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 scoreboardupdate 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 theMayhemand 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. Icould'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 definitelynotBri. 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 anoand 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’strying 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 onmy 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 theMayhem. 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 thinksI’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.
