Page 77 of Dancing in the Rain

The hospice ward of St. Luke’s Hospital was lovely…for a hospital. A family room with hardwood floors, sunshine-yellow walls, furnished with couches and chairs and a fully equipped kitchen, had an upscale home feeling. The rooms were all private and they found Sara’s room easily. A nurse was there writing on a chart and Peyton sat next to the bed. Sara appeared to be sleeping. This room, too, was nice, although the attractive decor didn’t hide the hospital bed or equipment.

“Hi!” Peyton smiled and held out a hand to Chloe. She caught Drew’s eyes briefly and he nodded, hanging back near the door. Chloe hurried over and Peyton slid an arm around her waist.

“Is she sleeping?” Chloe asked in a low voice.

Sara’s eyes fluttered. “Chloe?”

“I’m here, Mom.” Chloe reached out to grip her mom’s hand.

“My sweet girl. How are you?”

“I’m good.” Chloe’s voice choked.

Drew caught Peyton’s eye again. “I’ll wait out there.” He jerked his head toward the family room they’d passed.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Drew wandered down the hall, wrinkling his nose. It smelled like a hospital. Guess there was no way around that. He sat himself in an armchair and let out a breath as he surveyed the room, smiling at a woman who sat on the floor with a toddler playing with some blocks, and an older man and woman on a couch across from him.

He fucking hated feeling this way, angry and sad because people he cared about were hurting. But going back to the way his life had been before they’d come into it…back to feeling nothing but emptiness…would he rather do that?

Despite the agony of what was happening, he felt he had a place here. In whatever small ways, he was helping, even though he wished he could do more, wished he could make it all better and take all their pain away. And having a place here felt better than having no place at all.

Life was short.

It hit him like a body check from a two-hundred-sixty-pound defenseman, knocking the breath right out of him.

Life was short, and it was precious and important. And he’d been fucking wasting his.

Moping around, feeling sorry for himself, paralyzed, drinking away his feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness. Jesus. He dropped his head, his hands loosely clasped between his knees. He needed to get his shit together.

But how?

He reached for his wallet and pulled out the business card Dougie had given him a while back. He studied it and then reached for his cellphone to call the number. He stood and walked out into the hall to find a bit of privacy. When he got voicemail he almost hung up, but forced himself to leave a message. “Hi. This is Drew Sellers, calling for Jack Shipton. Dougie North gave me your name and said I should give you a call. As you may know, I retired from the Blackhawks last season and…and I’m trying to figure out a new plan. Dougie said you might be able to help.” He left his cell number and ended the call.

It was a step.

He returned to the family room and passed some time scrolling through social media on his phone. It was full of talk and news about the hockey season that was starting that week. The Blackhawks’ first game was Thursday night. That feeling of missing out returned, the ache of regret in his belly. But he had to admit to a dash of excitement in there, too. The start of a new season was full of hope and optimism, the coming together of a new team, the veterans who’d been around and the newer players, all of them with the same goal—to win.

He still loved the game.

Depriving himself of hockey was maybe only adding to his misery. Maybe his happiness could still be found there. Somewhere.

There were also messages from his family because it was Thanksgiving back home, and they—not his brother in Vancouver, but the rest of the family—were together celebrating.

Chloe and Peyton walked into the family room and he stood. “Sara’s asleep again,” Peyton said. “We’re going to go home. I can take Chloe. Sorry, you could’ve gone, I guess.”

“It’s okay.” He studied Chloe. Her small chin was firm even though her eyes were sad. What a kid. “C’mere, kiddo.” He pulled her into his arms for a hug, and she squeezed him tight with her little arms. He loved that.

“We’re going to get some dinner,” Peyton said.

“Come with us,” Chloe invited, her head tipped back.

Drew met Peyton’s eyes over Chloe’s head. Tension arced between them.

“Sure,” Peyton said casually. “We’re just going for tacos.”

“Okay.” It would actually be good to talk about the plan for the rest of the week. Maybe they’d have a chance to talk without Chloe for a few minutes about the school issue.

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