Page 28 of Back On Ice

“Carter…” At the sound of Mom’s choked voice, I meet her gaze, my heart nearly breaking at the unshed tears in her eyes. “I should have done more when you were younger. I should have stood up to him, told him that he couldn’t treat us that way…”

My anger spikes. He’s not evenhere, and he’s still making her miserable. How can she blame herself for his actions?

“Mom, it isnotyour fault.” She just shakes her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

She won’t believe me.

Shecan’t.

He spent years drilling into her that she was responsible for every mood swing, every outburst, every bad day he ever had. For every time his fist made contact with her. The fury in my chest takes a back seat, and I remind myself how important it is to me, to her happiness, to unravel the hold hestillhas on her.

“Hey,” I say softly, standing up and walking around the table to her. “We did the best we could.” She stands when I pull on her hand, and sinks into my arms when I wrap them around her. I say “we” because Iknow Icould have done more. “Dad… he was terrifying when he was violent. You were just trying to survive.”

I put my hands on her shoulders and take a step back to look her in the eyes. “It’s over. We never should have had to deal with that, but we survived. We can take our futures into our own hands now. I’m here, Dad is gone. I don’t want you to be scared to live your life.”

She lets out a shaky sigh. “I know, but what if?—”

“We’ve changed the locks. I have Tom helping keep an eye out in case he pops back up, but I really don’t think he’s coming back. Even if he does, I’ll always protect you. Take care of you. It’s okay for you to live your life howyouwant to. We can get you into therapy, or find a support group. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I appreciate that, Carter, I really do. And…” She takes a step back, seeming less upset than she was a moment ago. “If I’m making an effort to do what I want with my life, I want you to do the same thing. I think Sophie could be a part of that.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” I tell her, grabbing the dishes from the table and walking to the sink. “You start going out more, maybe look into a therapist, and I’ll do my best with Sophie.”

Mom smiles, unaware of the turmoil now raging in my mind as I move to wash the dishes.

I told her I’d do my best with Sophie, and I want to. I want her. She feelsright.

I also want to keep playing hockey.

If one of the Northeast teams doesn’t offer a contract, there’s no way I can keep both. That is, if I can ever get her to listen to my side of the story.

Mom dries the dishes after I wash them, and she looks so happy, having me here. How she can stand to still live in this house, I’ll never know. It has to weigh on her, even if it’s just a little bit. The color of the paint on the wall behind the sink catches my eye. A reminder of how much control Dad has exerted over Mom and still continues to do so, even when he’s not here.

“Hey, Mom? Didn’t you hate the color of these walls?”

“Oh yes, it’s horrible.”

“Why don’t we paint it?”

“...What?” she stutters, as if she can’t quite believe what I’m suggesting.

“Let’s paint the walls, Mom. This house isyours. Legally. Dad may have held paying the mortgage over your head for years, but he’s gone, and I’ve paid it off the house. His credit was too poor to be on the loan, remember? Let’s make all the changes you’ve always wanted to make, but Dad wouldn’t let you.”

“I…” She trails off, looking around the room. “I hate that wall sconce.” She points across the room, to the wall next to the doorway that leads to the foyer. It’s gaudy, that’s for sure. A wrought iron design that darkens the room and adds a trying-too-hard-to-seem-expensive tone to the room.

Without a word, I walk over, wrap my hand around the neck, and rip it off the wall. A small gasp leaves Mom, and I whip my head around just in time to see her look of absolute shock transform into a blinding smile.

“What else?” I ask, tossing the sconce onto the table.

Two hours and a 3-page supply list later, I’m planning the first project to remodel the house when my phone rings. Jake’s name lights up the screen, and I snatch it up quickly.

“Hey, asshole,” I answer, holding it between my ear and shoulder as Mom brings me a torn piece of wallpaper from the downstairs bathroom before disappearing upstairs to get ready so we can go to the store. Seems like we’ll be replacing that too. I had thought she might enjoy redecorating, but I didn’t foresee how therapeutic it would be to renovate the home that she had no control over.

“Hey, dickhead,” Jake says, chuckling. “I’m coming out on Friday. Are you and Tom free to meet up?”

“We should be,” I tell him, making the note “new wallpaper or paint?” on my list.

“Cool. I’ll start a group chat. Are you considering the Las Vegas offer?”

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