Page 4 of Wake Me Up
Images of my kids’ faces during the moment when I ruined their lives forever flash through my mind. I wanted to be the one to tell them. I thought,It has to come from me. But when I said those words—that their daddy had been in a terrible accident and wasn’t coming home—and I watched the light slowly leave their eyes … I hated myself for being the one to steal it. They have their entire lives in front of them, and yet they have to live without him.
Cane is seven. He was Jamie’s number one fan, and he would have attached himself to him if he could. He was just like a shadow. He’sgotten really into hockey, and that was something Jamie and he did together. He took him to his practices, and Cane’s been playing goalie lately, loving it.
Cash is only five. He tended to come to me more than Jamie when he needed something, but he thought his father had hung the moon. Jamie was Cash’s hero.
The door squeaks open, and I hardly hear the tiny footsteps, telling me it’s Avy and that she’s made her way past my mom and gotten upstairs. Quickly, I wipe my eyes just before she comes beside the bed.
Tucked under her arm is her blanket, and I smile at her even though every part of me hurts. Her blonde hair is brushed, thanks to my mom. And she’s in a fresh set of clothes for the day.
“Hi, baby,” I whisper. “Want to get in my bed?”
She nods her head, so I lean forward and help pull her up. I bring the comforter over her, and our heads lie on the pillows, just inches apart. She’s only two years old, but her eyes are filled with sadness, and it sends a pain right through my chest.
“We can put the TV on if you want?” I say, trying to cheer her up. “Would that be nice?”
“Okay,” she answers softly, and I smile, sitting up and reaching for the remote on the nightstand.
Settling back in, I pull her against me and kiss the top of her head as I pull up the Disney+ app and put on one of her favorites—Toy Story 4.
Holding her close to me, I keep my tears inside as best I can.
But after she quietly watches for a few minutes, she says the words that break me all over again. “I want Daddy.”
My heart breaks more as my chest feels like it’s being stabbed and my throat aches from holding in the sobs that I so badly need to let out. And even though I do my best to keep myself under control, it’s hard. Because as a mom, all I want to do is take away her pain, and I can’t. I can’t do anything to make this better. Not for her and not for her brothers.
My daughter—the light of my life—will never have her dad to do all the things that he’s supposed to be here doing.
Because life is so fucking unfair and makes absolutely no sense. And even though I know I need to hide it from my kids, a part of me is dead now. And I don’t think it’ll ever come back to life.
Five Years Later
During practice, I stand in front of the goal, just as I always do because it’s practically my second home. When Logan Sterns attempts to get one past me, I stop it. A slight pain radiates in my hip, but I ignore it because that’s just part of my body now. It exists, just as I do.
“Not today, Logie Bear,” I mumble as playfully as I can possibly muster, and instantly, I see his bright smile through his shield.
He’s the best of the best when it comes to the ice, but he’s like ten percent serious and ninety percent goofy, despite how good he is at hockey. I wish I could loosen the fuck up from time to time, but that’s not something that comes easily to me because I’ve always been afraid to slack off at all, scared I’ll fuck up my career.
Because for a long time, making it here—to the NHL—was the only thing on my mind. I ate, slept, and breathed to make it to the top. That didn’t leave time for fucking off, and now that I’m here … well, I guess muscle memory has me being a grumpy, serious asshole.
“Yeah, yeah,” he tosses back, wearing his signature, no-shits-given grin. “I’ll get one past you, you handsome devil. You just wait.”
If anyone can get a puck past me, it’s him or Ryder Cambridge. I wouldn’t say it to their faces—they’d think I was having a medical episode because … it’s me—but the two of them are insanely talented players. And even from the goal, it’s pretty cool to watch them work.
I’ve been a Bay Shark now for eleven years, and truth be told, my body isn’t happy with me that I’ve been playing professional hockey for this long. Though I will say, I consider myself damn lucky that I’ve spent my entire career as a Shark, wearing that navy and light blue jersey, and they’ve never traded my ass somewhere else.
Ryder skates toward me as practice comes to an end and pulls hishelmet off. The dude is a weapon on the ice, but he looks like he just walked out of an American Eagle catalog.
“Don’t forget, it’s you and me this weekend at the skills clinic,” he says with a grin. “Try not to look too scary. These are kids we’ll be working with.”
Skating away from the goal, I groan, “Don’t remind me.”
I know the clinics that the team has been putting on once a month are for a good cause. I mean, shit, it gives the opportunity for young players who might not get the chance to attend trainings to work with some of the best coaches and a few NHL players. It’s an amazing program. But it means I have to work with kids, and I don’t know the first thing about them. This will be the first clinic I’ve volunteered at. Ryder’s, too, but he’s a talkative, charismatic guy. Me? I come off as a dick, but it’s just my face.
As I head toward the side of the arena, planning to do some cool-down stretches, Ryder stays beside me. “Oh, cut it out. You’re not fooling me after all these years. I know you’re a marshmallow inside.”
“Oh, yeah. The squishiest,” I utter. “I’ll be there, Cambridge.”
“And you’ll look friendly?” Ryder asks, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. “Remember, these are kids we’re talking about. They get scared easily.”
