by Elise Faber
He brushed a strand of her hair back, tucked it behind one ear. “I think I can handle it.” He pressed his lips to hers, stole a kiss. “You think you can handle us?”
“I—”
“Dad!” Brayden shouted. “Sparky’s not in his crate!” The words reached them the same moment there was a huge crash in the kitchen
Max rolled his eyes heavenward. “What about now?” he asked. “Think you can handle us now?”
Angie huffed out a laugh. “Hell, no, but I’m looking forward to trying.”
Max stole one more kiss. “Me, too, Angel. Me, too.”
He led the way into the kitchen, took one look at the mess Sparky had made of the containers and plates Angie had so nicely laid out on the table, sighed, then pulled out his phone to order more Chinese.
Life got messy sometimes . . . but thank God for DoorDash.
Twenty-Eight
Angie
“Angie?”
She tore her eyes from the ice—the Gold were down by a goal with less than five minutes left in the third period—to look at Brayden, who was sitting in the stands next to her. “What’s up, bud?”
“Will you come to my concert at school?”
Her heart skipped a beat. This kid was just so sweet. “Of course, bud. When is it?”
“Next Tuesday at ten.”
She pulled out her phone. “I’m putting it in my calendar right now.”
“Cool.” He turned his face back to the game, but not before she saw his mouth curve up into a smile.
It had been two weeks since that night at Max’s house, when Angie had stumbled onto Suzanne and Max’s disagreement. Well, Angie didn’t really know what to characterize it as—a disagreement, Suzanne coming on to Max, unfinished business—because Max had brushed her off, saying it wasn’t a big deal and that he’d passed the information on to his lawyer to care of.
Meanwhile, she and Max had managed to squeeze in two other nights at her apartment when Brayden had sleepovers at his friends’ houses.
Those moments had been glorious, Max somehow showing so much focus between the sheets that Angie was often surprised she didn’t glance down and find she’d been reduced to ash.
But that was how she was with Max—reduced to pieces yet put back together stronger.
Herself . . . only a better version.
She smiled, feeling content and relaxed in a way she’d never imagined possible. The last few weeks had been filled with lunch dates with Mandy plus a few nights out with her friends, and, of course, Max and Brayden—she’d even gotten to watch one of Brayden’s soccer games before they’d gone out for pizza. Somehow, she’d gone from being alone to having a sister and friends and . . . she was part of a family.
“Go, Dad!”
Angie blinked and focused back on the ice. Sure enough, Max had the puck on his stick and was skating up the ice. She held her breath as he crossed the blue line and dished off a pass to Blue—just thirty seconds left in the game. Blue barreled toward the net, raised his stick to shoot, and . . .
Passed back to Max.
Who slammed it home.
Holy—
She shot to her feet and screamed at the top of her lungs, everyone in the arena mirroring the movement, including Brayden, who was jumping up and down and cheering like crazy.
“That was my Dad!” he shouted.
“Yes, it was.” She high-fived him then blinked when Brayden wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. And when she hugged him back, it was the most natural action in the world.
“That goal was awesome,” he said when the celebration wound down and they took their seats again.
“It was awesome,” she agreed, turning her attention back to the ice as both teams lined up to for a face-off. A few seconds later, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of regulation.
Brayden fist-pumped. “Overtime!”
“Yup,” Angie said, smiling as the teams congregated near their coaches for a quick discussion. “Let me just text Anna and let her know that the game is running later than we expected.”
This was the first time Angie had been alone with Brayden, and because Max was leaving straight after the game for a flight to L.A. with the team, Anna was going to meet them at the arena to take Brayden home.
It’s getting late, she said when Anna told her that she hadn’t left yet. Do you want me to meet you at Max’s, so you don’t have to wait or deal with traffic?
That would be great, actually, Anna replied. I need to get Brayden’s stuff ready for school in the morning.
I’ll text you when we’re leaving.
“Okay, bud,” Angie said, ruffling his hair as the ref blew his whistle and both teams moved to line up for the puck drop. “I’ll drive you home once the game is over. Anna will meet us there.”
“’Kay.” He didn’t take his eyes from the ice.
And it was a good thing, too, because with a reduced number of players—three per side instead of five—the game moved like lightning. The Gold got a quick chance right off the face-off, but then the puck took a weird bounce and suddenly it was a two on none heading the other way.
Meaning, Brit, the Gold’s goalie, was facing two opponents, with no help from her teammates.
Angie bit back a curse.
But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of black, watched as one of the Gold streaked back into their end.
And dove headfirst into the play.
The puck came across on a pass, bounced off the player’s helmet, and deflected into the corner. Somehow, she knew it was Max before he jumped to his feet and chased after it, tipping it up to Stefan, who passed it up to Blue.
The Kings—their opponent that night—seemed stunned by the rapid turn and that heartbeat of hesitation gave the Gold the opportunity they needed. Blue carried the puck up and, in a move that was so fast Angie’s eyes had a hard time tracking it, froze the goalie in place before casually sliding the puck home on the far side of the goal.
“Holy—” She smothered the curse just in time.
Because that had been a hell of a goal.
“That was dirty,” Brayden shouted over the cheering.
Angie laughed. Max had just explained to them earlier, that dirty didn’t always mean what she’d thought it did—a cheap shot or underhanded play. Nope, sometimes dirty could mean really good.
And that goal had been really good.
“You’re absolutely right, bud. That goal definitely was dirty.” She glanced out onto the ice and saw Max was looking at them. “Brayden.” She nudged him, pointing at the Gold’s bench, where Max had paused before going into the locker room. “Your dad.”
Brayden grinned and waved. “Dad!”
Max waved back then pointed at her and touched the space above his heart.
Angie melted. This man.
She loved him so much.
Brayden was jumping around, jazzed from the game’s ending, and Max waved one more time before disappearing back into the hallway.
They’d said their goodbyes to Max before the game, considering the team’s flight and the fact that it was a school night for Brayden, so she and Bray slowly made their way out of the crowded arena.
“Hey! Angie!” Kelsey’s voice stopped her.
“Hey! I didn’t think you were coming tonight. Brayden”—she touched his shoulder—“This is my friend from work, Kelsey.”
Brayden waved. “Hi.”
Kels smiled. “Hi, Brayden.” To Angie she said, “Devon talked me into it.”
“Are you Devon Scott?” Brayden’s voice was awe-filled.
Devon squatted next to Brayden. “Hi, bud. Yes, I am.”
“This is Brayden Montgomery,” Angie told him.
“Wow,” Devon said. “Your dad had a heck of a game tonight.”
The compliment lit up Brayden’s face. “He was awesome!”
“He’s better than Devon was,” Kelsey stage-whispered.
Brayden giggled, and he and Devo
n fist-bumped before Devon stood. “It’s getting late,” he said. “Do you guys need a ride anywhere?”
Angie shook her head. “Thanks, but no. We’re just in the lot outside.”
They said their goodbyes then left the arena. The space always emptied out quickly, but tonight they seemed to be on the tail end of things, and she could see there were only a few cars still parked in the lot across the street. It was darker than she expected, and Angie regretted not taking Devon up on his offer of a ride.
This was bringing up some unpleasant memories.
And anxieties. And—
Brayden grabbed her hand, making her jump, but Angie forced herself to swallow her nerves and smile down at him. “Are you tired?” she asked.
“No way.” He sped his way down the sidewalk, almost dragging her along in the process. “I could stay up for hours—” Except that statement was punctuated by a giant yawn, and she had the feeling he was about to crash and burn on the car ride home.
“It was an exciting game for sure,” she told him. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”
“I can’t believe you asked. Or that Dad let me go.”
They’d paused at the crosswalk, waiting for the signal to change. “Because it was late?”
“Yeah.”
The light turned. “But why were you surprised I asked?”
He shrugged, eyes down on the ground and Angie tensed because this wasn’t her expertise. What if she said the wrong thing and hurt his feelings? Or overstepped and—
She was just going to tell him what was in her heart.
Squatting next to him once they’d crossed the road, she said. “I like hanging out with you, Brayden. I’ve really cherished getting to know you the last few weeks.”
He paused, tilted his head. “You really mean that?”
Angie squeezed his shoulder. “I really do.” A pause. “And I hope you don’t mind me hanging out with you and your dad.”
“No. You’re pretty cool.”
“Just pretty?” she teased, standing again. “Coming from a super cool seven-year-old like you, I’ll take it.”
“You should,” he said sagely. “I am really cool.”
Angie laughed. “Coolness aside, it’s a school night and it’s late, even for a wicked cool boy like yourself.”
He groaned but led the way to her car.
She unlocked it, watched to make sure he buckled himself correctly into his booster seat.
“Angie?” he asked, just as she was about to close the door.
“Yeah, bud?”
“Can we go to another game together sometime?”
There her heart went again, expanding, opening up to let this kid deep inside. “I’d like that, Brayden.”
He nodded, playing it cool. “’kay.”
“’Kay.” She closed the door, smothering a grin.
A movement out of the corner of her eye had her whipping around on a gasp.
Crack.
Everything went black.
Twenty-Nine
Max
The call came just as he was about to get on the bus to take them to the airport.
Frowning, he glanced down at the screen, saw it was Anna, and hurried to pick up.
“Hello?”
“Max?” she said, breathing heavy. “Are you still at the arena?”
His gut twisted. “Yes.”
“You need to get out to Lot C. That’s where Angie and Brayden were parked, and there’s been . . . an incident.”
“What kind of incident?” he asked.
Bernard was right behind him in line but took one look at Max’s face and stepped to the side. “Go,” he told him.
Max nodded and started sprinting around the building, heart pounding. “Anna,” he snapped. “What happened—?” But by then he’d made it around to the front of the arena, saw the flashing lights, and the question stopped in his throat.
He barely checked for cars as he ran across the street. Anna was kneeling on the ground next to . . . Angie.
An officer tried to stop him when he ducked under the rope. “That’s my girlfriend,” he growled and rushed over to them. Angie was sitting on the ground, blood dripping down her face and when he met her gaze, her eyes were blurry.
“Max,” she said. “I—”
She burst into tears.
“Where’s Brayden?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I had him in the seat, and—” Her breath hitched, another sob rising. “I woke up, and my car was gone, and—”
Max’s world imploded.
“What do you mean your car was gone?” He knelt in front of her, gripping his thighs and trying to resist the urge to shake her. Where in the fuck was his son?
A paramedic came over, swapping the soaked-through bandage out on her forehead. Angie raised a trembling hand to hold it in place. “He’d buckled in. I checked! And then I closed the door, and—”
Her voice broke.
“Shh,” Anna told her. “Everything will be okay,” she said. “The police are already looking for Angie’s car. It has a tracking chip, and—”
“Everything won’t fucking be okay!” Max shouted, part of him hating the way she flinched back, the other gripped by pure terror. “Where is Brayden?” he asked. “Where the fuck is my son?”
“I-I don’t know,” Angie sobbed. “I—”
“Fuck.” He stood, paced away. “Fuck!”
“You need to get to the hospital,” the paramedic told Angie. “That head wound needs to be looked at.”
“No,” she said. “Not until we find Brayden.”
Max’s cell rang, and he scrambled to pick it up without looking at the number. “Hello?”
“Dad?”
Max dropped to his knees. “Where are you? Brayden?”
“I-I’m with Mom,” his son said, and the fear in his voice almost killed Max. “She took me to the old house, and—”
“Stay there. Don’t go anywhere.”
“But she won’t wake up.”
“Okay, buddy, it will be okay. Just stay on the phone with me.” He waved at an officer. “321 Turntree Circle. He was taken there.”
The officer nodded, lifting his radio and relaying the address.
“Just keep talking to me, Bray.” He said, infinitely calmer now that he could hear Brayden’s voice. “Some policemen are going to come to pick you up.”
“Why not you?”
“Because they can get there faster, okay? They’ll bring you to a police station,” he addressed the last as a question to the officer, who nodded. “And I’ll meet you there.”
“O-okay.”
“How long?” he mouthed to the policeman, who indicated five minutes. “Bray, you’re going to stay on the phone with me for a few minutes then they’ll be there. All right, buddy?”
Brayden’s voice was shaky. “Is Angie okay?”
He watched her push to her knees then up to wobbly feet, brushing off Anna’s help as she staggered toward him. “Is that—?”
He nodded.
She stumbled to a halt. “Is he okay?”
Max nodded. “Angie’s fine, too, bud.” He muted his cell, hating that she was wavering on her feet, that blood was once again soaking through the bandage. She wavered on her feet again, and he steadied her. “You need to go—”
“Dad?”
He unmuted the call, waved to Anna, who came over and grabbed Angie’s shoulder. “Yeah, bud?”
“There’s a police car here.”
“Let me talk to them.”
He spoke to them briefly, confirming their identities and which station he would meet them at. By the time he hung up, a good five minutes had passed.
Max turned around, wanting to find Angie. To tell her that—
She was gone.
Only Anna was there.
“Where’s—?”
Anna shook her head. “Hospital. She wouldn’t let me come.” She shoved him. “But, and here’s some real talk,
asshole, I know you were panicked, but she was worried sick and hurting, and you screamed at her then ordered her to leave.”
“I—”
“Didn’t you tell me that you love her? Didn’t you tell her that?” Anna sighed. “You didn’t think that maybe couples who love each other try to work things out together? You didn’t think that maybe she might need some comfort, too?”
“Fuck, Anna. Brayden was gone, and I—”
“Acted like an asshole instead of a rational adult trying to figure out a terrifying situation.”
“You know what?” he said as an officer came over and told him they could take his patrol car to the station. “Why don’t you go home? Your priority should be Brayden. Not me.”
“Yeah,” she snapped. “Well, I think you demonstrated that fact very clearly to Angie.” A pause. “And maybe once you get your head out of your ass, you might find out how badly Angie was injured and make sure the woman you supposedly love is okay.”
“Fuck off,” he growled. He’d seen she was cut on her head and needed stitches.
He’d had more than his share of sutures. They weren’t the end of the world.
“No. I think you meant fuck you.”
And with that, Anna got in her car and drove away.
Thirty
Angie
Angie woke up in a hospital room.
Sterile white walls, a line in her arm, and, her eyes drifted around the space . . .
Alone.
Funny. This was becoming a pattern in her life.
If two could be considered a pattern, she supposed.
Regardless, the lights were dim, so Angie guessed it was still nighttime, but the last thing she remembered was being wheeled down the hall for a CT scan. How long had she been out?
Well, apparently her brain was okay because she was alone and only hooked up to one bag of medicine.
Brain damage would require more than that, right?
She reached a hand up then nearly knocked herself unconscious when she found out in a rather painful fashion that her left arm was in a cast.
“Ugh.” Using her good arm, she reached for the remote and tilted the bed so she could sit up. The movement made her head pound, but she kept going anyway. Her purse was sitting on the rolling table.
