Sighing into the darkness of my room, I try not to think about my life before Melody died. I’d often bitch to my friends or my boyfriend about how hard it was sometimes to be a grown-up and live on your own. I wanted to get my hair highlighted but I couldn’t because I bought a new pair of shoes that I simply had to have. Or the tread on my tires was wearing thin but because I spent all my extra money on frivolous things, I couldn’t get them replaced. Or in the few days before payday I was eating Ramen noodles, but the day after I’d get my check I’d blow it on a cute top from the Gap.

I mentally roll my eyes at myself as I think about my life now, and realize . . . before Melody died, I was actually living an easy and fruitful life. I had it damn good before and while I would never give these kids up, I can’t help but be a little wistful over how good it felt not to have this much responsibility on my shoulders.

I didn’t ask for my older sister to get cancer at the age of twenty-eight. I didn’t ask to take care of her. I didn’t ask to watch her die. I didn’t ask for my niece and two nephews to come live with me. And I certainly didn’t ask for all of the stress and fatigue that comes with raising three kids, devastated by the loss of their mother, working minimum wage jobs, and not a clue in the world on how to even interact with my niece and nephews in this new family dynamic thrust upon us.

Still, I wouldn’t change a thing about my circumstances right now.

Well, I’d kill for another part-time job and I’ll have to get cracking on that tomorrow. But there was no other option except that the kids come live with me. Melody’s husband bailed on her long before she got sick, and while he floated in and out of the kids’ life periodically, he’s three years behind on child support. And there truly was no other option when Melody asked me point-blank to become their mother when she passed.

I could have never said no to her.

So with the court’s approval guardianship was legally transferred to me before she died because their father didn’t contest it. Four months ago I became an instant mother to three kids that I didn’t know all that well and had no clue as to what to do with them. I only knew that it was now my job to care for them, raise them, and love them in the best way I could.

It’s my duty now to make sure they thrive.

With another sigh, I carefully remove Annabelle’s arm from around my neck and slide from the bed. I’m feeling too guilty just laying here when there are things to be done that could give me a jump-start on tomorrow.

Chapter 3

Max

Hawke strides in through the lobby doors and I stand up from the plush couch I’d been waiting on as he approaches me.

I grin at him and say, “You’re late.”

He looks at his watch and then rolls his eyes at me. “By like one minute.”

I don’t respond but we do our bro greeting—palm smack, back of hand smack, and then a fist bump.

“Jim’s not here anyway,” I tell him as I sit back down on the couch. “Just called and said he’s stuck in traffic. Be about fifteen minutes late.”

Hawke sits on a wing-backed chair adjacent to the couch and rests an ankle over his knee. He’s dressed up, same as me, except his suit is black and mine’s charcoal gray.

“Did you go to the hospital this morning?” I ask him.

“Yeah,” he says. “He looks good.”

He being Dave Campbell, father of one sassy athletic trainer—that would be Vale. Dave had a seizure two days ago and is at Duke Hospital. He’s suffering from a rare brain tumor and received some type of experimental treatment at Duke, and I’m guessing this seizure was a complication. The reason our leading defenseman, Hawke Therrien, is visiting our athletic trainer’s father in the hospital is because they have history.

I mean . . . Hawke and Vale have a very long history.

And from what I learned yesterday afternoon when Hawke and I went out for a few beers, not a great history. I had sensed there was something going on between the two of them in the Cold Fury workout room. Vale tensed up the minute Hawke walked in, and I could feel weird vibes from him as well. I left after my workout, only to return a few minutes later and found Hawke’s hands on her shoulders with a disgruntled look on his face. He dropped her like a hot potato when I walked back in but didn’t try to hide anything from me.

Hence the beers after, and he laid it all out.

Apparently, Vale and Hawke were a hot item years back, but she broke it off with him suddenly and with no explanation. He hasn’t been able to figure it out but isn’t sure if he should ask either. To complicate matters, they apparently fucked the other night and now things are super awkward.

I didn’t have any good advice for him. My one stab at a relationship was a miserable failure, which was totally my fault. So the most I could do was listen to him lament about Vale and commiserate with him that it was a fucked up situation.

“This place is something, huh?” Hawke says conversationally as he looks at the huge lobby filled with comfortable furniture that’s quite stylish and elegant. Thick, luxurious carpet done in light purple, gray, and cream match the wallpaper done in a floral print that’s not feminine but rather just posh. The receptionist sits at a cherry desk that looks Victorian and there’s a grand piano in the corner that a man sits at playing a soft melody.

It’s definitely not what I’d envision a nursing home to look like, and the only thing that gives it away is the various residents I see milling around. Some wander about with walkers while others are in wheelchairs that they pull along the floor by shuffling their feet on the carpet rather than having their frail arms try to push the wheels to get them to their destination.

We’re at Sweetbrier Nursing Home and Rehab Facility because one of the Cold Fury assistant managers, Jim Perry, held a fundraiser for this place. His mother was a resident here and she passed away a few months ago. He was so impressed with her care, he organized a charity live auction to raise funds to help build a new wing that would house a larger therapy gym as well as increase the dining facilities. He asked a few players to participate and I readily agreed. The fundraiser was last month, long before Hawke arrived for training camp, and I handled hosting and emcee duties for the black tie event. Hawke’s here now because he made a late donation personally and volunteered to come with us to present the check for $57,000 we’d raised to the home administrator. There’d be a big write-up in the paper, of course, and management always loved when we did shit like this.