34. Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Luke

I wake up to the relentless bzzz-bzzz-bzzz from the intercom. It sounds like it’s either stuck or someone is doing their very best to get our attention. Cody is luckily still fast asleep, snoring softly next to me. Before we left the hospital, the doctor sent us home with some pain meds that would allow him to get a good sleep. The surgery has been scheduled for Wednesday morning, and Cody was, to put it mildly, freaking out. We got home at around 10 am and I have no idea what time it is now. All I know is that it feels like someone has chucked a shitload of sand down my throat. My mouth is so fucking dry, I’m sure I’ll resemble a sand blasting machine if I try to talk.

Getting out of bed, I throw on the clothes from yesterday, not giving a damn that I probably reek worse than a morgue during a power outage. I don’t care. Whoever is banging down my house right now—yes, the earsplitting bzzz-bzzz-bzzz has now been replaced by an impatient pounding on our apartment door—is just going to have to deal with a less hygienic version of yours truly. Before I leave the bedroom, I make sure that Cody is still sound asleep. As I tuck the blanket up around him, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, he murmurs something unintelligible, but luckily doesn’t wake up. Good, one less person—the Unidentified Intercom Buzzer —to go on my shit list. Yes, I have a shit list. It’s not long, but I am, after all, my mother’s son and aside from my third-grade math teacher, Mr. Lindon, topping the list, it’s pretty much a replica of hers.

“I’m coming!” I yell down the hallway, banging my foot against… something , cursing out the Bothersome Door Banger, which I’ve now named the most annoying person on the planet. On my way through the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Getting rid of the cap, I chuck down most of it on my way to the front door. Throwing it open, I boom, “What in the ever-loving fu—”

Something, or rather someone, pushes past me inside the apartment, a heavy cloud of nauseatingly flowery perfume nearly knocking me out. I just register something small and pink before the intruder starts yelling, the sound ear-piercingly shrill, “Cody?! Baby?! Cody?!”

Oh no, you don’t! No one wakes up my boyfriend when he’s trying to catch up on sleep the day before the surgery that will determine the rest of his career. And baby ? No fucking way, lady. You don’t get to baby my baby.

“Can I help you?” I hiss, trailing after the interloper, intersecting her—because it is, in fact, a she —in the doorway to the kitchen. I make myself broad—not that I really have to—because the pink intruder is tiny.

“Where’s Cody?” she spits, trying to push past me as I reach out, putting my hand against the doorjamb and blocking her way. Her face is expressionless, but from the way she taps her high-heeled boot against the floor, I assume that she’s mad. Or annoyed. Or both. That’s when I know.

“Ms. Mitchell, I presume.” I keep my voice low but firm. “Cody is asleep,” I hold up my hand in front of her warningly. “And before you get any ideas, he’s going to stay that way. He’s got surgery Wednesday morning.”

“Cody is not having surgery,” she huffs indignantly while eyeing me like I’m a bothersome bug. “He doesn’t need it. He’s fine. He just needs his mom.” Uhhh, excuse me, lady, but that’s the last thing he needs; the Wicked Witch of Pinkville. Funny how she shows up now when she’s been a no-show all the time Cody’s been playing on the team. While her socials have been overflowing with posts about Cody’s success—and her success as a mom, obviously—she hasn’t been to one of his games yet. There’s nothing surprising about that from what Cody’s told me. Long-distance micromanaging has apparently been her MO for as long as he can remember. But I guess now that her golden egg is in jeopardy, she shows.

Taking a calming breath, I try to keep my voice as steady and patient as I can before I lose it completely.

“Can I offer you something, ma’am?” She winces at the ma’am , while licking her collagen-inflated lips. “A cup of coffee, perhaps?” Or arsenic? “Then I can give you the details from the hospital visit.” The last part seems to catch her attention because I bet that no matter how persuasive Mommie Dearest can be, no hospital is giving out patient information on anyone who’s not a minor.

She pretends to look bored as she mumbles something sounding like even his own mother on her way to the kitchen, her ridiculously high boots tip-tapping against the floor. Offering her a seat at the kitchen island, I put the coffee on, then rest my back against the counter, arms crossed in front of my chest. From what Cody has told me, I don’t want to give his mom an inch. Hell, I’ve witnessed it myself. How she bombards him with calls when he doesn’t answer her texts.

“He’s not having surgery!” she repeats, pouting, tapping her bright pink nails against the island. Oh man, Cody was right. She’s some piece of work. But so am I. They don’t call me the Comeback Kid for nothin’. She’s got another thing coming if she thinks she can push me around in my own apartment. I ignore her while I pour two cups of coffee. Placing hers in front of her on the island, I put on a sugary sweet expression.

“Milk, ma’am? Sugar?”

“I’m fine,” she cuts me off.

“Suit yourself,” I mumble under my breath, taking a seat across from her.

“Ms. Mitchell,” I start, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible, even though I want to rip this woman’s head off. Not only because of her recent stunt, showing up like this, but for every nasty word she’s ever said to Cody. And most importantly, for keeping Cody from seeing his dad and brother. Because sitting in front of her right now, there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s exactly what she’s done over the years. She’s kept Cody from the two people he loves the most. It all makes sense when you encounter her in real life. Her inflated ego fills the kitchen. The indifference in her eyes when she regards me. Like I’m a mere obstacle. An annoying bug in her line of vision. Trying to rein in my building anger, I clear my throat.

“There was no doubt about the orthopedic surgeon’s verdict. Cody needs his meniscus repaired and…” I hold up my hand when she tries to interrupt me, “he should’ve had it right after the initial injury.”

“He doesn’t need it,” she spits, completely ignoring what I’ve just shared. “What he needs right now is his mother!”

“Ms. Mitchell,” I sigh, brushing at my forehead, a headache building, “if Cody wants to have a career in hockey, he’ll need the surgery. And,” I raise a brow at her, “it was nothing short of neglectful and irresponsible that he didn’t have it in the first place. I can only assume why that was the case.” Take that, Mom. Obviously, the surgeon at UCHealth didn’t say that, but I might as well lay it on thick.

“Don’t you dare!” she yells at me. “I have sacrificed EVERYTHING for that boy. My entire life so that he could play hockey! I will not have some… some punk tell me I’m to blame for this.” She’s trembling, pointing her index finger accusingly at me. “He would be no one if it wer—”

“Mom?” a frail, sleepy voice intermingles with her rant. We both look up, Cody lingering in the door to the kitchen and before I can even react, she jumps from her seat and is by his side.

“Cody, baby,” she coos, trying to straighten his unruly hair with her ridiculously long nails, and I just want to scream, ‘ Don’t touch him! Don’t you fucking touch him! ’ She presses pink kisses against his cheeks, fussing over him, while Cody remains stiff as a board, his eyes connecting with mine.

“Mom, wh—what are you doing here?” he stammers.

“What do you mean ‘ what am I doing here ?’” She laughs all phony, that edge of annoyance still lingering. “My baby is hurt and needs his mommy. Of course, I’m here. I’m always going to be here.” She tilts her head, her hands landing on his shoulders, squeezing them, and I don’t know what passes between them, but Cody looks resigned. Beaten. Fuck this! She’s got another thing coming if she thinks she can just breeze in here and lay down the law.

“Cody, you shouldn’t be up. I’m sorry we woke you, but someone was eager to see you.” I refuse to call that piece of work mom. She’s not worthy of the title. She may have given birth to the most beautiful and precious boy in the world, but she’s not a mother . Don’t get me wrong, she loves the title. She clearly wears it like a goddamn crown, but her wannabe kingdom is built on Cody’s loss of his family, his broken knee and his chronic self-doubt. I’m not going to let her take anything else from him, least of all his future in hockey.

She turns toward me, her fingers still wrapped around Cody’s upper arms like claws. No, like talons. I’m surprised she doesn’t spew fire at me when she speaks.

“My son is coming home with me. Where he belongs.” A whimper leaves Cody’s mouth, and he looks like his legs are about to disappear beneath him. “I’ve already made arrangements at an outpatient physical therapy center in Phoenix. They’ll have him back on the ice in no time. All this nonsense about surgery…” She laughs nonchalantly, shaking her head, her platinum blonde ponytail swinging back and forth. “Quacks, that’s what they are. Just out for money. Cody doesn’t need surgery.” Then, leaning her head in close to a frozen Cody, she purrs venomously, “You don’t need surgery, baby. That’ll ruin you.”

The word ruin lingers in the space between them, and I see it now. I see it so clearly. The level of manipulation and the way she exerts control over Cody. I mean, I knew, of course, that she’s a domineering parent, but witnessing it with my own eyes in real life is something else entirely. It’s almost as if my boyfriend transforms in front of my very eyes from the confident and authoritative player I see on the ice to a small, wounded animal crouching in on itself. And as realization dawns on me, I feel my composure slowly but surely crumble. I’m not a violent person and yes, I know I threatened to fuck Dennis up, but that was just me being mad and overprotective. But right now, there’s nothing I crave more than to rearrange this woman’s fake face. My fingers positively itch with the need to just mess her up. But being in jail while Cody has surgery won’t do. So instead, I try to keep my tone of voice as calm and steady as possible.

“You’re not taking him anywhere,” I say, my eyes fixated on hers. “He’s not going anywhere with you. He stays with me and he’s having surgery in the morning.” And, of course, the queen herself ignores me. She blatantly ignores me.

“You’re not having surgery, Cody,” she hisses between her teeth. “You know what that means, right, baby?” I want to rip off her head because she’s got some nerve strutting in here in her ugly-ass rhinestone boots and way too skinny jeans, calling my man baby . She obviously didn’t get the memo. He’s my baby. “Six months in hockey might as well be a lifetime,” she pants. “If you have the surgery, they’ll drop you faster than you can spell loser . Then you’re finished. No team will pick you up. You’ll be worthless then. Worthless. Just like your father. No Manning ever accomplished anything.” Manning?

Something shifts inside Cody at that last part. I can tell because his shoulders slump and his bottom lip begins shaking. As fat tears start trailing down his cheeks and that word—that awful, hateful word—goes on repeat in my head, I reach the end of my patience. Worthless? Worthless? Cody isn’t worthless. He’s fucking everything !

“I think you should leave, ma’am. Cody needs his rest.” Her response is to laugh at me, shaking her head like I’m delusional.

Turning back to Cody, she coos, her voice sugary sweet, “Let’s go pack your stuff, baby.” Cody looks at me, panic written across his face, a silent plea in his eyes. And I just lose it. I fucking lose it like I lost it when Dennis targeted Cody— my Cody —the other night.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, lady. Please leave or I’ll throw you out…” on your fucking ass . I’m trembling, and I just know that any second the infamous lid is going to blow off the kettle.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she huffs. “No one’s asking you, young man. I’m his mother . I know what’s best for Cody. Right, baby?” Cody remains frozen in his spot, his eyes still fixed on mine. I smile at him reassuringly, mouthing we’ve got this just like I do countless times during a game. He tips his chin, just a fraction, but it’s like he’s determined to move a damn mountain if he has to. My baby looks so fierce when he tips his chin like that. It’s the same tip he throws our opponents on the ice when they come rushing toward him. It’s Cody’s bring it, I dare you tip.

“I’m having the surgery, Mom,” he says quietly. “I’m staying here with Luke and I’m having the surgery. And Dad did accomplish something. He made me. And Danny. Your sons, Mom. I’m a Manning. I was never a Mitchell. I’m my father’s son.” His voice is unwavering, his gaze not leaving mine. I’m so proud of him. I know that in a few seconds, once his words register, all hell is going to break loose, but this moment is Cody’s and Cody’s alone. For the first time in maybe ever, he’s standing up to his mom, reclaiming a name that was apparently stolen from him. He’s putting himself first. It’s magnificent to behold and my heart just spills over with how much I care about him. His mom must sense it, too. The sheer determination in Cody’s voice telling her she’s about to lose this battle.

In a flash, she turns toward me, digging her finger at me, her eyes shooting daggers.

“You did this! You!” she thunders, her entire body shivering. “You’re going to ruin him!” she screams theatrically. Then she turns back toward Cody, her voice nothing but a low threat, “If you go ahead with that surgery. If you choose him over your own mother, then you’re on your own.” She proceeds to brush her eyes, sobbing demonstratively. “After everything I’ve done for you, Cody. All my sacrifices. All the money I’ve spe—”

“I’m sorry, Mom, but I gotta do this.” Cody reaches awkwardly for her shoulder, but she pushes him away.

“I’m not having it! I’ll go to the courts. I’ll have you deemed un—” And that’s it. That’s the final straw. The lid is no more. It just blew right off. Threatening her own son in our apartment when he’s at his most vulnerable finally does it for me.

“Get the fuck outta here, lady, or I swear to God that I’ll throw you all the way back to fucking Arizona myself!” My voice is shaking, and I have to clench my fists forcefully to not make good on my threat this very second.

“How dare you talk to me like this!” she steps all the way up in my face, pushing out her chest. “I’m his mother!” she hisses. “Who are you ?”

“I’m his boyfriend,” I say quietly, as fury is replaced by disbelief on her face once my words register. Or at least, I think it is because with all the Botox she’s sporting, it’s hard to tell, really. “I’m the guy who loves your son more than anything and I’ll be damned if you’re gonna prance in here and tell him what to do. You nearly ruined his career once. I’m not gonna let you do it again. So, this is the last time I’ll be asking, lady. Please, get the hell out of my apartment,” I grit.

“You love me?” a soft voice fills the room and when I look up, I’m met with the most sparkling granite gray ever. I nod, shrugging, because this was not the way I wanted to tell Cody that I love him. In a kitchen brawl with his mom. But I guess some things are difficult to plan.

“I do,” I grin stupidly, pushing past Cody’s mom, who’s been reduced to a nameless, faceless extra in our love story. “I so fucking do,” I laugh, grabbing both his cheeks when I reach him.

“I’ll call you later, Mom,” Cody manages to force out, his eyes swimming, pink flowers blooming across his cheeks, spreading down his neck.

“Yeah, Mom ,” I call out over my shoulder. “He’ll call you after the surgery.” Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

“Don’t bother!” she spits. “You’re on your own now,” she points her finger warningly at Cody, her pink handbag swinging ominously from her arm, the words Boss Lady spelled out in rhinestones on the front. “Don’t come crawling back when your career lies in ruins,” she yells, the tap-tap-tap of her retreating footsteps followed by a loud bang when she slams the door behind her.

“Luke,” Cody whispers.

“You’re not alone,” I say, leaning in, catching his lips between mine. He sighs into my mouth, shivering beneath the palms of my hands. “You’re not alone,” I repeat, pressing light kisses to the corner of his mouth and the tip of his chin. “You’ll never be alone again.” He chases my lips, smiling against them. He tastes of sadness over the loss of the only parent he had left, but he tastes of happiness too. He tastes of a future filled with more kisses, more victories, and more I love yous. We just got to get out on the other side. Together.

“Did you mean it, Luke?” he speaks against my neck, his voice muffled. “That you love me?” I nod, breathing him in, filling my lungs to the brim with the sweetest scent in the world.

“I did,” I rasp. “I do. I love you, Cody.” His chest heaves against mine, his heart beating as he tilts his head, his gaze connecting with mine.

“I love you too, Luke. So very, very much.”