“Nope. He’s too cute to regret it, though. Hey, I’m hungry. Are you cooking or shall I order us a pizza?”
“We can slack today.” At that, I gasp, and he ignores me. “Order a pizza.”
I expected it to be weird, having him here in my space, but it’s not. Other than the obvious fact that he’s here, I’m not bothered by it. And the longer he’s here, the less I’m bothered. We get dressed, order pizza, and start a movie while we wait for it to be delivered.
My phone vibrates with a text while Brayden is paying the delivery guy.
Zane: Can I see you tomorrow?
It doesn’t feel right to commit to that when Brayden is in my house, so I put it down without responding. Brayden appears with the pizza and we dig in.
“Where would you like to travel?” I ask.
“Um,” he seems to think about it. “I don’t know.”
“Really?” Most people know of at least one place they’d like to visit.
“Yeah. What about you?”
“All fifty states. I want to see my own country before I think about visiting others. Did your mom like her clock?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says with a nod. “She was excited about it.”
“Tell me a secret.”
“You first.” His reply is so quick, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to tell me a secret.
“I called my mom a bitch yesterday.” Where did that come from? Brayden glances over at me with surprise. I feel like I should save this somehow. “She called. She’s mad again because she asked if I’d let her work in the shop and I told her no. She hates that I have that kind of authority, especially since she doesn’t think I should have it.” I pause and focus my gaze on the TV. “We sort of got along before my grandma died. Better than we do now, at least.”
“Why does she want to help? Why do you say no?”
I glare at him. “It’s my business. I’m not letting her step a foot into the door for her to try and take over.”
“Understandable. I was only asking since I don’t know.”
I decide this is a good time to stop talking. Brayden must agree. He pulls me into his arms as we lie on the couch with Otis on the floor in front of us. This is nice. Really nice. His hands rest on my ass. His heartbeats sound strong and could lure me into a nap. Taking care of Otis is tiring; it’s a lot more work than I expected when I made the spur-of-the-moment decision to keep him. I can’t imagine having Zane in my house or talking to him as much as I talk to Brayden.
But none of that means anything.
Me: Sorry, I totally forgot to respond to you!
Zane: It’s fine.
He’s not happy, and I can’t say I blame him. He messaged me on Sunday and it’s now Wednesday. I feel bad, but Brayden ended up spending the night and things have been crazy this week between work and going to the training sessions with Otis that Brayden hooked me up with. I haven’t had time to see him either.
“How is it going with your two guys?”
I glance over at Rose. “What do you mean? They are just guys.”
“But you’re texting a lot.”
“It’s about Otis,” I lie. Thankfully, my phone rings and I don’t have to talk about my two fuck buddies. “Hello,” I answer.
“Deanna.”
The seriousness of my father’s voice makes me pause. “Yes.”
The words that follow don’t make sense, ultimately causing me to sit down on the floor because my knees are too weak. How did this happen? Is he sure? Oh my god. I can’t believe I called her a bitch.
“Deanna!” Rose’s voice snaps me out of it. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“My mom died,” I whisper.
“What?” She sits down next to me. “How?”
“Two eighteen-wheelers collided and one fell over onto my mom’s car. She died on the scene. It happened this morning,” I blandly repeat what was said to me.
The rest of the day is a blur as I see my father, try to help him with anything that needs to be done, and try not to break down. This can’t be real. It’s simply not possible.
Yet, it is.
My mom is dead and in our last conversation, I called her a bitch.
Around ten at night, I decide that I need to escape from all of this. My heart hurts too much. I can’t stop wondering why I haven’t actually cried yet and what’s wrong with me that I haven’t done so. Regret suffocates me. The image of my mom’s vehicle is glued behind my eyelids; the news shows it over and over. I want it all to stop, just for a little while. Sweet Zane seems like the perfect option.
I text him, asking if I can come over, and his yes comes all of thirty seconds later. When I get to his house, he pulls me inside with the smile I knew I’d find on his face. Yes, this is normal and good. If only my mind and body can get with the program instead of robotically going through the motions. Zane kisses me with so much passion. It’s there; I know it is, but I don’t feel a thing.
His hands gently slide under my shirt, caressing my skin for a moment before removing my shirt. At least, that’s the way it should feel. My skin crawls from his touch. Fuck. Why can’t my body react the way I want it to? I want to escape from today. There’s nothing wrong with Zane! He sits me onto his bed, bringing me back to the present, and I lean back while he kisses over my chest.
I stare at his ceiling. What was her last minute like before she died? Did she see the truck toppling toward her? Did she scream? Did she have any regrets? Fuck, I’m an idiot. It’s unlikely she had time to think about that.
Zane pops open the button of my jeans. I shouldn’t be here with him. I want Brayden.
“Deanna?”
My gaze flicks down to Zane who hovers over me with a concerned look.
“What’s wrong? You’re crying.”
My fingertips brush my cheek and feel a dampness. Fuck. More tears fall as I sit up and push Zane away. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. It’s been a rough day. I have to go.” I rush out of his room, find my shirt along the way, and get the hell out of Dodge.
Instead of going to Brayden’s, I drive home and pray for sleep once I get there.
***
My security alarm blares, startling me awake, but just as quickly, it stops. “What the fuck?” I mutter. For a minute, I’m still half-asleep and simply sitting in bed. Then, it hits me that my alarm went off and I should get out of bed to find out why. I’m fucking screwed if it’s a robber since my reaction apparently sucks.
Alarm goes off? Oh, you know, take your time getting out of bed.
A figure appears in my doorway as I’m tossing the covers off.
“Hey,” a female voice whispers.
“Deanna?”
“Yeah.” She walks over and crawls into my bed, covering me up. “Is this okay?” she asks as she sidles up to me, her arm hooking around my waist as her head rests on my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I glance over at my alarm clock. It’s two in the morning. What is she doing here? She might show up unannounced, but never this late. “Are you okay?”
“I just wanted you.”
Which means no, she’s not okay if I had to take a wild guess. Deanna throws me for a loop more often than not, but I do know her well enough to know that this is too much of a step toward attaching a string. Her saying she wanted me is a string latching onto me and that means something happened that wasn’t good. I hold her tighter, not willing to let her go. She did seek me out after all.
A whine alerts me to Otis’s presence as well. How in the hell did I miss him? Man, I’m no good at this hour of the night. I let him jump onto the bed and I’m happy when he goes to the bottom. That trainer is already helping with things. Deanna suddenly bursts into tears, and I’m frozen for a second. What the hell is happening?
“My mom died today,” she sobs.
“What?”
“She died this morning in a car accident.”
My heart breaks for her and the sadness clearly in her voice. “Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry.
”
“Hold me.” She wiggles closer, wetting my chest with her tears.
Holding her is the only thing I can do. I almost want to ask why she didn’t call me or come over sooner, but that gives our relationship more credit than it deserves. She was also probably busy dealing with things. It shouldn’t bother me that she waited until two in the morning to come see me for comfort. She’s here now, so I hold her until she falls asleep.
In the morning, she lifts her head with her red, swollen eyes landing on mine.
“Will you go to the funeral with me?”
“When is it?” I ask while I panic. What if someone there realizes I’m Brayden Hayes, Carolina Rebels hockey player, and not Brayden Hayes, financial analyst, like I’ve told Deanna? Or what if it’s when we have a game and I can’t go? What kind of excuse could I possibly feed her? This is starting to become more and more trouble.
“Saturday at eleven thirty.”
Of fucking course. We have a game that day. I’ll have to leave morning skate early to go. Fuck. I don’t like this, but she’s watching me with big hopeful eyes. She came to see me last night. Damn it, I want to be there for her. “Are you sure you want me to go?”
“Just say no if you don’t want to come, Brayden,” she snaps, turning away from me.
I grab her waist to keep her close. “I’m only making sure it’s something you actually want and won’t regret later.” My lips find the crook of her neck for a kiss and she relaxes against my chest.
“It would be helpful to have you there,” she answers.
“I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.” Deanna rolls over to kiss me. “I should go so we can both get ready for work.” She doesn’t give me the opportunity to kiss her again like I planned or to hold her a second longer; she’s out of bed before she finishes her sentence. That’s when I realize she’s not wearing pajamas; she has on jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Is she still wearing the clothes she put on when she went to work yesterday? I really need to start paying attention to things when she comes over in the middle of the night, if it ever happens again.
I’m also officially concerned. We have a game tonight, but I think I’ll stop by her shop sometime between morning skate and my afternoon nap. I can bring her lunch, check on her, make sure she’s okay. We’re friends at the most; that’s what I’ve told her. Friends check on friends when they’re going through something like this.
My mind is on Deanna all morning and all throughout my time at the practice facility. I barely notice Zane’s grouchy mood because whatever girl he’s seeing is apparently ignoring him and he’s pissed when Ian says as much. I guess he doesn’t want everyone knowing his business, which is fine. That I relate to and understand. I’m about to leave to buy lunch and meet Deanna, but I stop by the bathroom first.
The sounds I hear make me pause. The sharp gasps are fast and loud. Is someone hyperventilating? I round the corner to see Collin with his head against the wall, hyperventilating, and Cal rubbing his back in an almost motherly way.
“Is everything okay?”
They both jump, but Cal is the only one who looks at me while Collin manages to inhale an, “Oh fuck.”
“We’re fine.” Gotta give credit to the kid. His voice is solid and he has a hard glare on his face that clearly communicates I should leave. Collin’s breathing worsens and he grabs his brother’s shoulder. “Will you get the fuck out? He’s fine! You aren’t helping him!”
“Doesn’t look like you are either,” I murmur, wondering what in the fuck is happening here. Deciding to take action, I grab Collin’s shoulders, spin him to face me, and grab his face. “Hey, one deep breath.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing,” Cal tries, pissed that I’m helping for some reason.
I ignore him, stare at Collin, and breathe the way I want him to breathe. Whenever he tries to glance away, I force his gaze back on me. It takes a solid two minutes before his breathing is normal and he pulls away from me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” He refuses to look at me, his gaze flicking over to Cal as if he could save him from this situation. His hands tremble, too.
“Anyone want to explain that?”
“Nope,” they both say.
“It wasn’t a request.”
The brothers glance at each other. Collin sighs and Cal nods. It’s like they had a conversation without ever speaking. “Management and the coaching staff knows,” Cal says, which is not the explanation I thought I would get. “He doesn’t want anyone to know who doesn’t have to know.”
“I can keep a secret.”
Collin begins to pace and Cal watches him with worry. “I have panic attacks,” Collin blurts out. “An anxiety disorder,” he adds. “Can we pretend this never happened?”
“Sure.” I don’t know anything about anxiety disorders or panic attacks but as the twins move around me to leave, I find myself saying, “If you ever need anything, let me know. I mean it.” The surprise on their faces tells me I really need to step up at being a better teammate and captain off the ice.
“Thanks,” they reply and then hurry to get the hell out of the bathroom.
Well, that was an experience. They hide his condition (do you call it a condition?) well because I never would’ve known he was any different from his brother. They both seem laid-back and at ease with being at this level of play. Maybe Collin isn’t as comfortable with it as I thought? But then, I don’t know what caused his panic attack in the first place.
Finally, I leave, grab food from Bagels and Butts, and head over to Deanna’s shop. I’ve never been to Bagels and Butts, but I’ve heard it mentioned enough from Sylvia, Scott Boyd’s wife, that I figured it has to be good enough for Deanna.
She’s sitting behind the counter of her shop, next to a woman, and she’s staring into space. The woman glances over when I walk in and slaps Deanna on the shoulder to get her attention. I also hear her not-so-quiet whisper, “I didn’t think fuck buddies brought lunch.”
Deanna glares at her for that before managing to smile at me. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“Came to check on you and brought you lunch.”
I follow her to the break room where we take a seat. The good news is she’s not wearing the same clothes as this morning and she’s pulling out the food, so it seems she’s hungry. The bad news? She looks rough.
“Nothing for you?” she asks, flicking her gaze over to me.
“I’m guessing that’s not healthy, so no.”
She rolls her eyes and pushes the fries halfway between us. “It won’t kill you.” Her eyes water.
“How are you doing?”
“My dad refuses to let me help. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t trust me or because he knows I called her a bitch the last time I talked to her and this is payback or what.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe you should head home and hang with Otis.” She doesn’t seem to actually be working.
Deanna shakes her head. “Not yet.” Her eyes fill with enough water this time that tears spill over. She pushes her food away.
“Come here.” I hold out my hand and she easily comes to sit in my lap, her face burying into my neck as I wrap my arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
“Why are you apologizing? Your mom died, darlin’; cry all you want.”
And boy, she cries. I’m beginning to think her breakdowns are only happening with me, which is fine. I don’t mind being the one to hold her through them. I truly don’t. Once she settles down, I make sure she eats, kiss her forehead, and regretfully say goodbye to her.
Thursday night, Deanna comes over around midnight. She wordlessly climbs into my bed, cuddles against me, and falls asleep. The difference is that in the morning, she’s gone before I wake up. I stop by her work and bring her lunch, but she doesn’t say much and she doesn’t break down into tears anymore. It’s like she’s withdrawing all of a sudden. I’m not looking forward to finding out wha
t happens when she starts dealing with this again.
Tonight, she comes over around nine. I understand that people grieve, as they should, but it’s killing me to see her like this. She hasn’t truly smiled and definitely hasn’t laughed since her mom passed away. I need to see that Deanna is still in there somewhere.
“What are you doing?” she asks as I grab the karaoke machine, which has yet to move from where I initially set it down, and begin to take it out of the box.
“Going to sing for you.” I’m that desperate to see her smile.
When I glance over my shoulder, she’s sitting up, leaning forward, and watching me. “Really?”
“Yep. You have to dance with me, though.”
“Can I pick the songs?” Her voice finally sounds normal instead of that bland, monotone shit I’ve been hearing.
“Absolutely.” I’m sure I’ll regret that, but this isn’t about me. At least this time, she’s my only audience.
Once I get it set up, her first song for me is some Barry White song.
“I don’t feel like dancing,” she admits.
“I don’t feel like singing.” Yet my hand is outstretched, waiting for her to take it, and there’s a mic in my hand. It takes her two seconds to decide to take my hand. I don’t care that her dance is only us swaying. It’s better than nothing.
“God, your voice is hot.”
I’m tempted to laugh, but that would interrupt my song.
She doesn’t go so easy on me for the next one, but that’s okay. She’s feeling playful with her song choices and I can deal with that while trying to rap an Eminem song.
“Are you fucking serious?” I ask when she picks “Achy Breaky Heart” next.
“Yep.” She grins and giggles, especially when Otis starts howling.
Night made.
I also get her to actually dance. Now, that is a sight for sore eyes. She loosens up right before me with every shake of her hips and twirl of her body. When her hands slip underneath my shirt and her grin turns evil, I know she’s feeling normal at least for the moment.
Attached to You Page 6
