23. Brock

The morning light filters through the curtains, painting golden streaks across the room. I lie in bed, my mind a battleground of conflicting thoughts, each one vying for dominance. Tierney"s persistent presence gnaws at my sanity like a relentless parasite, and I"m running out of strategies to repel her advances.

I could go to the media with everything and clear my name but I don't feel that it would help. Tierney is a master manipulator, in playing the victim. As I look back now, I see how many times she tugged at my empathy to get the reaction she wanted.I can't allow my name to be tarnished by her just continuing with more outrageous lies. What's that fable about the donkey and the lion? The lion doesn't need to argue with the donkey about whether the grass is green or not, he's not worth his time.

That's Tierney for me.

I don't want Breckin and Layla to get dragged into this more than they already have.

Despite my best efforts, sleep has eluded me, leaving me to wrestle with my thoughts in the solitude of the night. But even now, as dawn breaks on a new day, there"s no respite from the turmoil brewing within.

I wish I was holding Layla right now. I wish that Tierney would disappear.

Tierney"s incessant pursuit is like a relentless storm, threatening to upend the fragile equilibrium I"ve painstakingly built. This new constant presence of the camera crew only serves to exacerbate the situation, their invasive lenses turning every moment of my life into a spectacle for the world to see.

I roll over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling as I run through my options once more. I could confront Tierney directly, but I know from past experience that she"s not one to be reasoned with. Her determination is as unwavering as it is unsettling, and I fear that any attempt to dissuade her would only fuel her obsession further.

Another option would be to enlist the help of the production team, to make them see the damage their presence is causing. But I know that"s a long shot at best. They"re here to capture drama and conflict, not to concern themselves with the well-being of their subjects.

And then there"s Breckin and Layla, the bright spots in an otherwise bleak landscape. Their presence brings me solace, a brief respite from the chaos that surrounds me. But even they are not immune to Tierney"s relentless pursuit, and I fear for their safety as much as my own.

I sigh heavily. I can't continue to sit here and wallow. I have to get up and take action.

I climb out of bed, shower, and then go into the kitchen. I put on a pot of coffee and then start making breakfast.

I stand at the stove, spatula in hand, as I carefully pour batter onto the sizzling griddle. The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the tantalizing aroma of pancakes.

I hum a tune under my breath, lost in the simple rhythm of cooking, a brief reprieve from the chaos that seems to permeate every other aspect of my life. But my solitude is short-lived as I hear the soft padding of footsteps behind me.

Turning around, I see Breckin shuffling into the kitchen, his hair tousled and eyes still heavy with sleep. A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I watch him make his way over to me.

"Morning, Mr. Brock," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Morning, buddy," I reply, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Sleep well?"

Breckin nods, yawning widely as he leans against the counter. "Yeah, I guess. What are you making?"

"Pancakes," I answer, gesturing to the griddle. "Want to help?"

His eyes light up at the suggestion, and he eagerly nods his head. "Yes!"

I hand him a spatula, and together we fall into a comfortable rhythm, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. Breckin"s laughter fills the air as he regales me with tales of his latest adventures, his excitement infectious.

"You"ve got to flip it just right," he explains, demonstrating with a flourish as he sends a pancake soaring through the air. "Like this!"

I watch in awe as the pancake lands perfectly back on the griddle, a proud grin spreading across Breckin"s face. "Impressive," I admit, giving him a playful nudge. "Think you can teach an old dog new tricks?"

"Of course, Mr. Brock. It"s all in the wrist!"

As we continue to cook, the kitchen fills with the sound of our laughter, a symphony of joy in an otherwise quiet morning. But our blissful moment is interrupted as I catch sight of Layla standing in the doorway, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Morning, beautiful," I tease, motioning for her to join us.

Layla steps into the kitchen, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watches Breckin and me bumble through our pancake-making endeavors. "Looks like you two are having fun."

"We are," Breckin chimes in, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Mr. Brock is learning our secrets."

Layla laughs, leaning against the counter as she watches us work. "I can see that. Mind if I join in?"

"Of course not," I reply, stepping aside to make room for her. "The more, the merrier."

And so, the three of us fall into step, a well-oiled machine churning out pancakes with ease. The kitchen is filled with laughter and chatter.

"What is happening outside?" Eric asks as he walks into the house. "It's like a zoo. Did Taylor Swift come to visit or something?"

"Well, it would seem that my house is a hub for professional hockey players. Maybe that's the problem," Layla teases as she hugs her brother.

"Do you always just walk in without knocking?" I tease.

"He does have a key, but he should learn to knock."

"Why would I knock? Pancake morning and it's not Saturday?"

"He's new around here," Layla laughs. "He doesn't know the schedule yet."

"There's a schedule for pancakes?"

"It's a Saturday morning tradition when Breck comes home from Uncle Eric's. Might also be why Eric needs to go on a diet."

"That would explain why Breckin is such a natural at pancake flipping."

"He's had lots of practice and taught by the world's best flipper," Eric chuckles. "But seriously, what's happening outside."

"Tierney," I reply off handedly, gesturing toward Breckin.

Eric nods, understanding that we don't want to go into too much detail because of little ears. I'm certain he can infer just by me saying Tierney's name though.

"It's too cold to play hockey outside anyway," he shrugs. "You got the basement ready for practice?"

"Yes, Sir, me and Mr. Brock worked on passing yesterday."

"You put in so much work, bud. I'm proud of you," Eric grins as he hugs his nephew.

"I got that from you," Breckin grins.

We talk about the day's events and Breckin is excited to tell us what he's going to do in tomorrow's game. We finish eating and work together to clean up the mess.

"Practice time!" Breckin exclaims as he tugs on my hand to pull me into the basement.

I laugh at how excited he is to play, just like I've always been since I was his age.

"I'm going to run on the treadmill since it's still so cold outside," Layla interjects.

"Let me run to the bathroom, I'll meet you in the basement," I tell Breckin.

He and Eric go downstairs and I walk to the front window and look outside. Tierney is still outside with a camera crew.

"I think there's more of them," Layla sighs from behind me.

"Did you call the police about it?"

"Tyler tried to get them to leave but they're on public property. I'm worried about going to Breckin's practice and them following us."

"There's no need to worry about it now. It's almost been twenty-four hours, surely the camera crew will get bored and leave."

"Here's hoping," she says sarcastically before walking into her room.

Maybe if I go outside and Tierney can confront me then she'll get the shots she wants and give it up?

I take a deep breath and then step outside. The camera crew hovers nearby, their presence a constant reminder of the intrusion into our lives. I square my shoulders, steeling myself for the confrontation that awaits.

"Can I help you?" I ask, my tone firm as I address Tierney and the crew. "What's it going to take for you guys to leave?"

Tierney smirks, her gaze cold and calculating. "Oh, Brock, always so eager to play the hero. But this time, you"re not the one in the spotlight."

I narrow my eyes, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. "What do you mean?"

Tierney gestures towards the house. "We"re here for Layla. She"s the real star of the show. She's the homewrecker."

"Layla hasn"t done anything wrong. She doesn"t deserve to be dragged into your drama."

Tierney laughs, a harsh sound that cuts through the air like a knife. "Oh, please. Spare me the righteous indignation. You know as well as I do that Layla"s been at the center of this from the beginning. She knew we were a couple and went after you."

I shake my head, refusing to let her words sway me. "That"s not true, and you know it. Layla is a good person, and I won"t let you attack her like this."

Tierney"s smirk fades, replaced by a look of thinly veiled contempt. "You"re making a mistake, Brock. Even your alcoholic bitch of a mother thinks so."

"My mother"s opinion doesn"t matter," I say through gritted teeth. "And neither does yours. You and I haven"t been a couple for months, and I have the texts to prove it."

I turn to face the camera crew, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside me. "If you don"t leave now, you"re going to look just as bad as Tierney when this is all said and done."

"Don't listen to him, he doesn't know how to do anything but lie."

"You have a lot of room to talk," I roll my eyes. "I've tried to play nice, Tierney. I know you're feelings are hurt over all of this, but I will not let you come here and attack Layla and disrupt her life anymore than you already have. Leave now, or you'll regret the day you met me."

"Did you get that threat on camera?" Tierney asks with a grin.

"Yup," a younger guy laughs.

I walk back into the house. I can hear Tierney screaming after me. One of the cameramen follows me all the way up to the house before I get inside. He's trying to film through the windows.

I call the police. That's enough to get them kicked out, it's stalking at this point. I take video of the guy knocking on the doors and windows and trying to see inside with his camera.

Twenty minutes later, the police are outside and escorting them away. I make my way into the basement.

I join in with Breckin and Eric's game. Layla is in the corner lost in her world of running on the treadmill. She has no clue that I got rid of the camera crew. I'll tell her when she's done.

Sometime later, I grip my hockey stick tightly, my eyes fixed on the puck as it whizzes across the makeshift rink we"ve set up in the basement. Breckin runs circles around me, his movements fluid and graceful as he darts between Eric and me with ease.

"Nice try!" Breckin shouts, a mischievous grin plastered across his face as he deftly steals the puck from me.

I laugh as I watch him dart away, his energy infectious as it fills the room. Eric joins in the fray, his competitive spirit matching Breckin's stride for stride as they battle for control of the puck.

"Come on, old man!" Eric taunts, a playful glint in his eye as he maneuvers around me with surprising agility.

I roll my eyes, determined not to let them get the best of me. But as Breckin executes a daring spin move, sending the puck sailing past me and into the net, I am in awe.

"Nice shot, buddy!" I exclaim, giving him a high five as he moves past me.

Breckin grins, his cheeks flushed with excitement as he revels in his victory. "Thanks, Mr. Brock. Did you see that, Mom?"

Layla, who has been watching from the sidelines, smiles warmly at him, her eyes filled with pride. "I sure did, sweetie. You're getting better every day."

"Shoot," Eric says as he glances at his watch. "I told Dad I'd help him with something today. I should go."

"Thanks for coming to play, Uncle Eric," Breckin says as he rushes to give him a hug.

With Eric's departure, the three of us settle into a comfortable rhythm.

Breckin grows more adventurous, attempting increasingly daring plays that leave us all laughing with delight. He takes a spill at one point, crashing into the wall with a dramatic flourish that has us all doubled over with laughter.

"Are you okay, champ?" I ask, rushing over to help him up.

Breckin nods, his face flushed with embarrassment as he brushes himself off. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a little carried away."

Layla joins us, her laughter mingling with ours as she wraps her arms around Breckin in a reassuring hug. "You were amazing out there, sweetie. I'm so proud of you. But why don't we take a little break?"

"I could use a break. Can we have ice cream?"

"Absolutely," Layla laughs.

I watch as the two of them climb the stairs and I feel so much joy and happiness. This is what I want for the rest of my life. Layla. Breckin. Husband. Father. This life. This family.