I also know the medical staff will look after him very well, and he’s in good hands.
Still doesn’t make me feel any better. I clutch the pillow to my chest as the ladies around me chatter, too stressed out and tired to engage in the conversation.
“I think we’re going to head out,” Madison says a few minutes later.
“Me too,” Aubrey says.
“I should probably go too.” I set the pillow down and get to my feet.
“Are you going to be alright?” Becca asks. “You’re more than welcome to stay here.”
“Thank you. I’ll be okay,” I tell her as we all say our goodbyes.
When I get into Bash’s car, I send him a text.
Me: Saw the hit. That was such a dirty play.
He responds almost immediately.
Bash: Hurts like hell.
Me: I’m sorry. I miss you.
Bash: I miss you too. I love you.
Me: Love you too.
I wait a couple of minutes, but there’s no reply, probably because they’re getting on the bus to head to the airport, so I put the car into gear and head toward the condo.