Page 112 of The Assist
She smiles when she sees me. “Morning, love.”
“Morning,” I croak, my voice rough with sleep and something heavier. I sit at the kitchen table, rubbing at my chest like I can ease the tightness there. Mum sets a mug of coffee down in front of me and slides into the seat across the table with her cup of tea and toast.
“Where’s Mia?” she asks, casual but not really.
“Had to get to the rink,” I say. “Work. She has to be in earlier than the players.”
She nods, sipping her tea. There’s something behind her eyes though. Something knowing.
“You’re good together,” she says after a beat.
I swallow hard. “Yeah,” I say. “We are.”
She smiles and reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. It’s quiet for a minute.
Just the tick of the clock and the distant hum of traffic outside invade the silence.
Then Mum sighs. “I wish your dad could see that.”
The words land heavy in the room. I freeze, the coffee mug halfway to my mouth. Everything tightens inside me all at once. I put the mug down carefully, staring into the dark swirl of it like it might give me answers. “Mum,” I say, my voice low, “you don’t have to make excuses for him.” She flinches a little. “I know,” I say. “I’ve known for a long time.”
Her eyes go shiny and she presses her lips together. “I’m sorry, love.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” I say roughly. “You didn’t do anything.”
She shakes her head, blinking fast. “I should’ve done more. Should’ve fought harder for him to…” She cuts herself off, choking on the words.
I push back my chair and stand up, pacing a few stepsbecause sitting still feels impossible. “It’s not your job to make him proud of me,” I say, breathing hard. “I’ve realised it’s not even mine. I’ve spent half my life killing myself trying to be good enough for him and it’s never fucking mattered.”
Mum’s crying now, silent tears streaking down her cheeks.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, willing myself to hold it together. “I just…” My voice cracks. “I just wanted him to look at me the way he used to. Before all the games and the scouts and the contracts. Before it all got so complicated.”
Mum stands and crosses the room, pulling me into her arms like I’m a kid again, and I break. All the anger, all the hurt, all the years of pretending I didn’t care, it crashes out of me in one breathless, gut-wrenching sob.
Mum holds me, rocking slightly, her hands running up and down my back like they used to when I skinned my knees playing street hockey in the cul-de-sac. “I’m proud of you,” she whispers fiercely. “You hear me? I’m so bloody proud of you, Dylan. Always have been. Always will be.”
I cling to her like a drowning man. It’s messy and raw and probably long overdue. But it’s real. For the first time, I let myself stop fighting it.
After Mum’s finished packing and I’ve shoved all the emotion back into some kind of rough, shaky order, we load up her suitcase and drive to the airport. The car ride’s quiet. Not awkward, just full of everything we said and everything we didn’t need to. I keep glancing at her, memorizing the curve of her smile, the way she hums along to the radio without realizing it. I don’t know when I’ll see her next and I don’t like thinking about it.
When we pull up outside Departures, she reaches across the console and squeezes my hand. “You’ve got goodpeople around you,” she says. “Hold onto that. Hold onto her.”
“I will,” I rasp.
“You’re stronger than you think, love.”
I shake my head, blinking hard against the burn in my eyes. She leans over and kisses my cheek, leaving a smudge of lipstick there. “Text me when you’re home,” she orders, teasing. “And no more injuries, alright? I’m too old for the stress.”
I laugh, broken and fond and aching all at once. “Love you, Mum.”
“Love you more.” She gets out and grabs her suitcase, waving one last time before disappearing into the sliding doors. I sit there for a long minute after she’s gone, staring at the empty seat beside me. Trying to breathe around the hollow space her absence leaves behind. Finally, I start the engine and pull away from the curb.
The city blurs past in streaks of grey and blue, my heart heavy and full and aching. But somewhere underneath it all, there’s something brighter. Because it feels like I’m finally letting go of the weight I was never meant to carry. And maybe I’m making space for something better.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
MIA
