They’re all still staring at me. I’m not sure what they’re waiting for. I don’t have any answers, I thought I could help, but I can’t.
I spent my whole life wanting out from under Dad’s spotlight as an NHL star. It was stifling. It felt like I couldn’t be the real me without it somehow coming back to reflect badly on Dad, like the bar for behavior was raised just because I was the child of a famous athlete.
And when he lost everything, when everyone was suddenly interested in him for all the wrong reasons, all I wanted was out from under his shadow, his disgrace, his shame.
And I’ve managed to land myself in the same position all over again.
I was blinded by Tate’s sunshine. Now, I’m being tugged under by his darkness.
I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it all over again.
On my way home, I call my cousin. For as welcoming as the group of women I’ve found through being Tate’s girlfriend is, no one knows me better than Karlya—except maybe Oliver.
“S’up cuz?” She’s clearly driving, the connection is echo-y, and she sounds like she’s in an air tunnel.
I sigh, trying to collect my thoughts.
“Peppy?” Her voice is laden with concern. “You need me?”
“No.” I heave out another sigh. “I just don’t know how to help Tate. He’s struggling, and I guess that means we are struggling.”
A car door slams. “Okay, I know you think you need to fix him, Peppy. I saw this when you went through it with Uncle Mike, too. But.” She sucks in a breath. “Don’t shoot the messenger, okay?”
My stomach drops because I’m not going to like what she’s about to say.
“It’s not your job to make everyone better. It’s not your responsibility to fix the world. At some point, Tate’s going to have to figure this out for himself. And I know that’s hard for you to hear, but it sounds like you’re just a passenger on this one.”
A strangled noise clogs my throat. “I’m so glad I called you.”
“You knew what you were getting as soon as you picked up the phone. It’s why you didn’t phone Oli instead. He’d have given you a list of things to help, he’d have reminded you about all the things you guys tried with Uncle Mike after his accident. But you didn’t want that. You needed the reminder that some things are out of your control. You can’t fix everything.”
She’s right, I can’t. But as I head home I can’t help the growing fear that Tate might not be able to fix everything either.
CHAPTER 25
Tate
The riotous sounds of my teammates coming home after another win is deafening, and soul crushing at the same time.
I’m at the kitchen table, a few brews in, and my head hurts. The nice buzz from my meds-and-beer combo has worn off, and all that’s left is bitterness.
The guys burst into the kitchen with a clumsiness that tells me they’ve already started celebrating. Even the rookies are in good spirits.
After what they said about my girl, they’ve been in the doghouse. They’ve been doing scut work, cleaning, laundry, errands, whatever the fuck we need them to.
Doesn’t feel like enough. But I told the guys I’d lay off them. Or at least stay the fuck out of their way so I don’t rearrange their faces so they end up looking like me.
Except they’re here, standing right in front of me. Even how they breathe is offending me right now.
I need out.
I need to leave before I hit someone a dig in the face and end up on the whole team’s shit-list. More than I already am, anyway.
As I rise to leave, Mikko blocks my path. It was probably poor timing, but that’s not what my itching-to-fight body tells me, or my lizard brain.
“Sorry, man.” His face pales, his voice quivers. It’s nice to know he’s afraid of me. He should be.
If I’d been downstairs when he—or his buddy Rico—said whatever they did about Penelope’s size, I’d have ripped their heads off their bodies.
