Chapter Sixteen Travis
Chapter Sixteen
Travis
I drive faster than I should.
Kelly's texts have been running through my head since yesterday. Your family is here. They just showed up. Be careful. And then, after they left: We need to talk when you get back.
I called her last night, but she said she'd rather tell me in person. Her voice was steady, controlled, the way it gets when she's holding something back. I didn't push. But I've been imagining the worst ever since.
My family. At Kelly's house. Without warning, without permission, without me there to run interference.
I know exactly what happened. I don't need the details to see it—my mother's false smile, her pointed questions, the way she can make an accusation sound like concern. She's been doing it my whole life. I just never thought she'd do it to someone I cared about.
The driveway appears around the bend, and I pull in too fast, gravel spraying under my tires. Kelly's car is there. The cottage is dark. I park and head straight for the main house, taking the porch steps two at a time.
She opens the door before I can knock.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey." I search her face for damage, for hurt, for whatever my family left behind. She looks tired. But she's smiling, just a little, and something in my chest unclenches. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Come in."
I follow her inside, shrugging off my jacket, trying to read the room. The house looks normal. No signs of disaster. But I know better than to trust appearances.
"Tell me what happened," I say.
"Sit down first. You look like you're about to vibrate out of your skin."
She's not wrong. I've been wound tight for two days, practicing with a team I'm not sure I want to play for, thinking about Kelly and my family and all the ways this could go wrong. I force myself to sit on the couch, and she sits across from me in the armchair.
"They showed up Wednesday afternoon," she says. "Your mom, your dad, and your sister. Said they were in the area."
"They weren't in the area. They live four hours away."
"I figured." She tucks her legs under her. "They were friendly at first. Your mom did most of the talking. She asked about me, about how we met, how long we've been together. Normal getting-to-know-you stuff."
"And then?"
"And then it got less friendly." Kelly's jaw tightens. "She started talking about how you've been hiding out here instead of dealing with your problems. How you have obligations you're ignoring. How you're using this—" she gestures around "—as an escape."
I close my eyes. "Kelly—"
"Wait. There's more." She takes a breath. "She implied I was after your money. Asked what I wanted from you. Called me 'some woman you barely know.'"
The words hit like a punch. I open my eyes and see Kelly watching me, calm and steady, waiting for my reaction.
"I'm going to kill her," I say.
"You're not going to kill anyone. We've talked about this."
"This is different. This is—" I stand up because I can't sit still anymore, pacing across the living room like a caged animal. "She had no right. No right to come here, to ambush you, to say those things. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I know I didn't."
"And you didn't know who I was. You didn't know about the money or the hockey or any of it. She had no reason to—"
"Travis." Kelly's voice cuts through my spiral. "I handled it. I told her to leave."
I stop pacing. "You did?"
"I did." There's a hint of pride in her expression. "I told her she was insulting me in my own home, and I asked her to go."
"And she went?"
"She went. Not happily, but she went." Kelly shrugs. "I don't think she's used to people pushing back."
I stare at her. This woman who's known my family for all of thirty minutes, who stood up to my mother when people who've known her for years won't do it. Something expands in my chest, warm and overwhelming.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm so sorry you had to deal with that."
"Don't apologize for them. You didn't do anything wrong either."
"But they're my family. They're my problem."
"They showed up uninvited. That's not your fault." She stands and crosses to where I'm standing, putting her hands on my arms. "But I need to understand, Travis. What is going on with your family? Why did they come here? Why are they like this?"
I take a deep breath. This is the part I've been avoiding, the part I never talk about because it makes me sound ungrateful or bitter or both. But Kelly deserves the truth. After what she just went through, she deserves all of it.
"Sit down," I say. "This might take a while."
We settle on the couch, closer this time, her knee touching mine. I stare at my hands for a moment, trying to figure out where to start.
"When I got drafted," I say, "I was twenty-two years old.
I'd never had money before—not real money, not the kind that changes things.
My parents were working class. My dad did construction, my mom was a receptionist. We weren't poor, but we weren't comfortable either.
And then suddenly I had this contract, this signing bonus, all this money I didn't know what to do with. "
Kelly nods, listening.
"My family... they had ideas. My dad wanted to retire early.
My mom wanted a new house. My sister wanted me to pay for her wedding, her car, her student loans.
" I shake my head. "And I did it. I said yes to everything because I felt guilty.
I'd gotten lucky, and they hadn't, and it seemed wrong to keep it all for myself. "
"That doesn't sound unreasonable."
"It wasn't, at first. But it never stopped.
Every time I turned around, there was something else.
My dad's truck broke down—could I buy him a new one?
My mom's friend needed surgery—could I help with the bills?
My sister wanted to start a business—could I invest?
" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "I was twenty-four years old, and I was supporting my entire extended family.
And the more I gave, the more they expected. "
"How much are we talking about?"
"Hundreds of thousands. Over the years, probably over a million." I see her eyes widen and shrug. "Hockey pays well, but it doesn't pay forever. And I was burning through it because I didn't know how to say no."
"What changed?"
"My grandmother." The word catches in my throat, the way it always does.
"She sat me down one Christmas and told me I was being taken advantage of.
That my family loved me, but they loved my money more.
She said if I didn't set boundaries, I'd end up broke and bitter, and they'd move on to the next person they could use. "
"That must have been hard to hear."
"It was. But she was right." I lean back against the couch. "She was the only one who never asked me for anything. The only one who treated me the same whether I had money or not. When everyone else saw a paycheck, she just saw her grandson."
Kelly squeezes my hand. She doesn't say anything, but I can feel her understanding.
"So I started saying no. I got some financial advice, set up boundaries, started putting money away instead of handing it out. Told them I'd help with emergencies, but I wasn't going to fund their lifestyles anymore." I meet her eyes. "And they didn't take it well."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean they stopped talking to me. For months.
My mom wouldn't return my calls. My dad told people I'd changed, that the money had gone to my head.
My sister posted on social media about how family should stick together, and everyone knew she was talking about me.
" I run a hand through my hair. "It was like I'd betrayed them by not giving them everything they wanted. "
Kelly is quiet for a moment. "That's horrible."
"It is what it is. We eventually started talking again, but it's never been the same.
They're always... waiting. Looking for an angle.
Figuring out what they can get." I shake my head.
"When the scandal happened, when I got suspended—do you know what my mother's first question was?
Not 'are you okay' or 'what can we do to help.
' She asked about my contract. Whether I was still getting paid. "
"Travis."
"That's who they are. That's why I don't talk to them. And that's why, when they showed up here without telling me, I knew it wasn't because they missed me. They want something. They always want something."
Kelly takes my hand, threading her fingers through mine. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was that bad."
"I should have told you sooner. I should have warned you they might come." I squeeze her hand. "I just... I didn't want you to see that part of my life. The messy, ugly part that I can't fix."
"Everyone has messy parts." She scoots closer, leaning her head against my shoulder. "I don't think less of you because your family is difficult. If anything, I think more of you for getting out."
"I didn't get out. I ran away."
"You made a choice to protect yourself. That's not the same as running away." She lifts her head to look at me. "And for what it's worth? I thought your mom was awful. The way she talked about you, about your grandmother—like none of it mattered. Like you were just a problem to be managed."
"That's how she sees me. That's how she's always seen me." I pull Kelly closer, wrapping my arm around her. "But you're not like that. You see me. The real me. And I don't know how to thank you for that."
"You don't have to thank me. Just keep being honest with me. That's all I ask."
"I can do that."
We sit in silence for a while, the house quiet around us. I feel lighter than I have in years, like some weight I didn't know I was carrying has finally been set down. Kelly knows the worst of it now—the scandal, the family, all the broken pieces I've been trying to hide. And she's still here.
"So what happens now?" she asks.
"What do you mean?"
"With your family. Are they going to come back? Try again?"
I think about it. My mother isn't the type to give up easily. She'll regroup, recalculate, find another angle. That's what she does.
"Probably," I admit. "But whatever they try, we'll deal with it together. Okay?"
"Okay."
She tilts her head up, and I kiss her—soft and slow, trying to pour everything I'm feeling into it. Gratitude and relief and something deeper, something I'm not ready to name yet.
"I missed you," I say against her lips.
"I missed you too." She smiles. "How was practice? We never really talked about it."
"It was... complicated." I pull back, settling into the couch with her tucked against my side. "I'm not sure I want to go back."
"To hockey?"
"To any of it. The team, the pressure, the life I had before." I stare at the ceiling. "Being here, with you—this is the first time I've felt like myself in years. I don't want to lose that."
"You won't lose it." She puts her hand on my chest, right over my heart. "Whatever you decide, I'm here. That doesn't change."
I cover her hand with mine. "I don't deserve you."
"Probably not. But you're stuck with me anyway."
I laugh, and it feels good. Real. Like something I'd forgotten how to do.
We stay like that until the sun goes down, talking about nothing and everything.
She tells me about trying to write while my family was there, how she couldn't focus, how she kept replaying the conversation in her head.
I tell her about practice, about Jaxson, about the strange feeling of being back in a place that used to feel like home but doesn't anymore.
"Do you think you'll ever go back?" she asks. "To playing, I mean. For real."
"I don't know." I trace circles on her shoulder with my thumb. "Part of me wants to. Hockey's all I've ever known. But another part of me wonders if that's the problem. Maybe I've been so focused on being a player that I forgot how to be a person."
"You're a person to me."
"I know. That's what makes this so hard." I kiss the top of her head. "When I'm with you, I don't miss it. The games, the pressure, any of it. But when I'm at the arena, I feel like I'm letting everyone down by not wanting it more."
"You can't live your life for other people. You tried that with your family, and look how it turned out."
She's right. I know she's right. But it's one thing to know something and another to feel it.
"The team has a game Saturday," I say. "They want me to suit up. First game back since the suspension."
Kelly sits up, looking at me. "Are you going to do it?"
"I told them I'd think about it." I run a hand over my face. "Coach Morrison says it would be good for me. Get back in the rhythm, show the fans I'm still here. But I don't know if I'm ready."
"Ready for what?"
"The attention. The cameras. Everyone watching to see if I'm going to snap again." I shake my head. "It's a lot."
"Then don't do it." She says it simply, like it's obvious. "If you're not ready, you're not ready. They can wait."
"It's not that simple."
"It is, though. Your mental health matters more than their schedule." She puts her hand on my cheek, turning my face toward her. "Whatever you decide, I support you. But don't let them pressure you into something you're not ready for. Not after everything you've been through."
I look at her—this woman who stood up to my mother, who tells me the truth even when it's hard, who sees me in ways no one else ever has.
"How did I get so lucky?" I ask.
"I've been wondering the same thing."
I kiss her again, and to be honest, I don’t ever want to stop.