Page 70 of Puck to the Heart
Dread returned, curdling with all the other emotions lying in wait. “But, Dad, you’re not supposed to be done with therapy for another couple of weeks.”
We planned for this. I took the second half of December off, since it was a slow month. Everything was wonky in December, with it being between the end of the fiscal year and the start of the calendar year, and all I’d need to be present for was online meetings I planned to attend between packing boxes.
Not that it mattered, now.
His release and my new jobless status threw everything off. A mile-long to-do list got longer, new items appearing on my mental agenda with the frequency of my rapid pulse.
“When do you have to move out?” I accidentally cut Dad off in the middle of a sentence. We didn’t have a new place lined up for him yet; one more thing to add to the list.
“Olivia.”
I winced, realizing I used my ‘Business Bitch’ voice on my father.
“Sorry, I need to know so I can figure some things out.”
“Livy.” Dad’s voice came out a shade under exasperation. “You don’t have to be here for every little thing.”
I did. If I didn’t—what if it all went wrong again? And now, I had nowhere else to go.
“Iwantto be there for you. I can help.”Neededto.
“I’m an adult, you know.”
“So am I, Dad.” A jobless adult, but still.
“I’m not sure that’s the comeback you think it is. Fine. Doc says I’m cleared, and I’ve paid through the end of the month.”
“The end of the month,” I repeated as I absently tapped the calendar on my watch. “The end of this month? Intwodays?” The shrillness of my voice echoed back through the phone.
“I told you, Livy, you don’t have to?—”
“Dad. I will make it work, okay? I’ll make it work. I have to go.”
“Love you, Kiddo.”
“Love you too.”
When I disconnected the call, I strode purposefully to my car, locked it, and gave myself precisely three minutes to spiral.
Or at least three minutes to wallow, because the spiraling wouldn’t end after three minutes were up, but I wouldn’t have enough time to drown in it.
Even though the chest-heaving, gasping sobs wracking my body left me drained mentally and physically, I pulled myself together when my timer rang out. Mostly. A few pats of a Kleenex and the physical evidence of my freakout disappeared. A few taps on my phone, and I found last-minute plane tickets.
This was how I survived—breaking everything into pieces whenIwas in pieces. Symmetry, right? But it worked. Plus, I got the satisfaction of crossing items off my mental list.
Because I didn’t have time to make a real one.
In an instant, something inside me snapped. All the months of pent-up anger, the fake smiles I’d pasted on to make my coworkers comfortable, the months ofBrad. The last-minute change of plans with no warning andlosing my fucking job.Rage skipped down my limbs in little jerks; my shaking hands wrapped around the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip I wished was on someone’s neck.
I drove, seething the whole way, to the one person who might make this shit day better.
My entire bodythrobbed after a brutal practice. The foul mood lingering around me seemed to filter out to my teammates, and we all played horribly. No one left the ice today without a few extra bruises.
Why can’t I get my fucking head straight?
I didn’t hear from Olivia all day; I knew she’d be busy with meetings and staying late to crunch numbers. A few minutes ago, a text pinged my phone, but I hadn’t had time to read it yet.
Coach asked to see me before I left, and I dropped in his office on my way out, trying to look nonchalant though I knew what was coming and my palms were so sweaty they were probably dripping.
