Page 93 of Dirty Puck

“You always knew that kid was broken. Why’d you keep him?”

“You’re ruining my life, Bree.”

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

I just reached for Reece’s hand. And he took mine, without a word, holding it like he always had—like we were real.

Even if we weren’t.

Two days after the hospital, I took Benny back to the apartment. Bishop had shown up the first day. They sat out by the water and talked, or didn’t. I couldn’t really tell. This morning Jones showed up. I offered to bring Claudia with us, but she wanted to sit with Char’s memories for a while.

We all had to deal in our own ways.

The apartment still smelled like lemon floor cleaner. The memories, both old and new, the ones that belonged to just me and my boy, they helped. I wished we had a comfortable place to sit. But we still had my bed in the bedroom. We could hang out there and watch something on Benny’s tablet.

Despite the memories, the place felt hollow now, not like our home. But this was, in fact, our home. The arrangement was over. Before we moved to the bedroom, I walked to the linen closet to grab my wash day comforter. I spread it over the carpeting in the living room and called to order us a pizza. Mushroom and green olive. Two chocolate milks. I felt like having a chocolate milk with my boy.

We got into a tickle fight while we waited for our delivery. He rolled on the floor smiling, eyes squeezed shut, giggling. Then to settle him, we put his favorite show on his tablet. The one with the dogs who helped people.

About a half hour later, our order arrived.

“We’re having a picnic,” I told him, opening the lid. I set it on the floor between us, then went to the kitchen to get us plates and a knife to cut his up.

All his sippy cups were at Reece’s place, so I hoped he wouldn’t spill his milk.

Benny plopped down next to me, little legs outstretched infront of him, and I placed his plate with the tiny pizza squares on his lap. I made a rocket ship sound, lifting one of the squares off the plate and flying it in the air until I reached his open mouth. Benny wasn’t one of those kids hard to keep entertained.

“See? Still fun,” I said, though my voice caught a little. I smiled through it.

Because it was fun. And it wasn’t. It was both.

This place had been mine. Just mine and Benny’s. A soft, little haven after everything had fallen apart. But now it felt… distant. Like we were playing house instead of living in one.

We built a fort with the rest of the blankets from the linen closet tossed over the headboard and footboard. Then we lay on our backs, staring up at the soft ocean pattern on the inside of the fabric, our ceiling. Seeing the ocean made me think of Reece’s place. I knew we had to go back until he was ready for us to leave permanently. But for now, I made shadow puppets. And for that small slice of the day, I let myself believe that maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much as I imagined to leave Reece. That it was just another day in the life of Bree and Benny Michaels.

Trying to figure out what came next.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

REECE

My mom was gone.

Those words kept playing around in my head, like if I repeated them enough, they’d stop feeling like a punch to the chest. It didn’t work.

I’d been to a lot of funerals. My best friend from high school. Teammates’ family members. Even a coach once. I always hated the way people moved around you like you were made of glass. I hated it more now that I was the one being tiptoed around. Bishop, Jones, and the rest of them wanted to be supportive. I just wanted to play hockey. Those few hours allowed me to forget that I had to go on when the one person who loved me unconditionally was gone.

But no. Coach insisted I take time off. In the few days between the hospital and the funeral, I could’ve been keeping sharp. That was what I wanted. No one asked me, though.

Fuck every single one of them. I wasn’t glass, more like rusted sheet metal. If they left me alone, I’d be able to get through day by day. But if one more person looked at me with those damn sad, pathetic eyes, I’d crumble into a dusty mess.

The morning of the funeral, I couldn’t get out of bed. Notuntil Bree pressed a cup of coffee into my hands and brushed her fingers through my hair like she was petting a wounded animal.

She cooked and cleaned but gave me the space I needed. Still, I still saw the way she moved through the house mechanically. Cooking. Cleaning. Taking care of Benny. It didn’t stop her from stepping in where I couldn’t. It didn’t stop her from anything. How in the hell had she done this at seventeen when I couldn’t even put on a damn pair of socks without having a meltdown at thirty-one?

Bree made the calls to arrange for my mom’s body to be transported back to Virginia. To a spot right next to my grandparents. She booked the flights. She even found the rental car, one big enough to hold the mountain of grief I dragged with me everywhere I went now.

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