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"You have to love yourself first, sweet girl."
"I thought I was there."
She smiled sadly. "There are always moments it comes creeping back. You don't have to give it the mental space to take hold, though."
"It's not just about that. I—" My words cut off as I tried and failed to put into words the lingering fear.
"Your last relationship tried very hard to make you feel like no one would want you. So, now your brain is confused by the sudden change," she said. "Drink up."
I took a long sip of my mimosa before finishing the batter and grabbing the pans to pour. Without saying a word she came over and scooped out the first one then handed over the scoop to me.
"I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you when he was treating you like that," she said, her voice breaking slightly.
"You would have been. I just stupidly let him isolate me," I reassured her. "Never again."
"Good," she said, drying her eyes on her apron.
We moved easily to lighter topics then and it helped ease some of the stress I was feeling. I think I just needed to vent to my mom. Already, I felt better.
"It's past noon," Dad reminded Mom as he came in, rubbing his stomach. "I'll go pick up lunch. Where's your list?"
"Here," Mom said, jotting down a few more things and ripping the paper from the notebook. "Thanks, dear."
They shared a smile before Dad came over to give me a squeeze.
"Glad you're home," was all he said before leaving, whistling as he walked out.
"Enough of this sappy shit," I grumbled, downing the rest of my drink. "Cake's done, what's next?"
* * *
Tate
A knock on the door had me looking at the others.
"I didn't order anything," Brock said, shrugging. I got up and walked over, pulling on a tee shirt before yanking it open.
"Coach?" I asked, brows furrowing at the fact he was here. There wasn't one single time he'd ever been here.
"We need to talk," Slade said as he walked past me into the house. Anyone else and I might have protested but the man was on a mission. And he was our coach after all.
"Williams, Davis," he called out to the others, pointing to the table. It felt reminiscent of being called into the principle. We sat down and stared at the man, waiting for him to get on with whatever was happening.
Even Brock and Elias were at a loss for words. I'm glad it wasn't just me who found this encounter weird.
"This isn't about hockey," he finally said. "It's about Macy." He let out a breath and grabbed the other chair, spinning it so he was able to rest his hands on the back of the chair as he stared at us. "I know we've talked about you not hurting her and I don't think that's your intention. But I really need you to be honest, boys. Is this a passing thing? If so, you end it right fucking now."
"What? No," Brock protested.
"She's not a phase, she's a person," I bit out. "We know what she's been through, Coach. There's no way any of us would ever add to her trauma."
"No one can bet on forever," Elias said bluntly. "But Macy is ours. End of story."
"Fine. Meet me at my house. It's time you met my wife," he said, standing up and eyeing us. "I've done the whole threat thing and I have no plans to do it again. I know that things can change and so can feelings, even hers. I just need to know my girl is going to be safe with you. I can already tell she'll be fine. See you there in an hour. I have to hit up the store and then I'm grabbing lunch. Join us."
It wasn’t a question but a demand.
He got up and walked out.
