I heard Killian shift, and then he took my hand and squeezed. “Hey. You’re good. You know that, right? Literally no one here will care.”
Lifting my face, I managed a smile. “So no one is going to be pissed they lost the token straight?”
Killian burst into laughter. “I don’t know if anyone ever believed that’s what you were.”
Silence eventually settled around us, and the weight of everything was still there, but it was lighter. Easier.
Kinder.
“What do you need me to do?” Killian eventually asked.
I squeezed his hand one last time before letting go. “Just this. For now,” I told him softly.
“Consider that my job until you need me to let go.”
By the time I had to head over to my dad’s for the interview, I felt better, and I still wasn’t alone. This time, by a lot. Ford showed up the next morning, and Tucker was right behind him, followed by Boden. I hadn’t realized how uptight and tense I’d been feeling until they were all gathered in my apartment, Tucker and Killian arguing about who was going to drive us.
“You can’t even fucking drive,” Killian said.
“And you don’t get to be the boss of everyone!”
“At least I know the city?—”
“You don’t know jack shit!”
“Boys!” Boden’s voice was stern and tired. “Shut the fuck up. I live here. I’m driving.”
And that was that.
We piled into his SUV, which was thankfully large enough to accommodate four hockey players and an irritated lawyer, and Ford kept me sandwiched between him and Killian because although his boyfriend hadn’t said anything about why I was upset, Ford was always good at sensing those things.
He kept one hand firmly locked around my wrist, and Killian let my head flop against his shoulder as Boden got us through the obnoxious Boston traffic.
The GPS alerted Boden to my dad’s building, and I felt the SUV start to slow. “Uh. Here? Your dad lives here?”
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked. No one said anything, which said everything. “It’s a shithole, isn’t it? Fuck. Fuck!”
“Hey, babe,” Tucker said, squeezing my knee. “It’s not that bad.”
“Mm.” I knew he was full of it. “I mean, I kind of hate the fucker, but I don’t want him living in squalor.”
“I promise you that’s not what this is,” Tucker said quietly. “And you didn’t know.”
“No, I guess not,” I told him. My stomach was still hurting though. Fuck, I didn’t like my dad very much, but I’d wanted better for him. I hadn’t even bothered to explore—to ask what it was like—when I was here last. Not that I trusted Alexio to give me an honest answer.
My stomach twisted in a weird way at the thought of his name, and I shoved that to the side as Boden pulled his SUV over and the engine went quiet.
“Do you want us all to go up?” Killian asked. “I feel like that might be a lot for your dad.”
He was probably right. I did want my little bubble of hockey players around me, but I didn’t want to make this worse for the old man, who probably had no idea what was going on. “Uh, maybe just one of you. Who wants to come with?”
I imagined a silent game of not-it was happening. Then Tucker reached back and squeezed my knee again.
“I’ll go. And we’ll call you guys if we need backup.”
Everyone collectively agreed, so I grabbed my cane and patted my pocket for my phone before climbing out over Ford. I nearly ate shit on the pavement as I tripped out of the door, but Tucker caught me and hauled me upright.
“I feel like this week has been the biggest fucking disaster,” I murmured.
