Page 50 of Actions and Reactions
I don’t have much to say to that. I’m floored by it for a long moment, grateful beyond anything I can express, but when I can breathe normally again, the three-month comment gets me thinking. Why three? Why not two? Or four for that matter?
I bet Gab isn’t the only one she talked to yesterday or today.
“What do you know?”
“Get in the car, Ivan,” is all she says. I’m way too relieved to have her here to start hammering at her to tell me, word for word, everything Aunt Elle has told her, so I open the back door and throw my duffel in.
I haven’t seen or spoken to Silas in more than twenty-four hours, and this time it’s worse than it was after Bear’s wedding, because this time I’m the one who left and won’t answer him when he texts. Not that he has, as far as I know.
Before I can remind myself I do have some dignity, I take my phone out of my duffel and then get into the passenger seat. I manage to resist for a minute while I watch Mom’s way-too-satisfied smile as she pets the steering wheel like it’s a dog or something.
“Glad you like the Benz, Mom.”
“It drives like a dream,” she says reverently, then finally puts it in reverse. “It’s been so long since I’ve driven around by myself.”
“That’s true, so why don’t you have your security detail with you?” As a supermodel, she’s easily recognizable, but we didn’t need security growing up, not when she had Dad around her most of the time in LA.
When she married Michael Ellsworth, though—a billionaire who’s notorious for not giving in to pressure and makes sure all his TV networks, production companies, magazines, and newspapers report the truth—he hired bodyguards for her. It’s only when she’s with Dad or me or Lex that they keep their distance, like at the cabin. Her bodyguards were nearby in another rental then, but left us alone most of the time, otherwise she doesn’t go anywhere without them. We might not be trained fighters or anything, but we Jankowskis are built like trucks and know how to throw our weight around. Besides, people still rememberwatching Dad beat the shit out of other players on the ice, and no one wants to provoke him.
“Since no one knows I’m here, they agreed to set up at the apartment we rented in your building while I got your car and all that. They knew I’d come straight to the game and nothing would happen while I was at the arena.”
“But now your face is probably on national television, so you’ll take them with you when you go out, right?” The edge of tension in my voice doesn’t go unnoticed.
“I never take unnecessary risks, Vin.” She pats my leg reassuringly.
I know it must get tiring, having your kids, your husband, your ex-husband, and your nephews I’m sure, hounding you about your security, but we all do it out of love, and I’m grateful she understands that.
“Your dad wanted to come, but with Paul here, he has to stay in LA for the show.”
“I know, and I understand,” I tell her urgently, but I know I’m going to have to call Dad so he doesn’t worry about me too much. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
“Oh, honey.” The way she says it, so understanding. “I know you think you have to deal with everything by yourself, but you really don’t. You have Patrick to help you out with so much of your career, don’t you?” she asks, mentioning my agent. “And you have your teammates with you, because you can’t play every position or every shift. You have your coaches, and so many others who are there to help you be in a position where you give the best of yourself to the team.”
“I know, but?—”
“Life outside of hockey is the same,” she interrupts me. “You can’t do everything by yourself, and you never have to, okay?”
I think about mentioning how she had to do a lot by herself when she was younger, when my Uncle Oscar died and Aunt Shell couldn’t be there for my cousins, but I think she was already friends with Dad back then. So she wasn’t actually alone.
And though I know Silas isn’t alone right now, like me he has his parents there with him, I do want to be there for him too. I swear I do. But how am I supposed to help him when I can’t even make heads or tails of my own thoughts and feelings?
“Thank you, Mom,” I whisper, and finally wake up my phone.
There are more texts there than I expected... a lot more.
Because it’s easier, and because I know I’ll hopefully find some encouragement before I deal with the big text I can see Si sent, I open Lex’s text thread first.
Lex:
I’m here for you, bro. Always.
Call me when you get the chance.
Lottie:
I love you, Vinny.
That simple text chokes me up more than is reasonable, and then...
