CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JONAH
As much asI wanted to focus on whatever this new thing I was building between me and Alexio, I didn’t have time. Killian managed to get me an expedited court date so I could handle my dad’s medical care, and it meant blowing off one more afternoon practice to stand in front of a judge.
Ford had driven me, and my dad had come along as further proof that the power of attorney was necessary, but there was still a chance that the man on the bench would tell me no.
My stomach was in knots over it. I had no idea if the judge was going to be an ableist dick and decide that a blind man couldn’t take care of his dad, but Killian had assured me the man was a good one.
And he was. He asked a few cursory questions about my dad’s mental state and ability to make decisions for himself. I said exactly what Killian had coached me to say—just the bare minimum about the current situation. My dad spoke after me. He had trouble following the judge’s orders. He remembered his name, but not who I was, and forgot where he was about three minutes into the conversation.
Within twenty minutes of that, papers were signed, and it was over.
He told me everything would be filed with the state, and I could pick the forms up as soon as they were done processing. And then we were dismissed.
That was that.
It was over, and I no longer had to stress about that part of it. The moment I could find a facility willing to accept my dad that wasn’t a complete shithole, I could begin the process.
Walking out of court felt strange though. It was both lighter and heavier than I expected. I didn’t know how to thank Killian for pulling the strings he did. And the moment we were outside, my phone began to buzz, letting me know I had three callbacks from facilities within an hour of Boston that had room for my dad.
“I need to start packing his shit,” I told Ford as he shut the back door to his car with my dad inside. “It’s going to take me a hundred years to go through everything, but he can’t take all that crap with him.” I felt more weight settle on my shoulders, and I groaned. “Tucker is going to kill me if I miss any more practices though.”
He sighed and took my hand. “I’m saying this with all the love in the world, babe, but you need to go talk to Micah.”
I fought back a sigh. “I don’t want to.”
“I know, but it’s time. You have all this shit handled, so it’s not like you’re asking him for much. And he needs to know, okay?”
I hesitated. It had been a long several days with the Glaciers on the road. Long nights of talking to Alexio and then jerking myself raw the moment we hung up. We had plans for when he got back. Dates and…and more. Fuck, I wanted to kiss him so badly, and I was officially not above begging for it if that’s what he truly wanted.
I hadn’t wanted to bother him about all this on his roadie though. I put every game on that I could, my ear practically glued to the speaker as I listened to blades hitting the ice, sticks whipping the puck, and every time the commentators said Zeki, my heart did flips in my chest.
They only won two of the six games, and with their current stats, it was enough to ensure they weren’t going to secure their wildcard spot in the playoffs. Luckily, I also knew Alexio wasn’t too upset about it. He’d been prepared for the inevitable. They were using this season to perfect their team’s plays and to see where their weak spots were.
I might have been able to help too, but I was distracted, and I felt a bit like shit about it. I wanted to be there for him in ways he’d been there for me, but up until today, I’d been too overwhelmed to even think about it.
“Earth to Jonah.”
“Radio control to Major Tom—or however it goes.”
“Fuck off,” Ford said with a small laugh. “I’m being serious. Call your brother.”
I groaned, rolling my head up toward the sun, but I still dug my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my favorites until I hit Micah’s name. Pressing the phone to my ear, I paced a small path with one hand on the car so I didn’t get lost as it rang.
And rang.
And rang.
“This is Micah. If you’re not calling about food or money, fuck off.”
I ended the call. “He’s not?—”
My phone began to buzz in my hand. “Micah calling.”
Fuck.
I grimaced as I answered. “Hey, bud.”
