Page 9 of The Rest of the Story
“He’s inside, sleeping. He’s okay right now. Physically, he’s fine. That car that rammed the arena, it never came close to him. He’s not injured. But… but mentally, emotionally, he’s in a lot of pain. I know you have questions, but I want Brody to be the one to talk to you. He’s going to need you both, and it’s going to take some time for things to be right.”
“We’re here as long as he needs.”
“Lawson, one of our teammates, has opened his home for you both and Brody. This is the rookie house. I’m sure Brody has told you all the stories.”
There was a faint smile pulling at Hazel’s lips. “He loves this place.”
“He should, and he should be proud of it. He built it, and he’s the heart and soul of our team.” Which is why this hurt so fucking badly, cut so fucking deeply. Every happy moment, every sparkle of joy, all the times we’d stayed up playing video games or poker or wandered wide-eyed around Nashville or soaked up the rays in Tampa. Every win, every victory, our slingshot to the stars. None of it would have happened if Brody wasn’t there, and he’d been so close to not being here at all. He’d written his notes—
I cleared my throat and beckoned them to the house. “Let’s go wake Brody and give him the good news that you’re here.” Sunrise was just starting to peek above the mountains, twirls of coral and apricot reaching for the last of the brightest stars.
Lawson was still running his fingers through Brody’s hair as the rest of the room snored. He’d wiped away his tears as best he could, but he looked swollen and rough, exactly like he’d spent the night crying. These weren’t the best circumstances for Lawson to meet Brody’s parents, and I saw another part of him die inside as they walked into the living room.
Owen’s gaze went straight to Brody, sleeping with his head in Lawson’s lap, and then to Lawson’s fingers in Brody’s hair. “You must be Lawson,” Owen said softly. “Brody has spoken a lot about you.”
There was no good thing to say to that, and Lawson was firing on no cylinders. His chin bobbed and his head dipped, and he managed a “Yes, sir” under his breath.
“Thank you for letting us stay at your home,” Hazel said.
“Of course, it’s no problem—”
Brody must have heard the sound of his parents’ voices, even deep in sleep and in the middle of a snore. His eyes popped open, and he shifted up to his elbow, blinking fast as Lawson’s hand slid from his hair down to his back. “Mom? Dad?”
“Morgan called—” Owen started.
Brody threw himself off the couch and into his parents’ arms, wrapping them both in one huge hug. A second later, he was crying, his back bowing as he sank into them, our nineteen-year-old NHL star going right back to his inner five-year-old who needed his mom and dad to make everything better. They held him fiercely, rocked him back and forth, and Owen said, “We’re here, son. We’re here.”
Looking at the three of them, I couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. They huddled together, holding on, refusing to separate, like they could share the love they had for each other in a loop, never ceasing, never ending.
* * *
Lawson disappeared while the rest of the room woke up. Gavin’s daughter stayed asleep, sleeping the good rest of an exhausted toddler, her thumb firmly in her mouth as she curled up in the warmth Brody had left behind.
All of the guys hugged Brody and introduced themselves to his parents, and then shuffled and stared at their toes like they didn’t know what to do or how to do it or where even to get started with figuring out what came next.
They looked like ghosts, the same as they had when I first showed up all those months ago, their souls flattened and their minds zigzagging. I gave them an update on Shea—out of surgery, and two thumbs up from the doc—and then told them to stay together, to stay with their families, to stay locked up tight. “Don’t let anyone be alone,” I told Gavin. “No one.”
Lawson was doing a bang-up job trying to hide, but Brody tracked him down. He was outside on the back deck, sitting on the steps going to the lawn, and Brody and I found him with his head in his hands.
I hung back as Brody squatted beside him.
“Moogs says we’re going to your house? But you’re not?”
Lawson nodded.
“What about you? Where are you going?”
“I…” Lawson shook his head. His lower lip disappeared between his teeth.
“Will you come over? Later?” Brody tried to smile, make a joke like the old Brody would. “Kinda weird I’m inviting you to your own house, huh? But… please? Come back?”
Lawson hauled in a long, slow breath. He tipped his head to the side, stared right into Brody’s eyes. “Only if it’s what you want.”
“Of course it’s what I want.”
“Brody…” Small shudders shook Lawson’s hands. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop him. I’m sorry I didn’t keep you safe. From the moment I saw you, all I wanted to do was make your world perfect. And I failed, and I’m so fucking sorry—”
Brody slipped his hand in between Lawson’s, steadying him. Lawson bowed his forehead to Brody’s wrist and laid a tender kiss on the back of Brody’s hand. “All I care about is you,” Lawson said. “I don’t want to hurt you. Ever. Maybe I need to stay away for a while. Give you space. The last thing you need right now is—”
