She stared at me as if she could barely understand what I’d said.
“What else could I do?” I whispered. “I couldn’t?—”
“Avery. Honey.” She took my hand. “If things had been reversed—if Leif had lost you instead of the other way around—don’t you think he’d have been a mess, too?”
It was my turn to stare at her.
“But he was always…” I swallowed. “He was the one who kept the team together.”
“And he kept me and the kids together, too. He was strong as hell, no doubt about that. But he was human, too.” She chewed her lip. “Remember a couple of seasons ago when you hurt your neck?”
I shuddered. That was a night IwishedI could forget. The crunch when I’d landed. The way everyone had frantically held me still, ordering me not to move until they’d stabilizedmy neck. How much it had fucking hurt, and how we couldn’t tell if I’d lost feeling in my left leg because of spinal damage or if the position I’d been in had just cut off circulation.
In the present, I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Of course I remember.”
“Okay. Well. So do I.” She locked eyes with me. “And I remember my husband being an absolute mess because his best friend had been stretchered off the ice on a backboard, and we still didn’t know if you were okay.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. I vividly remembered Leif being worried sick and rattled after our other teammate had taken a similar fall. For some reason, it had just never occurred to me that he’d been that much of a mess—or more of one—when I’d been hurt.
She wasn’t finished yet, either. “He made Coach Tabakov and half a dozen other people promise to call theminutethey heard how you were. And you know what happened when they called?”
Swallowing hard, I shook my head.
Her eyes started to well up for a third time. “As soon as he heard that you were okay, and that you were probably going to be on LTIR for a while but you’d be back—” She put her hand to her lips, and when she continued, her voice shook. “The only other time I’ve ever seen him that relieved is after things got scary with me and the twins in the delivery room.”
My lips parted.
“He was human, honey,” she said. “He loved you like a brother. If he’d ever lost you, he’d have been a broken man for a long, long time.” She squeezed my hand again. “None of us were ever going to judge you for falling apart when you lost him.”
Speaking of falling apart…
I was so damn tired of crying, but this time… God, just like it had been in my therapist’s office and with Peyton, it was cathartic. It wasn’t that crushing grief that had become a constant companion. As Rachel pulled me close and let me literally cry on her shoulder, it was like a long overdue release of things I’d stupidly held on to for too damn long. It didn’t matter how much I’d let out in therapy, there always seemed to be another reserve of heartache to tap into.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I didn’t even know if I was apologizing for keeping all this from her, or for leaning on her of all people when she had to be struggling even more than any of us. Both, probably, since Iwassorry for both.
“You don’t need to apologize,” she said softly, stroking my hair. “I don’t have a monopoly on grieving for Leif.”
“Still.” I let her go and wiped my eyes. “I should be supporting you, not leaning on you.”
She was already shaking her head. “No. We can be there for each other.”
I knew better than to argue with her, so I nodded. “Okay. But… tell me if it’s too much, all right? I don’t want to make things worse for you.”
Her smile was sad but sincere. “You’re not. I promise.” Before I could ask if she was sure, Rachel sat up a little, wincing as she rubbed her back. “Ugh. Being pregnant isnotfor wimps.”
I chuckled, both at the comment and because I was relieved we were shifting gears. “No kidding. Are you okay? Do you need an icepack or?—”
“No, no.” She huffed sharply. “I just need it to be my damn due date so I can serve an eviction notice.”
“You’re almost there. Only, what, three or four more weeks?”
She shot me a glare. “There’s no such thing as ‘only’ three or four more weeks of…this.”
Showing my palms, I said, “Fair enough.”
She laughed, then glanced toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to eat?” She smiled sadly. “And don’t tell me you’re not hungry. You’re a hockey player—you’realwayshungry.”
I laughed, and it felt good, especially because it made her laugh, too. “Yeah, you got me.” I took out my phone. “Why don’t we order a pizza or something?”
