Page 76 of Rivals

“Hello?” His face goes from pissed to turning pale. He eyes me with worry. “We’re on our way.”

“Reign?” I touch his arm, but he captures my hand in his. “That was the hospital. I’m sorry, Riley, your dad was admitted after a car crash.”

“No.” I shake my head, in denial, my heart feeling like its being shredded. I can’t be alone. He has to be alright.

“Let’s go, babe. I’ll drive.” Reign wraps his suit jacket around my shoulders and holds me to his side while we walk out the doors. “I got you.”

I nod and let him lead. I let him strap me in his car. I don’t blink and I don’t cry the whole way there. Reign holds my hand in his, brushing the knuckles across his lips. “He’s going to be okay. You’re dad’s a soldier, a fighter. They said he wasn’t in the ICU so that’s a good thing.”

Reign reassures me the whole way there while I wallow in grief. My dad is all I have left of my family. It’s been me and him for so many years. I should have been with him. I should have been saving this time with him until I had to leave for college. My frustration builds until I feel like a failure of a daughter. This whole year I’ve been living and barely taking the chances to come home. What if I never get to talk to him again? My heart shatters a little under the weight of my guilt. He has to be alright. My eyes slide to Reign and the pain builds. This might be the one thing that really tears us apart this time.

Reign

I can feel her thoughts a mile away. I can see the way her body is bowing in on itself, the misplaced guilt she feels, eating away at her insides. The truth of it is, this could have happened at any time. Whether she was home or not. Living with her dad again or not. It was an accident. My parents went to the hospital at my request to get answers for us before we get there. My dad texted me a minute ago to let me know the injuries are not life threatening. When we finally make it and I park the car, I turn Riley toward me. Her sad eyes are filled with tears and worry.

“My dad talked to his doctors. He does have a broken arm, but the rest of the scratches are superficial. He’s going to be okay.”

Her chest shudders and the tears fall free. I help her out of the car and take her hand in mine as we walk in. We’re directed to the emergency room, where my parents are waiting.

“Oh, Riley.” My mom walks up and takes her in her arms. Riley sags against my mom, holding onto her while crying her eyes out. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. He’s resting but he’s okay.”

I watch them both and realize for the first time that it’s been years since my mom hugged Riley. A longer time since a woman gave her the kind of affection that comes from moms. I remembered the day of Riley’s mom’s funeral. I remember holding her hand and wishing I could do anything to stop her from crying. So I had done the one thing I had seen my dad do. I hugged her and kissed her cheek. We were young, innocent, and until this moment, I almost forgot. I had pried myself so far away from her because of the anger I had back then over a goal and a ruined summer. I forgot how Riley was surviving.

My dad comes over and claps my shoulder. His eyes are also on the two women. Eventually, my mom lets Riley go and she slips into her dad’s room. As much as I want to be there with her, I know she needs some time with him first.

“It was a rollover. Another car in the other lane swerved for a deer and then Mr. Conrad swerved to avoid that person and it caused a head-on-collision,” my dad explains.

“Why was he out so late?” I question.

They both shrug and we sit back down. I watch the clock waiting, giving her time. After about twenty minutes, I stand and make my way inside the room to be with her. Riley sits by her dad’s side, her hand gently on his arm. His eyes are closed, sleeping with the effects of pain meds helping him be comfortable.

She turns to me and her face is stained with tear streaks. “I could have stopped him. I know I could have.”

“Babe.” I go to her, sinking down to my knees, and wrapping my arm around her. “No, you couldn’t. It was an accident, something neither you or he could have foreseen.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t get it. He was wearing his uniform.”

Her voice drops off, the last word hitching in her throat. “His military uniform?”

She nods, her watery eyes going back to her dad. “When I first went to live with him, it would happen when he had flashbacks or dreams. He had help from the VA for a few years before returning to help my mom and mostly had it under control. Stress or change though would trigger it. He has PTSD. When I would find him, only talking about hockey stats or about professional teams would bring him back.”

My hand rubs her back. “I didn’t know that.” My throat feels tight and I fight back my own emotions for my girl and the other important man in her life.

“I only had hockey to talk with him about. He showed up after years of never knowing him. I didn’t know what he liked or how he felt about me. But hockey was a thing for us. He started coming to my games when he could. That year of the tournament, he asked for time off from work. Something he never did, just to watch. I wanted to make him proud. I wanted that winning goal so it made it okay that he took time off from work to be there. And I ended up hurting you and then losing my best friend.”

This must be what hell feels like. An anguish I’ve never known before floods my chest. Stupid, stupid kids. She tells me about not sharing with anyone what happened in her home because she loved her dad and he started going to the VA after a different episode, and got better. It had been five years since the last one, where he put on his uniform, and was going to take the truck for a drive, thinking he was on his base. Riley stopped him that time.

I feel horrible, realizing she spent her childhood living a way I never imagined and using hockey as a different tool than I did. She wanted to make her dad proud while I was doing everything to show my dad how good I was. The answers I needed back then are now in front of me and if I had just asked, just talked to her, things could have been very different.

I press my lips to her forehead. “I’m sorry, Riles.”

She sniffles and her head drops. “I was too embarrassed to tell you back then.”

“I was a jerk. I just always wanted to prove my dad wrong about hockey. I was self-centered, thinking everything was about me.” Our hands intertwine and I squeeze hers gently.

“You were a jerk.” She laughs softly. “You still are, but not to me. And I fell in love with you anyways.”

“I’m here for you, babe. Whatever you need,” I reassure her.

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