Page 66 of Sleepless Nights and Hockey Fights

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Molly

The unmistakable sound of flesh and bone colliding has me rounding the corner into the hospital room before I can form even one coherent thought. A metaphorical wall of testosterone brings me to a halt when I see five iterations of Bobby Rhodes, one clearly older than the rest. Everyone in the room is shouting, their fists tightly bunched as Bobby scuffles with one of his brothers.

My eyes flash to his mom in the hospital bed looking frail and tiny in comparison to the giant men surrounding her. I lunge toward Bobby, intent on separating him from who I assume is Will, not pausing to think about the wisdom of using my smaller frame to intercept two grown, battling men. But I'm pulled back at the last second by a pair of strong arms and turn to see Bobby’s father, his brow furrowed and jaw tight.

“Hold on there, young lady. You don't want to get caught up in that.” He sets me aside and barks at one of the bystanding brothers, “Artie, pull those two knuckleheads apart! Dammitall! Can't you boys see you're upsetting your mother and embarrassing yourselves? What is wrong with you?!”

Bobby grunts and throws another punch as Will drives his head into Bobby’s gut, grabbing him around the middle and bashing him into a wall. By the time they're separated and held apart by their brothers, Bobby has a cut over his eyebrow and Will's nose is bleeding. They’re glaring hard at one another and breathing even harder. I’ll admit I’m just as breathless as they are. What in the world is going on with this family?

“Apologize to your mother right now,” Bobby’s dad commands.

Will shakes off Artie’s grip and stalks from the room, purposely bumping Bobby’s shoulder on his way out. Bobby snarls at him, and when he turns to watch him go, he finally spots me. His expression goes from wild aggression to what I can only describe as devastation in the blink of an eye.

“Fuck,” he mutters, bending at the waist and propping his hands on his knees.

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, but I can’t stop looking at Bobby’s bent frame and heaving chest.

“I apologize for my sons,” Mr. Rhodes says, his voice gruff with annoyance. “Clearly none of them are fit for respectable society, especially that one.” He gestures to Bobby. “I hope you’re not too invested is all I can say.”

“Don’t lump Artie and me in with those dipshits,” the one who must be George complains. “At least the two of us know how to treat a woman.” To prove his point, he sidles up next to the bed by their mother.

As if pulled up by an invisible puppet string, Bobby straightens and robotically shuffles to the door of the hospital room, only pausing to mutter a quiet, “I love you, Mom. I’m sorry,” before passing through and disappearing around the corner.

His mom’s eyes shine with tears, and part of me wants to go hug her, but I don’t know her. I don’t know any of these people. But there is one person I know, and he’s in a whole lot of pain right now. So I excuse myself and run after Bobby.

The man is quick, I can give him that. He’s already outside the hospital entrance and striding down the walkway by the time I catch up to him.

“Bobby!”

I know he hears me, but he doesn’t slow down. Good thing I wore my flat boots today.

“Robert Rhodes, stop running away. Talk to me.”

He still doesn’t slow down, but at least he acknowledges me this time. “They’re right, Molly. I’m no good for you. I’m an impulsive asshole and I’ll never be good enough for you.” His voice is tight and low, and it sets my heart racing faster than the sprinting I’m doing to keep up with him.

“That’s a bunch of BS, and you know it!” I’m finally able to grab the fabric of his shirtsleeve and pull him to a stop—not from my superhuman strength but because I’m not letting go and he doesn’t want me dragging on the sidewalk behind him getting road burn. See, he always looks out for me, despite what his current mindset is telling him.

“It’s not, Molly. I’ve been kidding myself that I’m becoming a better man. I’ll always be a hot-headed Rhodes boy, scrapping and lashing out, trying to claw out a space for myself. You deserve better than that. Matthew deserves better than that.”

I let go of his shirt and prop my hands on my hips. “Don’t you think I at least deserve some input on what Matty and I do or don’t deserve? You’re upset, and understandably so. I mean, damn, I thoughtmyfamily dynamic was rough.”

He drops his head back on a frustrated growl as a light breeze ruffles his hair. “You’re making excuses for me. I literally got into a fistfight in front of my mother while she’s fighting for her life.”

“Okay, fair. I’m not about to say I liked seeing you and your brother bloodying one another. And, yes, your timing could have been better.” I step right up into his space and grab both his hands. He straightens his head to look down at me, strain lining his mouth and eyes. The setting sun casts him in a golden light that highlights his perfect bone structure. “But I could feel the tension in that room strung tight as a bowstring from out in the hall. Hell, I’m pretty sure people out in this parking lot felt it, it was that intense. Emotions are bound to run high at a time like this, but it was more than that. You’ve talked about it before, but I didn’t really get it until today. It’s toxic, and that’s not on you.”

“I should be able to handle my own shit, Molly. I’m a grown man.” He pulls his hands from mine and covers his face. “Fuck! My mom.”

I pull a bottle of water from my bag and hand it to him. He takes it and wordlessly opens it to draw in a long swallow. I want to get a better look at that cut on his eyebrow, but he needs more reassurance first.

“Your mom knows your family dynamic better than anyone, I’m sure. And I’m sure it’s scary as hell to see her in that hospital bed, but she’s going to pull through and be fine. I know she will. They didn’t even have her in the ICU, so that’s a great sign. And then the two of you can carve out some time together—maybe away from the rest of your brothers, yeah?”

Bobby pulls the bottle from his lips and shakes his head, but I notice some of the tension has drained, so I must be getting through to him to some degree. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

I grip the fabric of his shirt with both hands. “I’m glad you did. I want to be here for you like you’re always there for me. And to be honest, I kind of want to punch your brother in the face for running his mouth like he did. Your family makes an art out of shit stirring, don’t they?”

This elicits the smallest of lip quirks. “It’s an Olympic sport and they’re all gold medalists.”

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