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“It’s okay,” I promise. “I’m going to make it okay.”
Seventeen
Stefan
My phone rings and I drag my lids back.
I immediately know it’s the middle of the night.
My body has never lost the skill to deal with all manner of lack of sleep and shoot instantly awake, aware of my surroundings and the time and ready to tackle any situation?—
Or to play hockey anyway.
Not the most useful skill.
But it’s some skill.
And it helped with those late nights waiting for Brit, helped with Rox when she was a baby who didn’t want to sleep, and a toddler…who didn’t want to sleep.
And a young kid…
Who didn’t want to sleep.
Buzz-buzz.
I shake myself out of my thoughts, turn toward my nightstand, and snag my cell off the charger.
My heart squeezes when I see the name on the screen.
Brit.
Brit is calling me.
Which is unusual enough, especially when she’s been keeping a careful distance between us the last couple of weeks. The wall she deliberately threw up thick and impenetrable and…
Exactly what needed to be in place.
But now Brit is calling me.
And she’s doing it in the middle of the night.
“Fuck,” I mutter, shaking my head to get it the fuck together then swiping my finger across the screen, lifting it up to my ear. “Hello?”
There’s a long pause.
But not a silent one.
Noise in the background—voices and clanking, clicking, strange noises that part of me feels like I should know, but can’t place. Not at this moment. Not when my mind is spinning and my pulse is pounding and worry is clawing at my insides.
“Brit?” I say. “Are you there?”
Another pause, but thankfully this one is broken by a breath rattling through the speakers, the sound sharp and loud enough to send me upright.
“Brit.”
One more breath, but thank fuck she starts to talk. “I got home and was sleeping and Roxie came in saying she wasn’t feeling well.” This wasn’t abnormal. Our daughter had been having plenty of sick days since we separated.
Needing the extra attention and comfort…
