For the second time in just a few days, Victoria is beside me.
Fuck, but it feels comfortable.
Like we’ve done this a million times before.
I guess we have. Different vehicle, different circumstances, but still somewhat the same.
And this time there’s a calm between us I’ve never felt before. Not with a woman anyway. I still have questions, and frankly, if we’re going to have a brutally honest conversation, I don’t know how long things will stay calm. But it’s nice to have this moment, fleeting though it may be.
“Are you going to miss class?” I ask as I pull into the parking lot of a restaurant that’s known for its great breakfast choices. In fact, it’s a place we used to come to all those years ago.
“Yeah, but it’s fine.” She glances at me. “Parker’s? Really?”
“It was close,” I say, looking over at her. “Would you rather go somewhere else?”
“No.” She pauses. “Don’t you have practice?”
I shake my head. “Optional morning skate. I opted out.”
She almost smiles but seems to catch herself. “Should you do that?”
“When Coach says it’s optional, he’s not playing games. It means some of us need the morning off to take care of our bodies or our lives. I’m doing both.”
“Okay.” She gets out and follows me inside, where a harried hostess seats us by a window.
“Mocha latte, please,” she says to the waitress.
“Black coffee,” I tell her.
The waitress leaves and we both seem to be focused on the menu.
“It’s the same,” Victoria murmurs.
“You haven’t been here lately?” I ask curiously.
She shakes her head. “No. I don’t go out to eat much. You know how Dad feels about frivolous spending and I try to stay on a budget for my own stuff.”
“Does he charge you rent?”
“No. But I have a car payment, insurance, gas, my phone, clothes. Everything but rent and utilities. And it’s not like I work full-time, though I do my best to get thirty hours a week in.”
“And school full-time too?”
“Yup.” She puts her menu down. “I don’t know why I’m looking—it’s not like I can ever say no to the banana pancakes here.”
I chuckle. “I’m having the same. No one makes them like they do here.”
The waitress brings us our drinks, takes our order, and then disappears.
And now there’s no more small talk.
I have to know what happened that night, no matter how painful it is.
“Tell me about the night of the miscarriage,” I say quietly.
She sighs, toying with her coffee mug. “Honestly, I don’t remember a lot. After the car accident, they gave me something to relax me, and I was vaguely aware that they said I was having a miscarriage. Mom was crying, but all I remember is my father yelling and pacing, talking about what he was going to do to you when he got his hands on you. I started crying and couldn’t stop, so they sedated me. By the time I’d gotten through the worst of the physical part, and then got home, my whole life was turned upside down.” She pauses, finally looking up. “And I never heard from you again.”
“Your dad was still making noise about statutory rape,” I say quietly. “I had to hire an attorney, in addition to the team attorney. The team was in the playoffs and I was out with a broken collarbone. Everyone was calling me a problematic partier—even though I was completely sober and we hydroplaned in the rain. It was an accident, but I was getting vilified in the press.”
