Page 124 of Slap Shot

Me

Ah, to be young and fall asleep in random places.

Madeline

Are you on your way home?

Me

I’m downstairs, actually. Be up in a second.

Madeline

See you soon, BB.

I laugh and click off my phone. That pain in my chest loosens with every floor the elevator climbs. When I open the door and slip inside, finding the four of them exactly where I thought they’d be, it goes away entirely.

Home.

THIRTY-SIX

MADELINE

It’s beenan afternoon from hell.

Lucy had a terrible day at school, and she’s been having tantrum after tantrum since she got home.

My mom called to tell me my dad went to the doctor because of chest pain, and they want to run some tests on his heart.

I have a pounding headache, and by the time I start dinner—forty-five minutes late because the evening slipped away from me, I’m nearing my wit’s end.

The apartment is a disaster, and the kitchen is the worst spot. There are stacks of dishes in the sink. The counter is stained with last night’s pasta and meatballs has stained the counter. The roll of paper towels have become detached from the wall, and the onions I’m attempting to sauté are burning to a crisp, making the whole condo smell like garbage.

Lucy’s wails echo down the hallway. All I want to do is hold her to my chest and comfort her, but I can’t.

There are a million other things waiting for me. The dogs are whining at my feet fortheirdinner. My back hurts, and I can’t take it anymore.

With no one around to see my royal fuckups and how massively I’ve failed today, I lose it.

I put my hands on the counter—right in the sauce I’ve been trying to clean up for ten minutes but keep getting distracted from because of other things—and start to cry. My shoulders shake. I drop my head back. I stare at the ceiling, and the cries turn into a ragged, ugly sob.

It feels good to get this out—to break down and not be perfect for a minute.

I could wallow here the rest of the night.

“Madeline?” Hudson asks, startling me. I lose my footing on the water Lucy spilled on the floor when I tried to get her a snack earlier, but he moves faster. He’s there to catch me with an arm around my waist. A hand at the small of my back, steadying me against crashing waves. “What’s going on?”

I sniff. “It’s been a day.”

He looks around at the war zone that used to resemble his kitchen. “How can I help?”

That makes me cry even more.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

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