Page 75 of Lost the Handle

As everyone laughsand likes Owen’s question, I mute the sibling chat. I lean back in the seat of the Bugatti, letting my head fall back on a groan. I’m becoming the clown of the family, and it isn’t sitting right with me. I’ve always been the smart one, the one everyone looked to because I was a wealth of information. I always had an answer for whatever anyone needed to know.

While hockey didn’t work out for me, I’m still brilliant with my photographic brain. Though, my big brain was no match for the heartache of Emery walking away. Still, once I was somewhat on my feet, my plan to make my family proud came back to center stage. A plan I’ve been working toward since I was a teenager.

But plans change, don’t they?

It’s hard being the baby in a family of such dynamic people. Each of them shines in their places in the hockey world, and then there is me. Yes, I did assist on a surgery this morning on a kid’s elbow, and it went great. After rehab, the kid will hit the ice with ease, but knowing that didn’t fill me with excitement like I thought it would. Instead, I stressed myself out with the what-ifs. What if I didn’t screw the pin in hard enough? What if his sutures get infected? What if we think he’ll make a full recovery, but I fucked something up and ruined his hockey career?

Fuck.

Anxiety runs in my family, Evan getting the brunt of it, but I never thought I’d join the battle. I guess you never know when anxiety will hit. It comes at you like a fucking thief in the night and steals the joy from your soul. It really didn’t affect me until I started training on surgeries. I considered trying medication, but the side effects aren’t worth it to me. I’ve tried meditation and even breathing exercises, but they haven’t been working. It’s fucking unfair. My poor mom struggled with it growing up. She hated her body, and with the shit her family did to her, she couldn’t overcome it. Until my dad. He was her peace.

Emery.

Even without touching her, I find just being in her space clears my mind.

I close my eyes while I breathe deeply through my nose and recount what I did after the surgery. I was so overwhelmed that I grabbed a guitar off the wall from Dr. Abrams’s display ofvintage guitars and started playing. I didn’t even mean to make my own acoustic version of “Birds of a Feather” by Billie Eilish, but a certain pair of gray eyes were on my mind, and it just happened. I was surprised how quickly my anxiety vanished, and I was left with one hell of a song and thoughts of my girl.

I miss her.

And while I want to tell her everything, I feel like such a fucking idiot. I know her. I know she’ll pay Ava off. She’ll tell me to quit it all and have me work with her. It’s as if she knew how it would all play out by naming the company after both of us. While it all sounds good in my heart, my mind is right there, reminding me that my dad would be disappointed. How could he not?

I know he was good to Evan, that he supported my brother through some really rough panic attacks and told him to choose his mental health over a sport, but at least Evan tried. It’s different for me. I’ve never exhibited anxiety before, while Evan always did. It was almost expected for him when he started struggling on the ice. But for me, it would be coming out of left field. I’ve always been so strong, so solid, and I don’t want to let anyone down. What if they blame Emery for pulling me away from an honest career helping the industry my family is known for?

They’ll think I’m choosing a woman over what I was raised to do.

Heal the hockey stars of America.

But what if that’s not my dream anymore?

Am I thinking this way because I know I won’t be able to keep practicing once I break this off with Ava? I’m a joke in our sibling chat, but soon, I’ll be the embarrassment of the family. A genius who had to have someone take his exams for him. I allowed my heart to overcome my brain, and while I know that’s pathetic, I’m not sorry.

I missed Emery. I love her, and I couldn’t fathom her leaving me, leaving behind not only our love but our friendship. It was hard. Shit, it’s been hard since she came back. Jesus, this is a clusterfuck. Ava is going to gut me, and then Emery will murder her. I’ll be dead, and Emery will be in jail.

Now, I’m being dramatic like Shelli.

I tap my fingers along the black leather steering wheel. It’s a nice day out, sunny and hot, but behind the blacked-out windows of the Bugatti, it’s comfortable as the air purrs and my music plays low. I glance down at my phone and the name of the person I want to call. I can’t because it’ll give her more reason to take Ava down. Not that she needs much.

I want to call my dad, but I’m not ready for him to be disappointed in me. I’m not ready to own up to what I’ve done and find out how this will affect my future. I consider calling Benson, but his life is on hyperdrive as it is. He doesn’t need me and my issues weighing on him. I could call Posey, but she’s meeting with the doctors today. She has a lot on her mind, and I’d rather not add to it. Plus, she’ll tell my mom or my siblings, and then all-out war will ensue. I’m sure they’ll get Emery to lead the charge.

If she hasn’t already started to plan one as it is.

Fuck, I just want her.

I want us. I want the future I know we can have together. It kills me that she held herself to the standard of our moms and thought I wouldn’t love her if she wasn’t just like them. It’s insane to me. I don’t want my mom or hers; I want Emery. She’s it for me—always has been and always will be. I hate that she doubted herself. It’s so out of character1 for her, which only has guilt plaguing me even more. That I made her feel that way by choosing medicine, when all I wanted to do was make my dad proud.

What the fuck am I doing?

My family will always be my blood, but the family I want to build with Emery will be what feeds my soul.

A lump forms in my throat just as my phone goes off. I look down, and I quirk my lips at the sight of her name on my phone.

Emery: Why are you sitting in your car?

I bring in my brows.

Me: What the hell? Did you hack the mainframe of the car to watch me?

Emery: I mean, I could. But no. I’m parked beside you.

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