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“You love her. But she’s planned something you disagree with. This is the first time you guys have disagreed, right?”
“We disagree lots.” That’s not entirely untrue. June and I debate a lot of things. Disagreement might be too strong for those conversations. “This is the first important thing, yes.”
“And it sounds like you panicked.”
“I wouldn’t say panic....”
“Panic. She’s planning to have surgery, did it without you, and scared the shit out of you.” He points at me with his mug. “Flashbacks and panic.”
I don’t know what to say. I sit there with my mouth open, speechless.
“Sonya. She did that to you.” When I only stare at him, he continues with a shrug. “You forget how long I’ve known you. I remember after Sonya died, don’t forget. I remember the dark times, how you second-guessed everything. Your choices, her choices. But June isn’t Sonya. You can’t treat her like she is.”
“I just....” I drop my elbows on the bar and bury my hands in my hair. “I can’t do something like that again.” Losing Sonya almost broke me, and I had felt completely powerless. Listening to June tell me today about how this was her decision…those memories almost made me sick. “I can’t lose June.”
“There’s no guarantee you won’t. It’s a surgery, and I get being afraid. Stuff like that’s scary. But it sounds like you might have pushed her away—lost her—already.” He isn’t unkind, but he’s firm. “You’re a great hockey captain. You’re a wonderful father. But you can’t control everything. And you shouldn’t want to control the ones you care about.”
Is that what I was doing? Not intentionally, and not control exactly. It’s part of who I am to protect the people I love. Sonya and June.... They purposely put themselves in harm’s way. How can I protect June from an elective kidney transplant, after all?
“You don’t know what June is going through. How much do you really know about her background, about her life? And you busted into it, making judgments. Instead of asking her how she felt and what was going on, you reacted. That’s how you screwed up.”
I drop my head. Fuck. He’s right. I pushed her away—the best thing that’s happened to me in a really long time—because I was too afraid of feeling helpless again, of getting hurt. I didn’t just screw up. I fucked this up completely.
I down the rest of my drink and stand. Smacking Huck on the back, I point to his tea. “Don’t be too long. We have shit to do tomorrow.”
He gives me a mock salute. “Aye, aye.”
I head back to the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time up to the second floor. Before I can talk myself out of it, I dial June’s number on my phone. But she doesn’t answer. I frown as I drop into her voicemail.
After the voicemail prompt, I take a breath and say, “June. I’m sorry. I messed everything up. Please, call me back.” I debate telling her I love her, but I don’t. “Talk to you soon.”
I hang up and stare at the phone in my hand. Kicking off my shoes, I head into the bathroom and splash water on my face before I brush my teeth. The minutes stretch on, and she doesn’t return my call. I tell myself it’s late, maybe she’s asleep already.
Setting the phone on my nightstand, I strip off my clothes and collapse into bed. Before I turn off the light, I make sure the phone isn’t on mute. After that, I lay in the darkness and listen for the phone ringing, but it never does.
The night drags on, and I don’t hear from her. Part of me wants to call again, beg if I need to. Eventually, I drift off into an uneasy sleep.
In the morning, I wake up early, but I don’t feel rested at all. I check my phone. No calls or texts. Unable to stop myself, I pull up a text message.Hey. I’m so sorry. I miss you. Please call me back.
The typing dots appear and stay there for long moments. I wait. Finally, they disappear. After a moment, they start again. When her response appears, it’s short.Nancy is keeping Tabby until you get home. But I’ll be there on Monday to get Tabby on the bus.
I stare at the words. So many replies sift through my head. But if she wanted to hear my apology or to talk more, she would have called back. From this, though, it sounds like she still wants to be part of our lives. For now, that means something.Tabby would love that, I reply, because she doesn’t seem ready to hear what I love.
I try not to get discouraged, but I can’t help thinking I’ve lost my chance with her.
June
AccordingtoDuke’sschedule,he flew home from Boston on Saturday night. There’s nothing on our joint calendar for Sunday, but he needs to be at the training center early on Monday. I text him Sunday night to tell him I’ll be at his house by six o’clock to get Tabby ready for school and on the bus.
I use my key to let myself in, not wanting to wake Tabby. From the door, I can see Duke sitting at the island in the kitchen, so I join him. Best to tackle this head-on.
“Hey,” I tell him, bracing myself.
“Hey,” he responds, standing. I get my first look at him in a few days, and I hate how even the sight of him makes my chest lighter. There are dark smudges under his eyes, though. He must be sleeping as badly as I am. He runs his hand through his hair. “Listen, June…”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “First, I need to say something.” I inhale. “You were probably right. I should have told you about the surgery, especially because you were relying on me to care for Tabby.” Even two days later, the words in that article, about how I was using them, still stung.
“It’s not about Tabby.” He sighs. I feel like he wants to reach for me. He opens his hand, but at the last moment, he drops it to his side. “June, I fucked up.”
