My smile slid as I realized I couldn’t tell Vivi my mother wanted to meet her; I couldn’t tell Vivi my mother already knew about her, knew how much I cared about her. “You can’t, Mom.”
She reared back and clutched her chest, her eyes wide. “The hell you mean I cannot meet the woman you love?”
Leave it to my mother to get straight at the heart of the matter. I dropped my forearms to the table and my forehead to my arms as I began to describe the ending of my time with Vivian.
“And she just left you?”
I didn’t look up, but Mom’s color would be high, and I was sure her eyes flashed with anger.
“I didn’t really give her a choice.”
“Oh, that woman had a choice. She chose to leave you when you were injured.”
I lifted my head, and Mom narrowed her eyes as she drew herself up. “That’s not the woman I want for my beautiful son. You deserve more than that, Lennon.”
I chewed on my lower lip as I debated how to answer—if I should answer. “I pushed her away. I made her leave. The lead attacker, he said he would find Vivian through me. That he’d, that he’d…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. A shudder worked itself outward from the ice block in my belly.
“Oh, my darling. I didn’t mean to bring back the bad feelings. I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me he spoke to you again.”
I frowned, something about her statement snagging in my mind. The start of a headache pounded against my temples.
“The posole, my son. You need a big bowl and a good night’s sleep.” She ran her fingers through my hair and scratched my scalp lightly, just as I’d liked her to do when I was small. She rose from the table. “When does training camp start and will you be cleared to play?”
Thoughts of Vivian receded as I gave my mother the details about my concussion and how the Wildcatters medical staff wanted to handle the possible traumatic brain injury. “So, I can skate, but they’re putting an additional layer of padding into my helmet, and I have to be honest with Coach Whittaker and Dr. Haberman about headaches and any potential hallucinations.”
My mother set the bowl in front of me with a loud thud, and some of the broth sloshed over the side. “Sorry! So sorry, darling. I’ll get it.”
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
Her frown tightened her brows, but she shook her head. “Nothing. Eat now. And then you rest. Tomorrow will be soon enough for these worries.”
I stopped the spoon halfway to my lips. “There’s nothing to talk about. Vivi and I are over. At least until those men are found.”
She raised a single brow. “Who said I considered Vivian a worry?”
Touché. I went back to eating my soup.
That day and every day over the next weeks and months, I continued to think about Vivian. Usually multiple times a day. Too many. But she was important to me. Very important, and I wanted to let her know how important she was. I also wanted to keep her safe.
I puzzled over how Vivian had acquiesced to leaving after that initial conversation with Dr. Delancy. The more I thought about it, the stranger her reaction was. Vivian had become silent. Because I’d grown up with a houseful of women, I knew withdrawal when I saw it. As much as that hurt my heart and bruised my soul, perhaps it was what I deserved. I’d made this mess what it was.
We were more than two months into the season now, and I still fell asleep with Vivian’s beautiful face front and center in my mind. And inevitably I woke, as I had every night since the attack, in a cold sweat, crying for her to be okay as I held her bruised and bloodied body in my arms.
I flung my arm over my eyes, pretending the tears seeping down my cheeks were sweat. I repeated what the hospital social worker had told me: dreams of a loved one being hurt after trauma were normal. Just because I thought it subconsciously didn’t mean the scenario would happen. Our minds were built to unravel scary issues.
Mine was having a hard time letting go of the worries. But I could do it.
Especially once those men were in jail. Then I could protect Vivian properly. Once that happened, I could tell her how I felt about her.
Chapter 8
Chapter
Vivian
* * *
I tucked my phone back into my scrubs pocket as my shoulders slumped. Nothing. Lennon had texted a few times, mostly about his dog, who I adored already. But since I’d returned to San Francisco, there’d been no calls, no mention of a visit—nothing like what we’d been discussing before the attack.
