“He’s different with you.” Anyone else might have taken it as an insult, but there’s a softness to the way she says it. Something that makes me believe she’s genuinely happy about it. “He thinks I don’t see it, but I do.”
I open my mouth to argue that he’s not different; their relationship is, but she shakes her head softly. Riona spent her life with him; she’s got the upper hand.
"I think trauma had a hand in that," I say, refusing to take the credit.
“They warned me that he’d come home differently. I took classes, sat in group therapy, and did everything I could to prepare myself for it. I thought if anyone could ground him in reality, it’s me,” she sighs quietly. “I thought he’d come back with pieces of himself. Instead, he came home hollow.”
The bar. I should’ve known it was something that was said to him at some point.
“Yeah, Boone thinks that’s hilarious, too.” Riona sighs, tracking my expression. “I didn’t come in here to act as I know him and warn you away or anything.” She tells me, picking up her bag again. “Bright’s a good dad. He loves Daisy. Sometimes, I think it’s all he has room to do. So if he’s making room for you,” she stops at the door, hand on the knob, “utilize it. Because the man I loved would burn the world down for the people he cares about, and that’s a big way to love. It’s not something you just forget how to do.”
A week later, I’m dragging Brighton along on the thousands of errands I have to do. I’d much rather be spending my Saturday in bed with him, ignoring the world, but unfortunately, my Mom is at work, and Hockey doesn’t stop for anyone. The arena is a lot colder than I expect, and the raw stench of cold sweat hits my nose like a tidal wave as Brighton holds the door open for me.
“You want this?” he asks, pulling off his hat, and already half out of the hoodie he’s wearing, like he knows I’m going to refuse and he’s not going to let me. The long sleeve he’s wearing beneath is tight and clings to his oversized body like it was stretched around him a size too small.
It’s unfair that he looks that good, clothed and naked.
“Rhea,” he chuckles, waving it in my face as I stare. I take it as he smooths out his hair back under the hat and watches me.
“Thank you." I pull it over my head, expecting to fit it like it’s mine, but it hits my body like a blanket, roomy in every way possible. I tuck my chin inside the collar, and Brighton smiles at me, pleased with himself.
“What’s his number?” He asks, following me up into the stands.
“Seventy-one,” I point to where Reid warms up with a few of his teammates. He currently plays for an AA team, but his skills are growing and developing so fast that he’ll just keep climbing through the ranks.
“Why seventy-one?” Brighton slides onto the stone bleacher beside me.
“Uh…” I try to remember the player's name. “He’s always been obsessed with the Penguins? I don’t know the guy's name.”
Brighton just nods, his eyes trailing the ice as Reid moves back and forth between the boards, getting faster with each lap until his team starts to circle back to the bench to get a word from their coach.
“Is he going to be pissed you brought me here?” Brighton asks. Mostly because when the game starts, Reid turns his head to look over at us, and his expression is cold.
“He wasn’t even mad you came for dinner,” I say—which is a lie. That’s just Reid.
“You’re full of shit, Hellcat. You forget I’mthatbrother,” he turns to look at me, and his glare is knowing.
“He was upset I didn’t tell him, not that you were there,” I correct myself. “He’s just protective for all the wrong reasons. He was so little when it all happened, and he spends every day trying to prove he’s not a victim anymore.”
Brighton’s jaw tightens at the mention of what happened. For a while, I thought maybe he’d forgotten what I told him. He was a little dazed that night, and there was a chance he didn’t retain anything but that strained tick tells me he does. Every single detail.
“I still wish you had warned me,” he says. “Having me show up there couldn’t have been easy on him.”
“He had a few choice words about your size.” I laugh at the look Brighton gives me. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Gabe isn’t exactly what someone would consider the man of the house.”
“You and I both know you’re the man of that house,” Brighton teases.
“But I let Reid believe it’s him, and unfortunately, that was a little threatened. He’s fine now. I think…” I shrug and turn my eyes back to the game.
“Teenagers are terrifying.”
“You’re telling me,” I scoff.
Reid moves down the ice with precision, and I watch as he slots through the legs of a defenseman, regains complete control of the puck, and pockets it into the top left corner of the net, completely bypassing the goalie without breaking a sweat.
I jump up, screaming as loud as I can for him, and don’t stop screaming until he turns to me with his stick extended and a stupid grin on his face. He doesn’t wear that one as much anymore, and it’s always nice to see it.
“I understand better now,” Brighton says after the first goal is scored.
