Offside

by Bianca Sommerland

  He was still thinking about it.

  Both had offered to come with him today. And he’d almost said sure. Almost, but hadn’t. Because he needed to do this alone. Needed to know he was strong enough to get past all this crap without anyone holding his hand.

  He pushed open the big glass doors, heading straight for the elevator, ignoring the security guard’s, “Can I help you?”

  I don’t need help. Not even this, but I’ll fucking do it, okay?

  He jabbed his thumb on the elevator button, then shoved his hands into his pockets. The ride up seemed to take forever. Like that whole day had, from the quiet breakfast after he’d gotten up too late to eat with Casey before school, to the moment he’d finally dragged his ass out to his car. The traffic had been bad. He’d been sure he’d be late for his appointment.

  No such luck. He was right on time.

  When he stepped off the elevator, a familiar face had him stopping in his tracks. He blinked just to be sure. “Silver?”

  Face red, holding tight to a piece of tissue that she was using to dry her tears, Silver started, then stared at him. “Scott?”

  “Yeah.” He shifted, looking around, wondering if there were any other kinds of doctors here he could claim to be seeing. Maybe he could be getting his prostate checked. Yeah, that would be less embarrassing. “Uh . . . you okay?”

  “I think so.” She sniffled, then shook her head, letting out a sob. “No. Physically, I’m better, but mentally?” A sharp laugh escaped her. “I’m a mess. But I’m seeing someone. Pretty pathetic, right?”

  “Why?” Not that he didn’t agree. He felt like that too. Talking to a shrink was the last thing he’d ever thought he’d be doing. But if Silver needed to talk to someone, she shouldn’t feel bad about it. “I’ve met your dad. After a few minutes with him, I swear, I needed therapy. Or antidepressants.”

  Silver gaped at him. Then burst out laughing. “Damn. You’re so much more than I thought you were when I saw you in that magazine.”

  “I can say the same, sweetie. You’ve been good for this team.” He held out his arm, giving her a firm hug, shushing her when she started crying again. “Did it help? Talking about whatever it is?”

  “A little.” She shrugged, easing away from him. “It won’t get better overnight, but it will get better. I’m actually looking forward to seeing my baby. For the first time. I don’t feel like I need to stay away.”

  “That’s good.” He nudged her chin with a fist. “Go see your baby. Tell Landon I said hi, but . . .” He frowned. “Not where you saw me.”

  “Got it.” She sniffed. “Whatever it is, Scott, just know that it does get better. You have to believe that.”

  He nodded, then went to tell the receptionist he was here. She directed him to the office with the right name on the door. Inside, a small, elderly woman who reminded him of Betty White gestured to the leather lounge chair. When he hesitated, she pointed at the big, high-backed leather armchair.

  “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable there?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  She waited for him to get comfortable, leaning forward in a chair that matched his, setting her notepad and pen aside. She shocked him by giving him a short lecture on how he needed to make his passes sharper. They chatted for a bit about hockey before she finally got down to business.

  “Scott, we spoke a little on the phone, but I think it’s important for you to tell me, clearly, what happened to you. Know that I won’t judge you. I just need to see where you are with this so I can help you.”

  Scott nodded slowly, staring at his wet dress shoes. Gulping against the sick feeling rising in his throat. He couldn’t look at her. But he could say it. “I was . . . I was sexually—fuck!” He stood, shaking his head. Why was it so hard?

  “Some terms used to diagnose things come with certain stigmas. Don’t use them if they make you uncomfortable. Use your own words.”

  Hands fisted by his sides, Scott faced the therapist. He licked his bottom lip. “The woman who should have been a mother to me . . . she did things to me. And it fucked me up.” He rolled his eyes, blinking against the burning sensation. He wasn’t going to start blubbering. She couldn’t do that to him anymore. He took a deep breath. “I was a little boy. And she was a sick bitch.”

  The therapist’s kindly old face wrinkled as she gave him a broad smile. “Good. Very good. I won’t ask you how that makes you feel. It’s obvious. But I will ask you how it’s affecting your life. And give you some tools you can use to move forward from here.”

  “That sounds good.” He sat back in the chair, liking the woman already. “That’s what I’m all about. Moving forward.”

  * * * *

  Shirt off, Amia tucked close to his chest, Landon lifted his head, still a little drowsy from his nap, smiling as Dean laid on the other side of their baby girl. Dean casually rested his head on the arm Landon had stretched over the pillows, then lightly ran a finger over Amia’s soft cheek as she stirred. Their daughter seemed to sense the moment Dean was near, which was pretty awesome.

  “Want me to bring her down for lunch? You were up early for PT. You’re probably still tired,” Dean said quietly.

  “In a bit. Stay here for now.” Landon rubbed his face with his free hand, putting it over Dean’s when Amia’s eyes popped open. She smiled, kicking her feet and smacking both their hands with hers, looking from him to Dean before letting out a happy sound. “You’ve been working a lot lately. She misses you.”

  “She’ll be with me all day.” Dean arched a brow. “Are you certain she’s the one who misses me?”

  “We both do, you fu—freakin’ workaholic.” Landon let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m home, cleaning and cooking and—”

  “Calling my daughter to bring you lunch is not considered cooking, you big oaf.” Dean snorted. “And neither is opening a jar of baby food.”

  “Still. It would be nice to feel appreciated once in a while.”

  “You know I appreciate you, Landon.” Dean’s brow furrowed. He circled Landon’s wrist with his hand. “I know this isn’t easy. But you’re making the right choice—you’d miss the game if you never played again. You’re still very young.”

  “Not that young, but you’re right.” Landon worried his bottom lip with his teeth. He was glad Dean was still holding his wrist. Something about having the man near calmed him. If not for Dean, he wouldn’t be able to sleep through the night. Especially when Silver started sleeping on the sofa. With how much she’d pulled away from them all—him, Dean, and worst of all, Amia—it was hard not to feel completely alone. Yeah, his dad had seen them in bed together once and freaked out. So fucking what. He didn’t care what anyone thought.

  Dean was the one who’d helped him through everything. It was Dean who’d stood by his side when he visited his son’s grave. Who’d taught him how to change diapers and test the temperature of the milk since Amia had been bottle-fed since birth.

  The first few times they’d touched, or sat too close, had been a little weird. Because straight men didn’t do that. But that was his father talking. Dean was a strong shoulder to lean on. A comforting arm around him, a warm body at night to keep those haunting thoughts at bay. Ever since the doctor had told Landon that Silver was suffering from postpartum depression, he’d been doing research on it and some of the stories scared him. That she refused to get help only made things worse. He had to have an armory’s worth of shields up around his heart just to deal with being in the same room with her since it had gotten to the point where she barely looked at him anymore.

  Better than the way she looks at our daughter. Which he didn’t know how to deal with at all.

  “Do you think she’s serious about going to stay with her sister in Calgary?” Dean asked, putting his finger in Amia’s hand, still smiling, even though the lines around his eyes had deepened. “Oriana would be a sound voice of reason. She may be able to talk Silver into taking care of herself, but—”

  “I know.
I don’t want her to leave either.” But it was getting harder to say that with any conviction. Silver didn’t want him, or Dean. And the way she treated Amia sometimes . . . fuck, he knew it wasn’t her fault. But she acted like her own baby had come from someone else. Like she didn’t know her. And it was hard not to pull away from Silver a little himself because of it. He was always honest with Dean, so he said exactly what he was thinking. “Maybe it’s for the best. We’ve done all we can.”

  “Yes. You have.” Silver’s voice came from the doorway. He lifted his head to watch her approach the bed, her eyes so full of longing that his heart, which had hardened somewhat lately, cracked a little. Fuck, it hurt. She held up her hands before either he or Dean could speak. “Before you say anything else, I need to tell you something.”

  “Go ahead, dragonfly.” Dean’s hand shifted from Landon’s wrist to his hand, as though he sensed that Landon needed something to hold on to.

  “I—” Silver glanced at their hands, then hugged herself, turning her head to stare out the window. “I’m not going to Calgary. Me and Oriana had a long chat and . . . she got me to talk to your mom. I think I needed some tough love.” A smile crossed her lips so quickly Landon was sure he’d imagined it. “I saw the doctor. The heart meds are working. As long as I’m careful, I should be fine.” She shook her head when Dean sat up. “Yeah, it’s great, but more importantly, I was finally able to admit that it’s not just my heart that was damaged. I don’t know me anymore. Actually, I think I hate myself a little. So I went to a few appointments to work things out. I’m on some medication to help control my hormones—or something like that. And I went to see a therapist today. I’ll be seeing her twice a week, and she’s going to make it so I can find a way to be Amia’s mother. I’m s-sorry—” Her face crumpled. She took a step away from the bed. “I’m so, so sorry I fucked things up so bad.”

  “Silver—” Dean’s lips thinned when Landon didn’t say anything. He withdrew his hand and stood. “You know we both understand that it wasn’t you. You didn’t ‘F’ up anything.”

  It’s better if I don’t say anything, man. Landon swallowed, trying not to stiffen up since Amia was still sleeping next to him. He couldn’t honestly say Silver hadn’t fucked things up. Or that he hadn’t by not doing enough.

  “I did. But at least Amia had both of you. I know she’d be fine without me, but—” Silver moved closer to Dean, wrapping her arms around his waist. Se rested her head on Dean’s chest, then slowly turned to face Landon. “I’m her mother. And she’s going to have me too. I’m going to get better—stronger—for her.”

  “Damn it, Silver.” Landon felt his eyes tear as hope burst through his chest, shattering the last of his shields. He cradled Amia in one arm, sliding off the bed, hating the tightness in his gut that made him have to fight to get any closer. But then Dean put an arm over his shoulder, drawing him in. And he found himself kissing Silver. Finally seeing the woman he loved. He handed Amia over to Dean so he could hold Silver. So he could dry her tears and tell her all the things he hadn’t for so long. “I love you so much. I missed my fiancée. Our daughter missed her mother. She wouldn’t be fine without you. Her fathers did their best though.”

  “I know you did. It makes me feel a bit better to know she was being taken care of while I was going off the deep end.” Silver pressed her wet cheek against his bare chest, one arm still around Dean’s waist. “And that you were being taken care of too, even though I’m starting to think you guys won’t need me for anything if this keeps up.”

  “Silly girl.” Dean laughed and kissed Silver’s cheek. “I’ll take your soft body over this brute’s any day.”

  Silver giggled, giving Dean an innocent look. “You sure about that? Maybe the problem is you haven’t gotten him on his knees yet and—”

  Landon made a sharp sound in his throat, gently covering Amia’s ears, which made his baby girl wiggle and laugh. “Not in front of our daughter please.”

  “Later.” Silver nibbled at her bottom lip, moving away from Landon to look at Amia. “Can I hold her?”

  “She’d love that, mon amour. I think she missed her mother.” Landon smiled as he spoke, but he had to meet Dean’s eyes for a moment to be sure. Dean was the reasonable one. The only one who really knew what he was doing. Landon despised even the brief thought that Silver needed more time before she could take her rightful place as Amia’s mother. At least Silver didn’t see his doubts.

  Dean did. But he squeezed Landon’s shoulder as though he understood. Then he placed Amia in Silver’s arms. “My mother is visiting. Amia likes going for a walk in her stroller every day around this time. Why don’t you bring her down and help Mother get her ready?”

  “You’re not coming?” Silver held Amia to her shoulder, glancing over at Landon as she headed toward the door.

  Before Landon could answer, Dean spoke. “No. He needs to rest his leg. He’ll take a nice, long, hot bath.”

  “And you’ll help him?”

  “Brat.” Dean smiled at Landon before following Silver into the hall. “No. I’ll be coming along. I just have a few calls to make first. I took the day off to spend time with our daughter.”

  “All right, well, I’m looking forward to spending some time with you too. There are a few players that I’ve been looking into—”

  “Silver, that’s my job.”

  “Hey, I got us Scott. And he turned out to be a good choice.”

  Their voices drifted off as they started down the stairs, but Landon could still hear them. He left the bedroom to watch them descend.

  “I agree, but you will not be signing any players in the future,” Dean said. “There are procedures to follow and—”

  “Fuck that. I say—”

  “Young lady, unless you want your daughter to go to preschool speaking that way, I suggest you stop using words like that around her,” Dean’s mother said. Then her tone softened. “You look happier, sweetheart. And the way you’re holding her . . .”

  “Thank you for being here so much . . . Mom.” Silver leaned into Dean’s mother, smiling as the older woman kissed her forehead. “And for talking to me. I followed your advice.”

  “Good girl.” Dean’s mother grinned. “Most find life gets much easier when they do exactly as I say.”

  For the first time since Amia’s birth, Landon felt himself believing those very words. Verity had said them to him a few times. “Life gets easier.” Not only when people did as she said, but in general. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d learned to take one day at a time, enjoying all those peaceful moments with Dean and Amia. Sharing their daughter’s firsts with someone who he could trust would always stand by his side.

  Now there would be someone else. The woman who’d given them that precious child. He couldn’t lie to himself—or Dean, when they talked about it, probably later that night—and say he felt sure of her yet. Whether or not it was her fault, she hadn’t wanted him, Dean, or . . . or Amia, for a long time. But that would come. They had the rest of their lives to find that place where their family would feel whole.

  And one good thing had come of all this. It was no longer Dean and Landon standing on opposite sides, nothing in common but the game and the woman and child they both loved. They had their own connection.

  And Landon would need that strong connection to lean on while he rebuilt all he and Silver had lost. They had a solid foundation to start from in the man they both loved.

  Epilogue

  Mid-December

  The air whitened with every breath Becky took, but the coffee in her hands and Zach’s arms around her kept her warm. She’d had a long day at the office, had almost begged out of the promised trip to the skating rink with Casey, too tired to slip on skates and try to keep up with her energetic little girl.

  “Becky, you are mentally exhausted. Physically . . .” He guided her to the front door of their house, helping her dress warmly as though she was just as young as Casey. “You need some exercise. And f
resh air.”

  She grudgingly agreed, but dug in her heels before they walked out the door. “My skates—”

  “Scott has his. Chicklet is going to be there with Jami, Vanek, and Carter. They promised to show Casey how to do a slap shot.” He grinned, rubbing her arms. “We simply have to stand off to the side and cheer her on.”

  Becky did just that as Casey swung back and shot at the net, cheering even though Casey had hit the post. Hunt had shown up along with the others, standing in net, pretending to be ready to block the shots. Becky knew he would let them by him, but so far the closest her baby had gotten was the post. And Hunt slid the puck back to her as Scott and Chicklet tried to show Casey how to hold the stick properly and aim.

  Casey was on a team, but she’d faked being sick a few times, admitting to Zach, rather than Becky, that she wasn’t as good as the other kids. And a few of the little boys were mean to her because she was a Bower and her uncle didn’t even play anymore. So maybe she wasn’t tough enough to hack it either.

  Whatever Zach had said to Casey had her ready to pull on her skates and pick up a stick again. After a few days of practicing, she was getting better at carrying the puck. Could dodge a soft check without losing it. Chicklet was pretty good at pep talks, and she’d told Casey in a loud whisper that she’d been the smallest on her team for the first few years. Until she hit a growth spurt. Then she’d been the biggest and fastest.

  With wide eyes, Casey had stared up at Chicklet. Then she’d tightened her grip on her stick and shown how fast she could go without losing the puck.

  Backing to the approximate place the blue line would be on a real skating rink, Casey’s small mouth twisted with concentration. She scooped up the puck and skated hard, racing toward Hunt, swinging her stick—then swooping to the left, lifting the puck just like Scott had shown her.

  Hunt dove dramatically, right under the puck. It hit the back of the net.

  All the men and Chicklet cheered. Becky clapped, shouting “That’s my girl!” Casey stood there with her mouth opened wide. Then she dropped her stick and slid across the ice on her knees, mirroring a move Vanek had done just last week after he’d scored against Philly.