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"Why didn't you tell us? We would have helped."
"I was hoping it would go away," I mumbled into his shirt. "I'm strong enough to fight my own battles."
"What does being strong have to do with it?" he asked. I didn't have an answer, so I said nothing.
"Why don't you take the day off. One practice off won't kill you, I'll put Gold in your place."
I expected Tate to complain but he didn't. He reached down without letting me go, grabbed my bag, and led me out of the office. Brock met us at the front, handing over the truck keys and brushing a kiss on the top of my head, but not saying a word. I was thankful for the break, my head kind of a mess and I didn't want it to be anymore.
I was so fucking tired of feeling helpless.
Tate got me into the truck before climbing in. He kept the radio off as the engine roared to life and he navigated onto the road. I watched in silence as the city passed us by.
"Where are we going?" I finally asked. He just shook his head, winding into the backroads and through a little town I didn't know existed.
"Miller's Point?" I questioned. "What's here?"
My nose wrinkled as I took in the dirty sidewalks littered in trash and debris. Three quarters of the businesses were covered in plywood boards and for sale signs were plastered all around. It was a town on a massive decline and likely would never recover.
He didn't stop until we drove off of Main Street and down a side road, pulling in front of an old house that was vacant, windows broken and an old shell of a truck in the drive.
"What is this?"
"This is the house I grew up in," he said, eyes boring into it like he could set it aflame with his anger alone.
"Why are we here?" I asked, taking off my seatbelt and sliding into his side, pressing myself against him.
"My father used to hit me. First, it was yelling then escalated as his drinking did. After Mom died, it just got worse. There wasn't a day that went by living in that house I didn't want to just die."
I didn't speak, refusing to stop him now that he was opening up. Each time he let me peek into his life, gave me his vulnerability, I only wanted him more. If this was a tactic to scare me away, it wouldn't work.
"When I did escape it was to college. I got a scholarship for hockey and met Brock. He was the first person that didn't run at my behavior. I was angry at the fucking world and willing to tear anyone apart who fucked with me. He taught me that I'm better than that. It was a long time before I realized I wasn't just cursed, I was strong and brave."
"Oh," I said, realizing why we were here and it had nothing to do with him.
"See?"
"Yeah," I breathed out. He'd shared all of this to remind me that relying on others didn't make me weak, that I didn't have to navigate this alone. He was brave to fight through a life of hell like that and it made even more sense why he was so affected after getting me out of that house. It hit far too close to home. Literally.
"You're so fucking brave for calling for help and getting yourself out of that situation. Wash your hands of it and move on even stronger than before."
"I am," I said, meeting his eyes. "That was his mom." I filled him in on everything and shockingly he didn't go crazy."
"That's not surprising. It's a classic scare tactic," he scoffed.
"I told her to call for an ambulance," I said. "He has no ties to me now. I'm free."
"You are," he agreed. "Don't hold yourself back with doubt and trying to keep it together all of the time. We don't only want you because you're hot as fuck, Macy. We want this side of you, too. We all have our shit and we deal with it together."
"Okay," I relented, believing every word he said. "Can we leave now?"
"Hell, yeah," he said, backing away and turning around so we could head out of town after I'd buckled back in. "I haven't been back since Dad died. I didn't even go to his funeral."
"Good," I said. "He didn't deserve the honor of having you there."
He smiled at that and nodded.
"That's what Brock said, too."
