Page 379 of Branded
So, I had been there.
I’d waited, prepared, but once she’d shed the quiet, retrospective mood, it had stayed gone—even though I’d been prepared for it to come back by reading books, watching a shit-ton of YouTube videos, and keeping the names of several therapists that Hazel had provided close at hand.
All of which was too much worry, apparently, because Jules had pulled me aside, ordered me to relax, and had thoroughly reassured me that she was okay.
“I spent too much time living on the sidelines, honey,” she’d said, cupping my face and staring into my eyes. “Now is my chance to live.”
And she had.
We had.
We’d had Valentine’s Day together (where she’d given me the hundred-dollar bill back once and for all, centered in a black frame that I kept on my desk), and we’d celebrated Ethan’s sixth birthday twice—once with his school and hockey friends and once with our family of Breakers players, their significant others, their kiddos (including Pru and Marcel’s scrunchy-faced twins) along with Grandpa Ace and Nonna JoJo and Kathy and Tim and even Sam and Margot had made it.
Now, it had been several hours since Lake had called, and Jules had retreated into that quiet, and I was prepared again.
Turned out, I didn’t need to be. Again.
She came out of the bedroom, her cell to her ear. “Yeah, six is good. We’re home, but Cas needs to take off for the rink soon.”
I frowned.
I wasn’t going to my game that evening. I’d cleared it with Coach already.
“Yup,” Jules said with a pop. “I’ll meet you at your place when I take off.” She laughed. “Yeah, Ethan too. Be prepared because I already packed the UNO cards.”
My frown deepened, but Jules had already wandered off, her voice echoing through the kitchen.
I slipped away from Sparky, my pooch having fallen asleep during his daily brushing, followed her, and made it into the kitchen right as she was hanging up the phone. Her gaze hit mine after she’d set her cell on the counter, and I inhaled sharply.
The light was back.
“I’m not going to the game,” I blurted.
The light in her grew so bright it was almost blinding. Then she was in my arms. “Honey,” she murmured, fingers in my beard, body flush against mine. “I’m okay?—”
“Your dad?—”
“Not my dad,” she told me. “My father. My sperm donor. The person who kept me alive.” A shake of her head. “But he’s not my dad.”
“Gorgeous—”
“So,” she whispered, “I’m not taking any more time for him. I got the closure I needed. I got the explanation—or lack of one, anyway. I heard that he had regrets, but that was pretty much it, and even if he groveled or begged my forgiveness—which he didn’t—I decided after that trip to not waste my life by looking back on what he did.” She leaned more heavily against me, wove her arms around my shoulders. “Because I know now that I’m never going to understand how he could do that to me. It’s never going to make sense, but I’m done trying. I’m done taking that on me. I have Ethan and you and my family, and that’s more than enough.”
“Sweetheart,” I began.
“And I have a family that is awesome enough to come out and watch the man who loves me play his five hundredth NHL game.” She rose on tiptoe, brushed her mouth over mine. “A game that there is no way in hell you’re going to miss, honey. Not for him. Not for the bad memories. We’re going to jump into the light and live.”
I’d forgotten.
Forgotten that the ceremony was tonight.
Forgotten about the hoopla the team had planned and had run by me earlier in the week. Because nothing was more important than the family Jules and I had built together.
“The game?—”
“Before you tell me it doesn’t matter”—another brush of her lips over mine—“you’ve taken care of me so often, honey. Now it’s my turn.”
“Your father?—”
