Unsteady

by Peyton Corinne

No deal needed—if she keeps looking at me like this, I’ll do anything she says.

“They’re busy. I can take care of the boys. Any other questions?” Thousands. Like Why are you so angry? Why do you skate like you’re on fire? Who is so bad that you listed them as DO NOT ANSWER in your phone? Are you safe? Are you okay? Still, I shake my head. Crumbs. I’ll eat every last one.

She stops there, but the unspoken words are just as loud. The look in her eyes says I wanted to help, and this is all I have and I see you.

I wonder if I could convince her to She’s the Man herself onto the men’s hockey team so I never have to be on the ice without her.

And without thinking, I drop a kiss to her forehead and pick up my gear bag, turning to leave the room before I can consider how ridiculous that move might have been.

The girl can read chapter-long filthy sex scenes without a flinch, but tell her a boy thinks she’s pretty and she turns into a tomato.

“And tell your little friend up there to watch her fucking back. I don’t need unbruised knuckles to skate.”

I’m like a replica of his youth. Is that what he sees? My son. My son. My son.

“In the hospital,” I begin, looking at my hands splayed on the oak. “I couldn’t really see anything or remember much that I could. But I could hear you, over everyone that was there. I kept hearing you.” I can still smell that harsh antiseptic mixed with metal, can remember my hands trying to pat down and rub at my unseeing eyes, until a nurse had to hold them down. My mother was crying, but I could just faintly tell because the loudest noise was my father’s sobbing yells. “My son! My son—help him. Please.” And then, “I can’t live without him. Not my son—he can’t do this to me.”

It’s still hard being around my teammates and faking smiles, but there is a wound in me that hasn’t healed. It won’t happen overnight. I have to remind myself of that a lot.

“I don’t know what I’m going to have to do to prove to you and Oliver that I’m not leaving—and honestly, I don’t care what it is, I’ll do it.”

“You don’t need to say anything right now, okay? I can love you enough for the both of us.”

“Do you have one for us?” “Only a million,” I want to say. Rhys Koteskiy could never be confined to just one song—he’s a symphony, a never-ending playlist that I want to repeat forever. “I’ll think of one,” I say, curling against his skin. He’s burned into me, I think, like a brand. I’ll never recover from him.

Loving me, loving my brothers—it’s easy for him. My chest tightens, and keeps squeezing until I’m almost sure I’ll die.

“Say it again,” he demands. “I love you.”

It always feels like the first time with Rhys, and I wonder if, years from now, when we have kids and a yard and a dog, I’ll still feel this way.

“I’ll be here for whatever you need.” Even if it’s not me.

Sadie yanks his scrambling body back as he howls at me; she shoves a little wool cap over his curls before releasing him into the snow, and he slams into my legs in a hug. “Missed you,” he mumbles.

“I love all of you.” Liam giggles. “I love you too, Rhys.” I unlock the doors and Oliver waits a bit before getting half out of the car. He turns back to me, because he’s on my side of the car, and nods. “Love you.”

I want to assure them, to tell Rhys that I’m fine. But I can’t find the words. The tears come easily then, and Anna Koteskiy holds me until they stop.

I love Rhys Koteskiy. And I’m learning that I do deserve him. I’m never letting go of his hand again.

Now, Oliver gets to go to private hockey academies and training camps, if he wants. Now, Liam gets to see his grades and art projects displayed on a fridge that doesn’t contain beer bottles and empty promises. Now, I can watch them flourish and know that when I sleep at night, they’re happy. That I did it. I got them out.

“Pancakes today, huh?” I ask, smiling as I come up behind Oliver and comb my hands through his shaggy dark hair. “Means it’s gonna be a good day,” Rhys answers, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “Right, boys?” “Yep,” Liam sings, taking a gargantuan bite of pancakes dripping with syrup and bopping in his seat like he’s dancing to music. “Gonna be a good day ’cause Rhys is asking you to marry—” Rhys’s hand plops over Liam’s mouth while I feel a thud of Oliver kicking Liam under the table. Liam looks thoroughly embarrassed and apologetic as he swallows and ducks his head. “Sorry.”