We’re laying in her bed, just breathing each other in and I can tell she’s trying to read me.
I’m doing the same to her.
After tucking Liam into bed, which took three bedtime stories at minimum, and making Oliver swear he’d go to his own room after one more hour of scary movies, Sadie led me to her room.
It was hard—seeing the pretty blue sheets and little figure skating trophies and medals, photos from competitions and of baby versions of Liam and Oliver—to pretend I hadn’t been imagining her in this room every time I called her from the road. That my dream fantasies when in the hotel shower or bed at an away game weren’t of me pleasuring her for hours, of taking her slowly from behind while gray cat eyes looked over one delicate, freckled shoulder at me.
But that isn’t what I want now.
I brush my hand through her hair, her head on my chest while my other arm is wrapped around her, skating circles on her back beneath her oversized threadbare shirt.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your birthday?”
She mildly shrugs. “It never came up.”
Liar. I kiss her forehead again. “Oliver thinks it has to do with your mom.”
Silence.
“You never talk about her.”
I can’t say I wasn’t expecting it, but knowing it’s coming doesn’t hurt any less as she pulls her body away from me, sitting up.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she snaps, whispered venom echoing in the dark of her childhood bedroom.
“Sadie—”
“Drop it, Rhys.”
If she expects me to slink back and let her work whatever she’s feeling out on my body—like I’m sure many boys before me have—she’s about to try something new.
I sit up, leaning back to relax against the headboard.
“I won’t. What happened on Halloween?” When she doesn’t speak, I continue. “I’m not here for just happy Sadie in my bed. I’m here for my frustrated, angry Gray. For my scared kotyonok.”
“That fucking word again,” she huffs beneath her breath. She keeps asking me what it means, so I know she hasn’t looked it up yet. If she really knew what it meant, she’d probably slap me. “I’m not scared of you, Rhys.”
I wonder if she knows she’s worked herself into a fetal position, arms protectively wrapped around herself.
“What happened on your birthday?” I ask again. My voice stays just as gentle and soft.
She eyes me like a stranger in her bed, and though the look burns, I endure it.
“My mom left when I was probably Liam’s age. And then, she came back. Got pregnant with Oliver, and for a few years… it was amazing. And then, she just started to disappear.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs. “She started having these, like, manic episodes. She would decide in the morning to go on a trip—it didn’t matter if I had a skating competition or practice or school, she would just… leave. Like gone—sometimes for weeks, sometimes for a day or two. Every now and then, she’d take me or Oliver with her.
“And then one day, Dad came home and Oliver was in his crib alone. He panicked, called the school and found out I hadn’t been for three days.”
My brow furrows and I resist the urge to reach for her. “Why did it take him so long to realize?”
“He played hockey back then. Nothing like your dad, but he played in a minor league and he was traveling for away games.”
“And… Oliver?” I don’t want to voice the implication.
She does. “He’d been alone, unfed in his crib for days.” A few tears escape her eyes, though they don’t move from staring a hole in the sheets between us. “I don’t know how he’s alive.”
“But then, my dad made her go to therapy. Me too, for a while. And things were okay for a month? I don’t remember. I just remember waking up one day and my dad was crying, holding Oliver on the couch and he told me she wasn’t coming home.”
I shudder a breath, because I can feel that this isn’t getting better, only worse. And I can bet this isn’t the worst of the memories trapped in her beautiful mind, tormenting her.
I wonder if she’s ever spoken all of this out loud. Can she feel the way she trembled through some of the words so hard the bed shakes?
“Then, when I was twelve, I think? She came home. It was… the best day ever. She picked me up from school in this shiny, red convertible and took me to the mall to try on Halloween costumes. She wanted us to match and have a party just the two of us. We got a cake, balloons—everything.
“And when we got home, she sent the nanny home, got Oliver in his costume and told me to go upstairs to get ready, she was going to grab some candles for my cake.”
A sob wells in her throat, but I watch her strangle it down before she lifts her burning, smoky eyes to me and finishes, “I sat outside on the curb with a three-year-old Oliver until my neighbors called my dad.”
“Gray,” I choke out, wishing desperately I could hold her. Hell, my arms raise, like I might try, but she flinches.
I think if she hit me, it would hurt less.
“When my mom left Oliver, I knew she wasn’t coming back.”
She says it matter-of-factly, as if it hadn’t altered her world.
“She didn’t just leave Ollie, Gray,” I whisper, gentle but imploring all the same. “She left you, too.”
But she shakes her head. “She left me when I was much younger. She came back to have Oliver, then left him.”
She’d been abandoned by her mom twice. Twice.
“And your dad?”
“He started drinking, more than he already was. Showed up to a game or two drunk and eventually, they fired him. But that’s about when my coach started helping, opening a scholarship program for me to keep skating. Oliver started hockey because the ice rink was my safe haven, so it became his too.”
I don’t want to ask it, but I have to.
“Liam?”
“Um,” she huffs out a breath and bites her lip. “Yeah. I don’t know much. But I came downstairs one morning for school and there was a baby on the floor, next to my passed out dad.”
I swallow. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen. It was… scary, for a while. But, I started working around then and my mom started paying her court-ordered child support. So, my dad was at least sober enough to get something done.” She laughs at this, but there’s no humor in it.
I picture her, as a sixteen-year-old girl, less angry and caring for children, budgeting, cleaning up her father even when he didn’t deserve it. To protect her brothers. To keep them close, because there wasn’t one adult in her life she could trust.
And no one was taking care of her.
Just like it had been for years. This was her normal.
My chest squeezes tight again.
Not anymore.
“Can I hold you?” I ask, before I can stop myself. “Please.”
I wait for the rejection, for the wall of frustration—and I’m prepared to fight for her. I always will.
But, she only nods, exhausted as she slinks towards me and tucks herself back into my side.
It isn’t until she’s fast asleep, drained but so beautiful that I whisper, “I’ll never leave you. Happy birthday, Sadie.”
I swear she smiles in her sleep, but I’m borderline delusional when it comes to this girl.
“I love you,” I mouth, pressing the words into the skin of her forehead, hoping that somehow, she hears them. Somehow, she knows.
I jolt awake.
The clock on her bedside table is blinking 3:47 a.m. in bright red font. My brow furrows as I rub my eyes a moment, trying to figure out what woke me. Did I have another nightmare? I haven’t had one in months, but sleeping somewhere foreign I absolutely could—
Something slams again, loud, making Sadie shift and curl tighter against me.
She’s barely opening her eyes, when I press her back into the mattress.
“Stay asleep, baby. I’m just gonna check on the boys.”
Her body rolls pliantly to the other side, and I shuck my sweatpants back on before heading out.
It’s icy cold in this house, which Sadie explained was, in fact, an issue with their house being quite old and their astronomical gas bill last year; they’d planned to avoid it until they absolutely had to.
A problem I’d already planned on solving as soon as possible.
Liam is fast asleep, not moving an inch as I shut back his door. But Oliver is awake, standing at the top of the stairs, listening.
“Hey bud,” I whisper, worried about the angry look on his face. “What’s up? Can’t sleep?”
His brow furrows. “You didn’t hear that?”
“I did. Did it wake you?”
He snorts. “Dad always wakes us. Liam will sleep through anything.” He eyes me up and down again. “Surprised Sadie’s asleep though.”
“I tried to keep her from waking up.” Except now, I feel ridiculous. I’ve never had to handle an alcoholic, except in the context of drunken college or high school friends. Not an adult. “Does he… is he violent?”
“Not usually. But Halloween makes him angry.” Oliver shrugs his shoulders and crosses his arms. “Usually he just breaks a few things, and then passes out on the couch. But…”
“What is it?”
Oliver has that same look again, like he’s not sure if what he’s saying is allowed or right— like someone will be upset with him. A little like confusion mixed with anger.
“You can tell me anything, remember?” I try to remind him of my words from earlier. I won’t leave you.
“It’s Sadie’s purse. I know it’s downstairs still. She usually remembers to hide it, but she…”
“I distracted her.”
He nods.
Fuck. “Does he steal from her?”
“All the time. And… I know she just saved up enough for her tournament in December. I’m scared he’ll—”
My hand raises to stop the slight panic I can hear etching into his voice. “I’ll get it, okay?”
“What if he fights with you?”
I smile, all disarming charm. “C’mon, Ollie—look at me.”
“I just don’t want this to be why you leave.”
Another punch to the stomach. Another reason I’m planning to never let these kids out of my sight again. I’d marry Sadie tomorrow if it meant it got them out of this damn house.
Who am I kidding? I’d marry Sadie tomorrow. Period. No stipulations.
“Let me deal with it, okay?”
