Angels and Assists

by Mignon Mykel

  Whenever it was, I knew I’d only have a couple of hours before pain would likely wake Anderson up, so trying to sleep was important.

  And when I did wake?

  I had a dog at the end of my bed that didn’t belong to me.

  And my girl wrapped in my arms.

  Chapter Twenty

  Molly

  I drove to Asher’s, completely drained.

  Driving in the dark, exhausted from the day and emotions, likely wasn’t my best idea, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d let Caine out.

  Mikey’s words echoed in my head.

  I wanted to believe them.

  So badly.

  Doll, you believe them. Trust yourself, love.

  That voice in my head…

  I shook it off.

  However, it was still bothering me as I stood on the back porch, waiting for Caine to finish his business in the yard.

  I thought back through the years.

  Every time I returned to Mikey and Anderson, it was more than Anderson’s text.

  It was this overbearing—hell, irrational—feeling that I had to be there.

  The times I put it off, those times I managed to stay away for longer than a week, my anxiety attacks were almost debilitating. Life would finally calm down when I gave in to the push.

  Other than the push…

  Her laugh, at the gala.

  When Mikey told me he loved me.

  That was Trina’s laugh.

  The words in my head, my thoughts calling me Doll.

  Was that Trina?

  It was crazy, but I allowed myself a moment to think about it. Was Trina pushing Mikey and me together? Curious, I pulled out my phone and, thankful internet searches weren’t monitored—allegedly—I typed in visits from the deceased.

  The first result had my eyes tearing up as I read through it.

  Maybe it really was Trina all along.

  Go back. They need you sweetheart.

  I looked up from my phone, my eyes wet with tears, as I nodded into the late-night sky. “Okay.”

  A sense of calm washed over me, right after one last French-tilted laugh.

  With a tightness in my throat, I tried to work back the tears and sting in my nose. “Okay, Trina.”

  * * *

  “Shh,” I whispered as Caine bounded into the house. The once tired, oversized dog was nowhere to be found, and in his place was a one-hundred-and-fifty-pound ball of energy. Apparently, Caine enjoyed car rides. “It’s bedtime.”

  Caine stopped in the middle of the unknown living room, looking around.

  For his equally oversized pillow, I was sure.

  “Come here,” I whispered and, after slipping out of my clogs, walked quietly through the quiet ranch house, toward Mikey’s room.

  Soft snores came from within, and I hoped we wouldn’t wake him.

  He needed the sleep, and I wouldn’t bet money on Anderson sleeping past five-thirty.

  “Quietly,” I whispered as we neared the end of the bed. I tapped gently and, surprisingly, the dog climbed up with grace, laying down without much movement to the bed. I slipped out of my leggings and, in just my tee from the day, climbed in beside Mikey.

  I curled into his side, staring at his profile in the dark. He stopped snoring, taking a deeper breath. A new wave of his sleep cycle.

  With my hand over his chest and over his heart, I tried again—not that I was going to wake him up and hit him.

  I’d save that response for the morning.

  “I love you, Mikey,” I whispered.

  He shifted in his sleep, sliding his arm under my neck and pulling me close. His voice heavy with sleep—and with another rumble of snores shortly after—he whispered roughly, “Love you, Moll.”

  Epilogue

  December 23rd

  Molly

  “He’s going to kill me.” I fidgeted nervously in the cinder-block hall, looking around at the ones who were here for support. For me, or for Mikey, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  The brown, kraft paper bag in my hand was going to lose its handles, if I kept playing with them, my nerves fried. I refrained from putting the bag on the floor though. I needed something in my hands.

  “He’ll be fine,” Sam answered, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me to his side. We all wore ‘Leeds’ jerseys, every single one of us: Luc, Marie, and Sam Gagnon all in the deep forest green jerseys the men wore here at home usually as well as Trina’s mom and dad—the true emotional sucker punch, and I wasn’t going to blame hormones on that one—who wore auctioned jerseys from various events through the years.

  I was starting to feel faint, but Sam shook my shoulders in his hug. “Calm down, Moll. It will be good.”

  Anderson, who stood with the Perris—drowning in Mikey’s auctioned holiday jersey from last year—smiled over at me, his eleven-year-old face filled with mischief and still a hint of that young awe.

  “Yeah, mom. He’ll be ecstatic.” Then, he looked over his shoulder to his Mamie. “I had to write a story for English class, and the emotion I drew from the hat was ecstatic. It means really excited.”

  Marie smiled and bent down to kiss her grandson on the forehead.

  I watched the exchange with a lump in my throat.

  These emotions, man…

  Mikey and I married in late summer, and while we invited the Perris—they were family, after all—I hadn’t actually expected them to come.

  I was taking what had been their daughter’s.

  I was taking their daughter’s place.

  …All thoughts that were quickly put to rest when Adele pulled me aside before the small outdoor wedding. “She wouldn’t have wanted a different outcome for her boys.”

  Between her words, and the memories of what I chalked up to Trina talking to me, I felt okay.

  Better than okay.

  “Who told me this was a good idea?” I murmured, getting nervous again. The last thing, the very last thing, Mikey needed after this game was an urgent text message. “This was such a bad idea. So bad.”

  “Too late to fix now, sis,” Sam quirked, the smirk on his face only adding to the fact he found this whole thing funny as hell. He sobered quickly though, squeezing my shoulders to him once more. “He needs more positive on this day.”

  And that right there, was why I foolishly concocted this plan.

  Last year, the first year he managed to get on the ice for the team’s last game before Christmas break, and it had been tainted by Anderson being in the emergency room. At the beginning of this season, Mikey swore he’d be able to play tonight’s game, but the closer we got to December, then to Christmas, the more I could see my husband battling with it.

  I needed him to see the day in a different light.

  So, I told everyone in this hall my plan, and they all thought it was brilliant.

  That’s what Sam said, anyway.

  The sound of steps echoed through the halls, a heavy-footed person rushing through on his way to the garage; my breath caught as my heart began to pound.

  It had to be Mikey.

  It was going to be Mikey.

  “You’ve got this,” Sam whispered in my ear before releasing me, stepping back to join the parents. Now, Anderson stepped up, standing beside me.

  He, too, was fidgeting with his fingers.

  “We got this,” I whispered low, moving my hand from the roped handles to the top of the bag, no doubt crumbling it with my nervous grip.

  “We got it,” my adopted son’s voice was just as low as mine, but sure in tone. If there was only one person who was completely behind this reveal, it would have been Anderson.

  The footsteps neared and soon…

  I took a deep breath as Mikey rounded the corner, frantic worry over his face. His eyes were wild, his hair a mess, as if he half-assed his shower and threw on his clothes after the game. His tie was around his neck but not knotted.

  He looked like a man in a hurry.

  When he
focused his gaze on what was in front of him, his steps faltered, his face morphing into confusion.

  “What…?” He stopped, but only for a moment. Soon, he was walking slowly toward Anderson and me, his face…

  “I thought…?”

  He stopped directly in front of Anderson and me, his hand automatically going to brush against my hip, then sliding more, to rest on the small of my back. Even through the thickness of material of my own replica jersey, I could feel the slight tremble in his hand. “Everything’s okay?” The worry and fear in his voice was palpable, and it only added to the nerves wracking through my own body.

  “Surprise?” I finally managed to find my voice, even though it cracked. My thoughts and emotions were working overtime.

  He looked down at me, to Anderson, then back at our family. “There’s…” he swallowed, and I could see as the panic slowly receded from his eyes, “no emergency?”

  At the persuasion of Sam, I may have text my husband that he was needed at the car as soon as possible!!!!!!! After the game. Which, Sam followed up with his own urgent text message.

  “But Coach said…” I felt Mikey’s fingers dig in briefly against my back.

  I may have also gotten Sydney Prescott in on the plan.

  “So, what’s…” Again, his voice trailed off, confusion overriding the fear now.

  “Tell him!” Anderson nudged my side, and I looked down at the boy I’d known since he was a baby. A boy I had the pleasure to watch grow up, to mother, even though he wasn’t mine by blood.

  A boy who knew about Trina, loved Trina, but still chose to call me his mom.

  “Yeah, Moll, tell him,” Sam goaded from behind me.

  I threw a playful glare over my shoulder, and in the process, saw our family waiting excitedly.

  “Tell me what?”

  I looked back and up, to see Mikey staring down at me. His full lips were parted slightly, just enough that I could see the lower edge of his upper teeth.

  I took in the rest of his face. His straight nose, his green eyes; the light freckles that his son had in spades.

  All qualities I hoped would be passed on.

  My lips tightened as I swallowed nervously, and Mikey’s eyes dropped to my lips as my tongue darted out to wet them. “Um.”

  My husband’s hand dropped to my ass—covered in buttery soft leggings—and I was pretty sure he was copping a feel before he grabbed hold of the bottom hem of my jersey.

  “Moll?” His eyes searched mine, and the confusion was still evident.

  The words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t spit them out.

  So, instead, I thrust the now crumbled brown bag at his stomach, making him grunt with the force. His hands left me to grab the bag and, curiosity etching over his features, he separated the top, peering inside.

  His green gaze immediately popped up to mine.

  Mikey opened his mouth to say something, but Sam beat him to it. “Well, what is it?” he asked, even though he knew damn well…

  His mouth worked, words not falling from his lips, and he looked back down, a hand timidly reaching inside to pull out the gift, the bag dropping mindlessly to the ground.

  In my husband’s hand was the smallest ‘Leeds’ replica jersey I could find. It had to be custom made, and was sized for a toddler, but it would keep…

  His eyes searched mine again. “Are you…?”

  I nodded, my eyes filling with tears.

  “You’re not shitting me?” His voice was filled with wonder, and I shook my head, trying to smile but it only caused tears to spill over on my cheeks. Even through the tears, though, I could make out his blinding smile.

  Suddenly, his arms were banded around me, lifting me off the ground. I wrapped my own arms around his neck, burying my head into the crook as he did the same. The wetness of his tears brushed my neck and I could feel his entire body trembling—adrenaline, excitement, and maybe even a little leftover fear.

  “Fuck, I love you.” His words were muffled by my body, and I squeezed my arms around his neck tighter.

  “Congratulations, man,” Sam broke in. Even I could feel the strength behind his back pounding.

  Reluctantly, Mikey lowered me back to the ground and, jersey still in hand, wiped at his face with the back of his hand. His other not leaving me.

  “I hope it’s a boy, but I guess a sister would be okay,” Anderson piped in, stepping close to our circle. Mikey pulled him to his side, his arm around his son’s neck.

  “You knew about this?” he asked him with a smile.

  Anderson nodded, grinning. “I did. We kept a good secret, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah, you did.” Mikey leaned down—not nearly as far as once upon a time—and pressed a kiss to the top of Anderson’s head. The excited seventh-grader’s age came out then, as he tried to duck away, but still, with a laugh.

  Even though everyone else in this hall had known and congratulated me already, the sentiments and hugs were plenty, for both Mikey and me. When it was Adele’s turn to hold Mikey in a close embrace, I overheard her tell him the same thing she told me in the summer—and again, my eyes began to burn.

  With a sniff, I stepped away from Mikey and into Luc’s arms.

  There wasn’t any room for tears; just smiles and laughter.

  * * *

  It was later, much later, with the Gagnons and Perris settled in at the hotel rooms, and Anderson in his bed, that Mikey pulled me back into his chest. I tipped my head back, the smallest of smiles on my lips, as I looked at our giant Christmas tree—decorated and with presents hiding the skirt, ready for our Christmas Eve celebration the next day.

  I’d decorated this very tree more times than I could count. It was one I shopped with Trina for, for Anderson’s first Christmas. The branches were starting to look sad, from years of bending and remolding into place. It was probably the last one we’d have with this tree.

  For years, I’d hung Anderson’s handmade ornaments, and keepsake ornaments that had been gifted to him and Mikey. For years, I’d wrapped the extra strands of white lights, and climbed the ladder far higher than my fear of heights allowed, just to put a star at the top.

  For years, I’d done all of that for a pair of boys I loved with all my heart, but never thought could be mine.

  And this Christmas…

  This Christmas, they were.

  And they always would be.

  “Thank you,” Mikey whispered into my ear, his linked hands resting on my stomach. I cuddled further back into his body, my sweatshirt and his thermal no barrier for the pounding of his heart at my back. “I didn’t think it could be possible,” he added before pressing a kiss to my temple, “but you made a bad day more than bearable. This was the best Christmas ever.”

  Mikey

  Three years later

  “Anderson!” My wife’s whispered yell sifted through my nap-fuddled brain.

  “I just wanted to tell dad before I left,” our son whispered back.

  “If you wake up your sister…”

  My grin was slow, and as badly as I wanted to stretch, my hot-box of a daughter was still cuddled to my side. Little Miss Peri Kate was a warm sleeper—something that terrified her mother and I on more than one occasion when she was smaller; fevers in newborns, and all that came with that.

  I opened my eyes then glanced toward the bedroom door, taking in my wife and son, before trying to carefully dislodge myself from my octopus of a daughter.

  Peri slept one of two ways—completely spread out, taking up the entire bed; or clinging to you like a monkey.

  She took up the entire bed when she’d sneak in at night to cuddle, which these days, wasn’t too terrible because Molly left plenty of room in the bed, while stuck on her left side—if she even managed to sleep.

  Or, during pre-game naps, Peri would cuddle right into my side.

  Sure that my daughter was going to keep sleeping, I rolled out of bed and finally stretched, my eyes squinting toward the two in the doorway.
/>   Anderson was getting taller every day; he’d been taller than Molly for nearly three years.

  Molly…

  Molly looked tired, and ready to pop.

  “Sorry,” Molly whispered, her eyes moving to land on the bed.

  “I was awake,” I semi-lied, whispering myself. When movement sounded behind me, I stopped, frozen, in place.

  Everyone stood still.

  I was pretty sure everyone held their breath…

  And when Peri’s little sleep moan sounded, the one that said she was falling further into her dreams, there was a collected, yet silent, sigh.

  Our two-year-old still needed two naps a day, but on game days, we pushed her past her morning nap in hopes she’d take a longer afternoon nap. She’d still fall asleep at the game, but she wouldn’t be a bear when she was awake.

  Before we could step out of the bedroom, I put my hands to both sides of Molly’s nine-month belly, leaning in to press the smallest of kisses to her lips. Her sigh was happy but still…tired.

  When Peri made her entrance to the world, Molly had been a tired, sleepless zombie for forty-eight hours before her water broke.

  It was only a matter of time…

  Hell; hours even, maybe.

  “You okay?” I asked against her lips, pulling back just slightly to take in her brown eyes.

  Molly nodded. “She’s comfy.” Her hand brushed over mine before rubbing at the top of her swell.

  “Could be a boy,” I countered. We didn’t know what we were having, but there were bets.

  Molly was convinced the baby was a girl—her entire pregnancy acted nearly identical to her pregnancy with Peri. Both she and Anderson were betting on pink, and our friends were divided. Peri had her big brother wrapped around her pinkie finger, so how he’d manage another baby sister…

  Hell, it was a good thing he had two pinkie fingers.

  “Guys. I’ve got to get ready,” Anderson, still whispering, cut in.

  With one last check on Peri, we headed out of the bedroom and away from the master wing. This was Molly and my third house—although brief, Molly did live in mine and Trina’s condo, before Anderson and I moved into the ranch house. This house…

  Well, it was probably bigger than we needed, at six-thousand-plus square feet, but with our Quebec family and hockey family, it was nice having a place that everyone could stay.