Page 47 of Hot Puck
“I think you all should see a counselor. Together and individually.”
My gaze moves to Natalie and the understanding I see in her gaze almost takes out my knees.
“I’ll organize something after we deal with the camp issue.”
“We’re not going back!” Cass steps back from the island, her small fists clenched at her sides, her body vibrating with anger.
“Of course not.” I straighten, gaze locked on my sister’s. “Why the hell do you think I’d make you?”
“Because you said we had to do things like before.”
“Fuck!”
There’s no way to keep the curse in my head this time. And as I shove my hands through my hair and yank on the ends, I can’t bring myself to care when there are far more important things to worry about.
“I didn’t mean you had to suffer. I thought doing things the way we always have would help.”
“Nothing helps,” Stell mutters. “It hurts every day. Sometimes more, sometimes less.”
“I know.” Why did I assume they weren’t thinking what I was? I need to find a way to stop my sisters’ pain. “When does it hurt less? What makes it hurt less?”
As one, the twins look at Natalie.
I don’t need them to voice what they’re thinking—it’s written all over their faces. And haven’t I thought the same? Thought how much better things are with Natalie here?
“Natalie.” Her name is a whisper. I’m not sure if I’m voicing the twins’ thoughts or asking for her help.
“Why don’t we eat, then watch a movie. We can talk in the morning about the situation at camp and once we’ve dealt with that, we can talk about you all moving to Baton Rouge with me.” Her words settle the tension in the room with surprising ease.
Is it the sound of her voice or the promise in her words?
Or her?
I can’t deny the woman has been a savior. And it’s not just me she’s helped, it’s all of us. She’s the voice of reason and calm—the stability—we’ve been lacking since Mom and Dad died.
And while that’s a lot of pressure to put on a stranger’s shoulders, she seems more than willing to share the burden of our grief and struggles.
It’s unfair, and I hate that I’m relying on her so much, but I’ve been drowning. And I’m man enough to accept that I need help.
I might be too proud to ask for it most of the time, but she doesn’t make me feel incapable or ashamed when I do.
Reaching for a slice of pizza, I say, “Candace is due to wake in about an hour. I’ll grab a quick shower after a few pieces of pizza if you take care of clean up.”
Natalie looks at the twins in silent question then gives them an encouraging smile. “We can do that, right, girls?”
“Yeah, we need to do a load of washing tonight.”
I smile. “You don’t have—shi-oot!” I drop my pizza and race for the laundry.
I cannot believe I forgot to start the washer.
Again.
Here I am ready to gloat about doing the washing and as usual all I’ve managed to do is put the dirty clothes in the machine.
The girls are laughing behind me, and I can hear them telling Natalie in halted words between their giggles about my dubious laundry skills.
It’s embarrassing. Pushing a button to start the machine isn’t hard. Fuck, even my fourteen-year-old sisters can do it.
