Chapter 23
After that first road trip, life settled into a somewhat chaotic but easy routine.
Most mornings I worked from the small desk tucked into the corner of my bedroom, trying to squeeze in patients before Leena woke up.
Luckily, my clients were all over the country, so I chose East Coast patients when I could.
Mikko left for the rink before the sun, then came home for lunch. I finished notes while he and Leena rested in the afternoons, then closed my laptop at the end of the day. This was the first time in years I didn’t have another job to clock into at night, or, at least, not the same kind.
Taking care of Leena didn’t feel like a job, not when I walked out into the kitchen to find her waiting for me with both arms already raised and Mikko cooking dinner for us.
It was domestic bliss and more than a little weird, especially considering what I’d thought my life in Denver would be like. There were no double shifts. No loud neighbors through paper-thin walls. No dinners alone. No anything alone, not unless I wanted it.
And the fact that I didn’t want to be alone?
That was the weirdest part of all.
Road trips with the team were an entirely different routine. Mikko thrived on stability, so as much as he could make the same, he did. Same travel crib. Same day planned out down to the food he thought Leena and I might like to eat in each city. Same pizza waiting for us when we checked in.
Dallas. Los Angeles. Detroit. Vancouver… Leena and I spent our days touring each city with Mikko as our absent but diligent guide, and our nights watching her dad on the ice, looking more confident with each game. Meanwhile, I was loving every moment of this unexpected perk.
It was exhilarating seeing him doing so well, and impossible to ignore the passion hockey brought out of their fans. And after, when adrenaline and proximity and plain positivity mixed, Mikko and I gave in to the chemistry between us, time and time again.
We were glorified fuck buddies, except without the fucking. I still hadn’t let us go further than hands and mouths, but with each day trip he planned and each orgasm he delivered, it was harder to remember that this wasn’t real.
I wasn’t special.
Mikko was this attentive with everyone.
A convenient explanation that worked perfectly as long as I kept lying to myself.
This was the first morning I woke up in my bed at home, regretting that I hadn’t let our relationship extend to the penthouse too. There was no heavy arm across my stomach or sleepy Finnish muttered against the back of my neck, and a secret, traitorous part of me hated it.
Before I could ponder why the loneliness felt so very alone, I threw myself out of bed and into the shower. I dressed with quick efficiency—black scrubs, black boots, and enough jewelry that Walt would threaten me with a metal detector.
The penthouse was still dark when I left my bedroom, everyone still asleep. The Yeti had a late game last night, and Mikko would have today off. Both he and Leena were still asleep down the hall, so the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator.
For one ridiculous second, I wanted to call out of work. To spend the day home with my two favorite people. To pretend this slice of heaven was real.
Instead, I walked toward the kitchen, headed for the coffeemaker, but stopped at the sight of a brown bag and a clear plastic coffee cup.
It was from the bagel place I frequented, either by myself or with Leena.
It wasn’t exactly New York good, but I’d mentioned it to Mikko one morning, promising to bring him back a bagel next time.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs. The cafe was so small, they didn’t deliver, so someone had already picked it up this morning.
No note.
No dramatic display.
Just my usual order, left where he knew I’d find it.
My gaze drifted down the hall to Mikko’s closed door while that lie I kept telling myself felt a little less believable.
For one split second, I let myself imagine what it would be like to kick my shoes back off and crawl into bed next to him.
To let him quietly take care of me like this forever, making me feel seen in the littlest ways.
But I couldn’t want this.
Couldn’t let myself believe there was anything more here than I was great with his daughter and he was happy to be playing well again.
“Dammit,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my traitorous heart. “Quit making it so hard to keep my distance.”
I forced my feet to move, grabbing the bagel and coffee before slipping into the elevator and making it all the way to my car without turning around.
I couldn’t look too closely at the roses embroidered on the headrests or the custom license plate, not when my walls against this man felt so fragile.
My car started up with a chime, the screen illuminating to show I had a whole slew of missed text messages.
Moms of Mayhem
Stevie
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOU EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED GOTH PRINCESS.
Daisy
I hope today is full of skulls and rock music and all the things your heart could ever desire.
Tate
Was that painful for you to say?
Daisy
A little bit, yeah.
I had hearts and rainbows but that felt wrong.
Emmy
Happy, happy birthday! I’m so glad you walked in the Pilates studio a year and a half ago and applied for a job. You’re one of the best things that’s happened to me since I moved home.
Stevie
Key word, *one of*
Tate
Happy birthday, Shan. You already know how I feel about you.
I smiled, clicking over to the next one.
Helena
Paljon onnea, Shannon! Happy birthday from Finland!
One by one, I read through them. A gif from Nolan with the Office’s famous IT IS YOUR BIRTHDAY banner. A sweet text from Lori. Even one from Logan.
Logan
Happy birthday! I wanted to get you a present, but Mikko glares at me every time I look in your general direction, so blame him.
I snorted.
My thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before I started answering everyone.
A black heart for Daisy.
A laughing emoji for Stevie.
Thank you to Emmy.
A thumbs up for Tate.
A promise to Lori that I’d call her after work.
A picture of Leena and me in Los Angeles to Helena.
The replies came quick, each one starting another conversation I didn’t have time to finish, and again, my walls crumbled a little more.
When I was little, birthdays depended entirely on whether Dad was sober enough to know what day it was.
Most years he didn’t, and even if he did, it became his yearly reminder to tell me he wasn’t sure I was his kid.
The twins weren’t much better, only remembering if there was some way to get something out of it for themselves, always looking for an excuse for a handout.
Somewhere along the way, I’d gotten pretty good at pretending my birthday didn’t matter. That this was just another day. Apparently, I’d surrounded myself with people who wouldn’t let me get away with that anymore.
I clicked on the next text thread, a soft smile on my face until I read the words on the screen.
Asshat
You got married and now you can’t answer your family?
Two days later.
Dickwad
Dad says you owe him a call. He’s hurt you didn’t even tell him about the wedding.
Yesterday.
Dickwad
Oh, I see. You like your new family better than us.
Then today’s.
Asshat
After all we’ve done for you… Shame on you.
And like that, the walls around my heart repaired itself, sealing me in once more.
My hands shook as I stared at the screen long enough for it to dim, all the warmth from the messages before draining out of me.
I didn’t answer, tossing my phone onto the passenger seat and backing out of the parking space before I could evaluate why I continued to take their emotional abuse, year after year.
The drive to work left me feeling a mixture of bitter and hurt and seen and loved which had me all sorts of confused. So when I walked into the office to a platter of donuts on the front desk, I didn’t have it in me to smile.
“I’m so glad you’re on rotation today.” Rebecca handed me a plate with a pink sprinkle donut on it. “We love a good celebration.”
I took the plate from her, but donuts weren’t my speed. I was a savory breakfast girl, and Mikko knew it. “Thank you. This is nice.”
Rebecca waved me off. “Any exciting plans tonight?”
“Hanging out at home, probably.”
She raised her brows. “You make that husband of yours take you out tonight.”
I tried and failed to smile but didn’t continue the conversation. Instead, I grabbed my stack of folders and headed across the street to the assisted living facility.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of therapy sessions, charting, and one patient who negotiated every exercise like he was buying a used car. When I knocked on Walt’s door, he already had his glasses perched on the edge of his nose, the morning newspaper open to the sports section.
“You’re late.”
“I’m not late.”
“Early is on time, on time is late, and late is—”
“Unacceptable. Good thing your appointment starts right now then, hm?”
He huffed, even more annoyed than usual, but I let him sit in his bad mood. I took my usual seat in his breakfast nook, noticing he’d left the crossword on the table for me, so maybe all hope wasn’t lost.
“When were you going to tell me you’re married to Mikko Laaksonen?”
I looked up, one dark brow raised. “I’m surprised you’re only now finding out.”
He rolled his eyes so hard, teenage me was proud. “I don’t read those gossip rags. Real journalism is a dying art.”
That was the exact response I expected from the grumpy old man. “Is that why you’re in a bad mood? Because I didn’t tell you about myself?”
“When you’re married to my favorite player, yes, I’m mad. That feels like important information. Why doesn’t your badge say Laaksonen? Are you one of those feminists who refuses to change her name?”
I bit back a smile. “I think women can do whatever they want, yes. But also, changing your name takes time, and I haven’t gotten there yet. It is hockey season—I’m a little busy.”
He huffed again. “Are you going to sit there all day then?”