Page 109 of A Little Jaded
“Good because I want to make it clear that I’ve never seen my son happier,” Kate points out.
“He’s also never brought a girl around until now,” Macklin adds. “You’re special to him.”
“He’s special to me, too,” I whisper. “And I’ll, uh, I’ll do my best to take care of him. I promise.”
The same familiar smile stretches across Kate’s face. “I know you will. Honestly, you already are. We heard about his concussion and how you rose to the occasion to take care of him.” She pats my knee, the same way she did to her husband. “You’re good for him.”
“Everett…Taylor!” the announcer booms.
The words snap us from our conversation, and I notice most fans have sat down again, giving me a perfect view of the rink. The teams are lined up on the ice. I was so distracted by our conversation, I didn’t even realize they’d filed out of the locker room and down the tunnels.
Sitting up a little straighter in my seat, I wait for both centers to meet at the blue line and the whistle to blow. But I can’t shake Kate’s comments. For the first time since meeting Everett, I finally grasp why he is the way he is. So vigilant. So on point. So laser-focused on everyone around him. Because if he has a mom and sister who deal with epilepsy, and a friend who hid a fatal disease, and another friend who diedin a car accident, and another friend who struggles from head trauma, what other choice does he have but to always watch and wait, to anticipate if and when something will go wrong while also juggling his own life. His own struggles. His own goals and hopes and dreams.
I can’t even imagine.
No wonder he was so hesitant to add me to his plate in the beginning. To make sure I’m taken care of and staying safe. It isn’t only who he is. It’s who he’s had to be, and my heart aches in understanding. For the little boy and the pressure he must’ve felt on a daily basis. Scratch that. The pressure he still feels on a daily basis despite never having signed up for it.
Am I adding to it?
The question is like a barbed caress as it rises to the surface. He moved out of his place because of me. He was jumped because of me. He had to worry about how I was going to get here and whether or not I was safe. He had to give his parents my number and arrange for them to walk me inside a stupid building all because of a potential interaction between me and my ex. It has to be exhausting, doesn’t it?
“I want to make sure he’s being taken care of, too.”Kate’s words filter through my mind, bringing with them a heaviness I feel down to my bones.
I’m trying to protect him. To make sure he’s happy and fulfilled. But obligated? I don’t want him to feel obligated to be with me. I don’t want him to feel obligated to keep me safe, or to put me in a box with the rest of the people he cares about.
Is that so wrong? At this point, I don’t even know.
Shoving the thought aside, I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and try to focus on the man I’ve most definitely fallen for, who’s going head-to-head with my ex.
Look at the bright side. If I wanted a distraction from being in the same area as Drake, I got it, right?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
EVERETT
Not gonna lie. I’ve been waiting for this. For this moment. When I can beat the shit out of Drake under the guise of a hockey game. Without pissing off the police or messing with Dylan’s investigation.
Just me and him on the ice.
No bullshit.
Only retribution.
It’s funny. Hearing my Aunt Mia and Uncle Henry’s account of the guy who used to beat the shit out of her when she attended LAU. His name was Shorty. Fitting since only a guy who’s small would choose to beat the shit out of a woman. Drake’s small, too. Maybe not literally—Shorty wasn’t, either—but small all the same.
Rolling my shoulders, I head to the blue line as the crowd chants around us. It’ll be even sweeter this way. Beating the shit out of Drake on his own ice. Proving he’s the lesser man in front of his biggest fans.
I can’t. Fucking. Wait.
Looking up at the stands, I search the crowd for Raine and my parents. When I find them, my brows dip. Rainelooks nervous. Did one of the fans do something to her? My mom’s beside her. She looks okay for now. I was worried when I came through the tunnel, and strobe lights were flashing. I’ve seen it a hundred times. Hell, maybe a thousand if you include Finley. I still remember when we were kids and how many times she seized until the doctors figured out the right dosage of her medication. Doesn’t erase the memories, though. My mom’s is worse. Or maybe it isn’t. Feels like it, though. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s because she’s my mom. She’s supposed to be strong and unbreakable. And yeah, to be fair, she’s definitely the most resilient person I’ve ever known. But watching her battle her seizures will never get easier. She looks all right, but if she has one here? On the fucking concrete or in the plastic seats? My hands shake, and my gut churns.
“Your dad’s got her,” Griffin calls out as if the bastard knows exactly what I’m thinking.
He's right.
My dad’s beside her. He knows her better than anyone. Has been able to read the signs, whenever he’s given any, better than her own doctors. Hell, better than my mom herself. And she looks…fine for now.
She’ll be fine.