18. Robbie

We're done with warmups, and the starting lines for the red and green team are getting ready for the puck drop when the watch on my wrist buzzes with an incoming call. I recognize my mom's number, but let it go to voicemail. She knows how big a deal today is for these kids. I'll call her back after the first mini period.

My watch stops, then the buzz starts again. And again.

"Spags." I wave over my teammate, eyes glued to the small square screen on my wrist, waiting for her to text me with some context. It never comes.

"Yeah Dad?"

I roll my eyes at the nickname, but point to my watch. "Do me a favor and grab my phone? Mom keeps calling."

"Mom as in Vera? Or Mom as in—"

"My mom," I snarl the words, but the kid just laughs and shrugs.

"It was a legit question."

No, it wasn't. It was crafted just to annoy me, but my watch is buzzing again and I don't want to argue with the kid. I point off the ice and Spags gives a little salute before hightailing it past the players' bench. Normally we'd do these scrimmages one at a time in a sort of round robin tournament, but with coach Brad gone, it's me and Spags mostly holding down the fort.

The mini teams aren't using coaches, anyway. They came up with their own lines; they make their own calls about shift changes, and they're calling the shots. The other assistants and I are here to act as referees and linesmen. The whole point is to give these kids a chance to take initiative, show off their leadership potential.

The two centers meet me at the blue line and shake hands. They lower their sticks and watch me as I test the weight of the puck in my hands.

"We've got this," Marlowe says to his opponent and the other kid nods.

I back pedal out of the way as the puck hits the ice and both kids lunge for it. The snick of their sticks is a familiar sound in my ears. Not familiar is the look of worry on Spags' face as he jogs back toward the bench. My phone pressed to his ear.

"Yeah, I've got him right here." He says into the device, his blue eyes boring into mine as he chews on his bottom lip. Even with the patchy facial hair he has growing in, he looks about twelve years old. His eyes blink fast as he holds the phone out. "You're gonna want to take this, Robbie."

His use of my first name concerns me. Vic's the only one on the team who calls me Robbie. Most stick with Oakes. Spags and the other rookies routinely call me Dad. I swear just to get under my skin. There's a sinking weight in my gut and a roaring in my ears. I nestle my phone against my shoulder and step off the ice, passing Spags. We nod at each other as I pass, and he takes my place as referee.

"Mom?" I can't get enough air into my chest. "What's wrong? Is it Dad?"

"No honey," my mom's voice echoes through my speaker. She sounds distant, a bit distracted. "Dad and I are okay." There's a long pause and I feel my heart stop. I know what she's about to say before she I hear the words, " it's Vera ," and I drop heavily onto one of the metal spectator benches.

"Is she…" my voice cracks and my shoulders shake as I suck in air. "What does she…"

"She's okay," my mom says. She's using the same voice she used to feed me when I woke up with bad dreams. "There was an accident."

My mind spins to twisted metal, a screech of brakes, the wail of sirens.

"Robbie? Robert?"

I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't —

My mom is still talking.

"Her mom fell this morning and was taken to Beacon. She hit her head so they aren't ready to release her yet."

So many emotions hit me at once that I feel dizzy, my stomach twisting in nauseated loops. Relief that she's okay. She isn't hurt, or dead, or dying. I didn't get her back just to have her ripped away all over again. Worry that she's alone. She's probably scared. What if she's wondering where I am? Did she try to call me? And I didn't pick up? Did she have to send my mother to hunt me down like an errant child?

"Vera called from the hospital. She didn't want to bother you today, not with the scrimmage, but I thought you'd want to know."

She hadn't wanted to bother me. A medical emergency with her mother, and she'd assumed I'd want her to not bother me .

Because , a little voice said in the back of my brain, last time it came down to Vera and hockey, you chose hockey.

I'm not going to do that again.

Except I let Brad go, and we're already stretched thin running the scrimmages. I can't just step out.

"Mom?" I'd almost forgot she was still on the phone. "She's not alone right now, right? Someone's with her?"

"Of course, honey. I wouldn't leave her alone for this. I stepped into the hall to call you, but she's not alone. I'm here. Her dad's on his way. I just thought you should know now."

I nod before I remember mom can't see me. "Yes," I say. "You're right." I'm glad she told me.

I tell my mom I love her and slide my phone into the pocket of my sweats. Out on the ice, Marlowe zings a shot right into Gavin's glove and they reset for another faceoff. Spags drops the puck and skates over, concern still etched across his face.

"Is Vera going to be okay?"

I nod. "I think so. They're keeping her mom for observation."

This feels wrong, standing here, watching the kids shuffle passes back and forth. I just can't see a way to make this work. Not without someone to fill in for me. I suppose we could cut the scrimmage short. Tomorrow is Saturday, but we could reschedule the games.

"So, what are you still doing here?" Spags asks, and I narrow my brows as I look out over the ice.

"I can't just leave." Can I? "We'd have to reschedule the games."

"Or," Jack says as one of the other assistants lifts his arms to signal the puck, "I can handle it for you."

My gut instinct is to say no, I'd never trust Spaeglin with something this important. Not when the kid eats jokes and shits rainbows for breakfast, but I don't have a ton of options at the moment, so I stop and consider it. Spags is a damn good hockey player. He knows how scrimmages work. He could easily handle the games. The question is, would he be mature enough to keep things on track? Or would I come back to some mess of chaos as he pitted the players against each other, Hunger Games style?

"You'd do that?"

Spags' flinch is so small I almost miss it, and I force down my next words before I can ask if he's capable of supervising the kids. It suddenly feels cruel to say out loud.

"I know I goof off a lot. I know I don't take much seriously." He props his hands on his hips and his throat bobs as he swallows hard. "But you, Vic, Tristan, now Vera. You guys are my family. I would do anything for you."

He holds my eye contact.

"Go take care of your girl. For both of us. I have this under control. I promise."

"Okay." I nod once, then again a little faster. "Okay. You're in charge, Jack. Thanks." I clap him on the shoulder as I step around him, and I don't look back as I make my way out of the arena, not even as he takes the ice and I hear the whistle blow.

He's got this.

I've got her.

I make the drive to the hospital on autopilot, turning left on main and then past the Boyle farm. I pull into the parking lot and am halfway to the main entrance when I realize the car is still running. I talk a minute to collect myself, counting out my breaths, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest. I am no help to Vera if I'm in a state of panic.

The woman sitting behind the welcome desk directs me to a room on the third floor and I move as fast as I can toward the elevator without breaking into a run.

The door to the room is open, and I see Vera slumped in one of the plastic-coated chairs before I see her mom asleep in the bed. As if she senses my presence, Vera's head lifts and her eyes meet mine. Hers are red-rimmed and swollen, her hair tangled around her face. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, even now, and my heart twists deep in my chest.

"Hey," I say, and open my arms, "I'm here."

She's burrowed against my chest before the words fade from the room, and I wrap both my arms around her in a tight hug.

"I've got you," I say into the top of her head, my lips pressing kisses to her scalp. "What do you need?"

I feel her shoulders tremble before I feel the tears wetting my sweatshirt and I pull her even further into me. I want to stand between her and every fear, every bad thought.

"Talk to me Vera."

She cranes her neck, looking at her mom tucked into the hospital issued sheets. It's been a while since I've seen Cecelia Novak. She didn't look this tiny at dinner, but now I can't help but think she seems frail, utterly breakable in the hospital bed.

"I—" a sob breaks out of Vera's mouth and I tug her toward the door and out into the hallway. I press her mouth to my shoulder, cradling the back of her head. Keeping her sobs muffled for her own privacy.

Take whatever you need, baby . I run my nose along her temple. I can hold everything together for the both of us. I rock her back and forth, whispering soft words of comfort. They're nonsensical, but the low sound seems to help.

"She slipped on the rug." Vera says, minutes or hours later, "We were arguing and she slipped on the rug and slammed her head against the counter."

There's no space between us, nowhere for her to go. I pull her tighter anyway.

"It's not your fault." I say, even as she shakes her head. "It was an accident, Vera. It's not like you pushed her."

"Not physically," she hiccups, "But I should've just let it go. She was upset and confused, and I was more worried about being right than helping her."

Her whole body tenses and she rears her head back, almost slamming her skull into my chin. I rub my hand between her shoulder blades, but it doesn't seem to help.

"Nobody's doing anything." Her voice cracks. "I told them. I told them there was something wrong before she fell. Like a stroke or something, she was acting weird and—"

"Hold up." I frown. "What do you mean?"

"She was stuck, Robbie. I was back in high school and she was warning me about…" She trails off, eyes darting away from mine, and I know what they were arguing about. Me. Me leaving her.

"They're acting like only the fall is a concern, but I was there. I heard what she was saying. It wasn't normal. She wasn't normal. And no one seems to give a flying fuck." She pulls in a shaky breath and ends on a sob. "They looked at her eyes, asked me if she lost consciousness, and then stashed us in here. I'm aware that all of my knowledge of emergency medicine comes from House and Grey's Anatomy, but shouldn't they do more? What if it's a tumor? Why aren't they doing imaging?"

Looking into her panicked green eyes, I realize something that sinks into my stomach like a lead weight.

"Where's your dad, baby?" I cup her cheek and give a cursory glance around the room. "Does he need to know what's going on?"

She shakes her head, rolling those pretty eyes toward the tiled ceiling. "Not you too. He's on his way. He had to go to the next town over to mail something, but it doesn't matter. I'm here. My mom can give her permission for the tests. They can't just wait for him to come back."

They can if he has…

At the end of the hall, the elevator dings and the door slides open. Arthur rushes out, hair standing on end, fingerings worrying the baseball hat he has clutched against his chest. I feel Vera relax against me. She takes the first deep breath I've witnessed since dropping her off this morning.

"Daddy." She pulls out of my arms and latches onto her father, a kid seeking comfort from the parent they hope will put everything to right. Vera and her dad are the same height, but she snuggles into his chest, as if they aren't on even footing. "Thank god you're here. Mom fell and hit her head, but before that she—"

"It's okay honey," her dad squeezes her tight. "I'm here. I've got this." And for once I'm willing to back off and let her dad take point here.

Because it's one thing to find out her mother has Alzheimer's. It's another to learn she was the last to know. And she's wrong. The hospital can't do anything without her dad when he has power of attorney.