Page 209 of The Dixon Rule

I meet his wild eyes and say, “Good.”

The last thing I remember is his foot kicking the side of my head.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

SHANE

You don’t belong here

WHEN I WALK INTO THE FAMILY ROOM, MOM IS SITTING ON THE COUCH, back straight, gaze fixed on the crackling fireplace.

I’ve found her in this pose frequently during the month I’ve been home, stumbling upon these moments of numb silence. I get them too. There’s been a weight on my shoulders since Dad died. It keeps pulling me down, anchoring me to this pit of endless grief. The only moment its grip on me lightens is when I see Diana, who’s kept her promise to drive up on the weekends.

When she’s not here, we’re all keeping busy. Mom’s back at work. Maryanne starts school again tomorrow. I’ve been dealing with the real estate agent and packing up the house. We found a place ten minutes away. That means Maryanne doesn’t need to switch schools, so that’s one less hassle.

The scene of tonight’s dinner lingers in the air, a reminder of the countless hours I’ve spent helping Mom around the house. We take turns cooking. I do most of the cleaning, which is unheard of.

Maryanne seems to be doing okay, although she has her moments of sadness too, and she’s thrown a few tantrums since I’ve been home. That’s equally unheard of. She never used to be a tantrum kid. But Mom’s sister is a child psychologist and maintains that this is normal, a healthy release of her grief.

“Hey,” I say as I settle in the worn leather armchair, resting my beer on my knee. “Kitchen’s spotless. No need to bring in the cleaner to check my work.”

She shifts her gaze from the fire to me, cracking a smile. “I might have coddled you a little more than necessary with the cleaning lady, huh?”

I shrug. “Not complaining.”

We chat about our plans for tomorrow. I plan on tackling the garage while Mom’s at work. The shelving unit that makes up the entire back wall is full of random junk that we need to go through. We’re discussing what items to keep and what to toss when a text lights up my phone screen. Ryder’s been keeping me updated about the playoffs, and he just sent me the schedule.

“Shit,” I exclaim as I read the message.

“What is it?” Mom asks.

“We’re playing—” I quickly correct myself. “They’re playing Yale in the semifinals. Briar hasn’t faced Yale in the postseason in like, a decade.”

I tamp down the excitement that tries to surface. Nope. I won’t be on the ice next weekend. It’s not my game to get excited about.

A prickle of discomfort itches my skin when I notice Mom watching me.

“What?” I say.

After a beat, she motions for me to join her on the couch. “Come sit here. We need to talk.”

Uncertain, I set my phone and beer bottle on the coffee table and take a seat beside her. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since you came home, and I want you to know I appreciate all the help you’ve given me. You’ve been a rock. Taking such good care of things around here since your dad passed. But I don’t want you to lose sight of your dreams, and I think you might be.”

I stare down at my hands, clasped tight on my lap. “I can’t afford to think about dreams right now. You need me.”

She reaches out and lifts my chin, meeting my eyes. “Shane. I’m grateful that you’re here, more than you can imagine. But I don’t want you to sacrifice your future for us. You deserve a chance to live the life you’ve always wanted.”

“I made him a promise,” I say gruffly.

“I know. He told me. But I don’t think this is what he meant, sweetheart.”

A rush of emotion closes my throat, making it hurt. “He asked me to be there for you and Maryanne. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Not at the expense of your own life,” Mom says gently. “He wouldn’t want you to quit the team. To leave school. In fact, he’d knock you upside the head for this decision. Because you’re forgetting the other promise you made him.”

My brow furrows.

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