Chapter 17 – Seth
I tap my foot impatiently against the cracked linoleum floor, my knee bouncing with restless energy as I check my phone for the hundredth time since my game ended and Bri told me Sawyer was stuck in Boston without me.
The screen lights up, but there’s nothing.
Of course, there’s nothing. It’s already past eleven o’clock, and knowing Sawyer, she’s probably been out cold in that hotel room for hours—the one Bri arranged with Kelly so Sawyer could rest. Knowing all that doesn’t stop anxiety from twisting in my gut.
She’s still close to two hours away, with a woman I don’t even know.
And she was scared. Too scared to get on her flight home.
I should have been there with her.
All of that only makes me feel like shit. Because if I'd been there, this wouldn't have happened. I would've been standing in that gym watching her play instead of watching my own scoreboard update from states away. I would've seen her face when they won. I would've been the one she ran to.
And when she started to panic about her flight, there would have been no tears.
No scrambling. No relying on other people's parents to figure it out.
I would've thrown her bag in the car and driven her home myself, every mile of it, no matter how long it took.
Just the two of us, bad radio and gas station snacks, her falling asleep against the window the way she used to when she was small.
That's what I should've been there for.
Instead, I was here. Doing my job. I know that it’s my career. I understand the logic of it fine. But logic doesn't do much for the guilt that sits heavy in my chest. The best I could do isn’t good enough.
I let out another loaded sigh and rest my head against the dirty concrete wall behind me.
This sucks. My first home game with the Mayhem and a huge win for the team.
I played great, but what does it matter if I’m not with Sawyer?
No one really prepares you for how heavy the single, working parent guilt lands.
When Bri finally exits the gas station bathroom, her cheeks are flushed and she’s smiling like this is all one great big adventure.
Which is a hell of a contrast to the scowl that’s been plastered on my face since we hit the interstate.
Hell, since I woke up this morning. It’d probably piss me off if it were someone else but seeing it on Bri means I relax a little.
What’s wrong with me? My daughter’s upset and I’m getting giddy over seeing a woman I’m crushing on smile.
“Thanks for letting me get that pee out.” She sighs in relief.
I just shake my head, fighting the urge to tell her the truth.
That I’ll stop a thousand times on this drive if it makes her happy.
I could've stayed in the car, but I didn't want Bri walking into a gas station bathroom alone at this hour.
Not here, not at some sketchy rest stop in the middle of nowhere with flickering lights and floors so sticky I don't want to think about why.
I didn't even need to use the bathroom. I just got out anyway and planted myself outside the door like an idiot.
My leg muscles are screaming from playing the whole game, exhaustion weighing heavy in my bones.
I know I should be back home, focusing on recovery.
Ice bath. Sauna. Magnesium, my special alkaline water waiting in the fridge back in Brookhaven and a good stretch of my hamstring.
What I need to do is hit the facility early in the morning and have one of the PTs work on me, preferably Bri, but definitely not Bri.
But there’s no way that I could do any of those things.
There was no way in hell I was letting Bri make this drive alone in the dead of night. And leaving her with my brother wasn’t an option. Plus, I need to be there in the morning when Sawyer wakes up. She’s always my priority. Over hockey. Over recovery. Over everything.
“So.” Bri hesitates, still lingering by the door. “Do you mind if I grab some snacks for the road? I need something with caffeine and sugar.”
My first instinct is to bark out a no and tell her we need to get back on the road.
Every second that we waste is another second that Sawyer’s without me.
But I also know that there’s no point in rushing.
Sawyer must be asleep by now. No matter if we arrived there in two hours or three hours, she’ll still be asleep and won’t know any difference.
“Kelly said they got dinner at this cute little restaurant beside the hotel before she fell asleep,” she adds softly, almost like she’s trying to soothe me as if I were a child. Which is fair. I’ve been acting like one.
“She texted you again?” Instead of me?
Bri nods, looking all innocent and pure, and I get it.
Who wouldn’t want to update Bri on my daughter?
I give off pissed-off, aggressive, probably borderline homicidal energy on a good day.
Meanwhile, Bri’s over there practically radiating unicorns and daisies, like a Disney princess twirling through a meadow in a shitty gas station parking lot.
People are drawn to her. People love her.
If you’re going to call an emergency contact, I’d pick her over the hockey ogre, too.
“That’s good. We can get your snacks.”
Her smile lights up her face as she heads down the aisles, and I swear, it’s dangerous how easily that smile of hers gets to me.
I watch as she fills up a basket with too many sugary candies, then tops it off with an energy drink that’s strong enough to keep her wired until sunrise.
I decide immediately I’m making the drive back to Brookhaven in the morning.
By the time she gets to the counter, ready to pay, I’m already there, slipping my card in front of hers.
“I’ll get it,” I say, leaving no room for argument.
“You don’t have to—”
I cut her off, my jaw set as I push her hand aside.
Like hell I’m letting her pay for this. Not when she’s the one doing all the driving.
Not when I know she’s running on fumes, too after working a full shift with the Mayhem.
And especially not after I found out she stayed up all night reading that fantasy novel for Sawyer just to make sure it wasn’t inappropriate.
If she thinks I’m letting her foot the bill after all that? She’s out of her damn mind.
The cashier, some greasy dude who looks like he’s barely staying awake, runs the transaction, but he’s not looking at his computer.
He’s looking at Bri. He slicks back his hair and leans against the counter, twisting a toothpick between his lips like he’s straight out of some movie, giving her a lazy smile.
“Where ya headed, sweetie?” he asks her.
Without missing a beat, Bri flashes him an overly sweet smile and says, “Boston.”
His brows shoot up. “That’s a nice city. What’s a pretty girl like you doing there this late?”
Her expression’s all wide-eyed and innocent as she loops her arm through mine. It’s the first time she’s touched me since the day in the facility when she was working on my hamstring.
“That’s where me and my brother live. We’re going home.”
Brother? I’m not her fucking brother. I nearly choke on my own tongue. I roll my eyes, snatching the bag of snacks out of her grip and yanking her toward the disgusting, rusty door.
"Thanks," I grunt to the cashier, who's watching us like we’re doing something illegal.
"Don't ever call me your brother again," I mutter into her ear the second we push through the door.
She laughs easily. She doesn't let go of my arm either, so we cross the parking lot like that, her tucked against my side, and I don't do a single thing to change it.
I like it. I've missed it. She'd probably touch me more if I didn't make it so difficult.
If I didn't run hot and cold and give her every reason to keep her distance.
That's on me. I know that. I just know it’s better for her this way.
“He was hitting on you,” I mutter as we make it to the car. The feel of a sticky, late-night August day envelopes us in silence.
“I figured.”
I open her door and let her slide in, making sure she’s buckled before slamming it shut, then head to the passenger side.
Pressing the button on the side of the chair, I push it back as far as it can go, trying to stretch out my legs but Bri’s car isn’t built for a six-foot five professional goaltender.
The ache is settling in now, deep and throbbing and I don’t even realize I’m making a pained face until she asks me, “Does your hamstring hurt?” as she backs out of the gas station and merges back onto the quiet and dark highway.
“Just a little.” I shift to find a better position. “Legs are just aching in general. First game back after a long summer and all.”
She nods, her eyes flicking to me briefly before returning to the road. “Want to lay down in the back?”
“I’m fine here.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I’m fine here.”
We fall into a stiff silence for a few minutes, the hum of the engine filling the space between us while I try to think of ways to tell her I’m sorry again for being a dick.
A minutes later the silence is broken when I hear the rustling of a snack bag as she tears into the candy and pops the cap on her drink.
Cue the satisfied gasp and an accompanying sigh like she just had the best orgasm of her life.
And I’d know because that’s what I gave her the night we first met.
“Ah. That hits the spot,” she breathes out on a half moan.
Chill, woman.
“Do you mind if I put on some music?” she asks, her voice chipper, like we’re on some fun road trip and not barreling down the highway to rescue my panicked daughter.
Yes.
Yes, I mind. I’ve already told her that twice now but it’s not for the reasons she thinks.