Odette

25

T ori gasps and grabs my arm. Half of the arena gasped with her; the other half is too distracted by the win to have seen the hit.

"Get up, Dad," she chants, and I wrap my arm around her as we both stare down on the ice. He's not moving. Neither am I, but Tori trembles in my arms. "Come on, Dad. Get up."

The crowd starts to quiet as everyone notices Gavin hasn't gotten up yet. My heart beats wildly. Britton rubs my arm. There's a scuffle on the ice, our guys attacking whoever hit Gavin, but I can't pay attention to that right now.

Finally, after what feels like several long minutes but is really only seconds, Gavin's chest heaves. He tries to get up, but the trainers are there to stop him. Conversations are happening that we can't hear. Gavin shakes his head a few times and I'm relieved at the movement.

"He's going to be okay," Isla says, turning around to assess Tori, who only nods but doesn't say anything.

After a few more minutes, Gavin stands with the help of Cillian and Letty.

"Oh, thank fuck," Tori says, breaking down in tears now that the initial shock has passed. "Can I see him, Isla?"

"I'll see what I can do," she answers. "You two make your way down to the family room. I'll see who I can get in touch with and find out what's going on."

"Thank you, Isla," I say.

"Of course," she says before asking her sister to take Sadie home with her. Meanwhile, I give my keys to Britton and tell her to take my car home. Isla says she'll meet us downstairs, and Tori takes the lead since I have no idea where to go.

It's a long walk to the other side of the stadium, through the throngs of people trying to leave. I hold Tori's hand tightly, not wanting to lose her but also to comfort her, as she's still visibly shaken.

I am, too. But breaking down won't do either of us any good. It's terrifying to watch someone you love quit moving.

Someone I love. Another truth. One I've been too scared to admit. Seeing him lying there makes me not want to fight against it so hard. Because we've missed so much time already. What if we don't have much left?

For months, I've thought maybe it wasn't worth the risk. When really, it's the only thing that is. I could spend the rest of my life without him with the assurance of being lonely and heartsick. Or I can take a leap of faith and maybe finally find the happiness I've so desperately missed.

Sounds like an easy decision when your trauma finally takes a back seat in your life.

We come to a bank of elevators with security standing in front of them.

"Hey, Tori. Hope your dad is okay," one of them says to her, pushing the button.

"Thanks, Sam. I'm sure he is, he's tough."

"He sure is," Sam says, holding his arm over the doors that have opened and letting us in.

We exit the elevator into a long hallway that's eerily quiet compared to the bustling thoroughfare above. It's like a whole other world down here. But as we get farther, we start to hear chatter from members of the press loitering in the hallways. Before we reach them, Tori opens a door on the left that leads into a room filled with sofas, armchairs, and tables. A small table is set up just inside the door and laden with snacks.

A baby cries softly from the corner as several toddlers run in circles around their mothers. I recognize many of the faces, but not all. Isla once told me a lot of the wives with smaller children choose to come down here for the games, where the little ones can run free instead of sitting mostly still in the stands.

Tori takes the first available seat, pulling her knees up to her chin. She holds her phone tight and stares at the blank screen. Probably hoping her dad will text her that he's fine.

"Do you want some water? Or coffee, maybe?"

"No, thank you, . Can you just sit with me?"

"Of course," I say, taking the seat next to her on the sofa and once again wrapping an arm around her.

"I've seen a lot of guys get injured. But never my dad. It used to scare me a lot when I was little. I'd have nightmares about a blade cutting him. I never told him that, I didn't want him to quit for me or anything."

"You kept the fear to yourself," I say. "Something I can understand."

"I'll miss watching him play, but I'm also happy he's retiring. It makes me feel like an asshole to say that."

"You are nothing like an asshole, Victoria," I reassure. "Nothing at all."

A man walks toward us. "Tori," he says when he's close enough.

"Brock? Why are you here? Where's my mom?"

"She's…" he starts to say when Isla walks through the door.

"Hey, Johnnie is going to take you back to where Gavin is. Both of you, go on back," she says, pointing to a door on the far side of the room.

"Thanks, Isla," I say.

As soon as we're through the door, a man wearing a Blades shirt meets us.

"Come with me," he says. "I'll take you to him."

Tori bursts through the door into the room Johnnie takes us to, rushing to her dad, who sits with his back to the door as Caroline stands in front of him, her hands cupping his cheeks.

"I love you," she tells him.

"Dad," Tori cries when she rounds the table he's sitting on. He wraps her in his arms, whispering things into her hair, and Caroline wraps her arms around the both of them.

I stay where I am, just here, holding the door, wondering where I belong in this situation. Tori is the priority, of course.

But how is Caroline here already? And why? And what the fuck did she just say?

And what the fuck am I supposed to do? Interrupt? Wait on the sidelines?

The panic from earlier resurfaces, but now it's mixed with the fear I felt when he was lying on the ice, and the small relief of him getting to his feet, and the love that I finally feel. Tears spill from my eyes. I don't wipe them away. I don't move.

Because Caroline is in my spot. But it's also hers. And I don't know what to fucking do as my heart tells me to run and my head screams don't be so stupid.

This is my only nightmare in life. Falling in love and having it taken from me again. Why is she here? Why is she the first in the room with him? Why does she think she has that right?

Why did he let her? It should be me checking him over. It should be me touching him.

"Ode."

The logical answer is that he wants her here. Her. Not me. She's more important. Like she always was. They were best friends. Are they still? Probably. Why wouldn't they be? They know everything about each other, they've had a lifetime together.

I'm just…what? The distraction? The backup plan? The placeholder until his wife returns?

Someone brushes by me. I don't see who because my eyes are to the ground and blurry from the tears.

"Ode. Pumpkin, come here," Gavin says louder. I blink up and see him, Tori still in his arms but Caroline is gone. "Will you come here? Please."

Unsteadily, I take the steps until I'm standing in front of him, scanning every inch of his face to make sure he's okay. He's pale, but there aren't any marks, no blood.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just got the wind knocked out of me. I think they're going to run me through concussion protocols, just to be sure," he says, reaching to pull my face close to his. "Are you okay?"

"It's terrifying," I say, not explaining that I mean not just the hit he took. I don't say much else, as Tori and I take seats in the chairs against the wall while we wait to see when they'll let him go home. Tori looks ready to fall asleep, obviously wrung out from the stress.

"Tori, go home, get some sleep. I'll call you in the morning."

"Are you sure? I could go home with you. What if someone needs to wake you up every half hour or something?"

"I'm sure, kiddo. I told you, I'm fine."

"Okay," she says, getting up to give him another hug. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too. We'll talk tomorrow."

She waves at me, which I return with a soft smile before she leaves.

"Ode," he says, snagging my attention back to him. But just then, Coach Cole walks in with two other people.

"How are you feeling, buddy?" Coach asks him.

"I keep telling everyone I'm fine," Gavin says. "Wish someone would start believing me."

One of the other men shines a light in Gavin's eyes. The room is small, and I feel in the way. Or like an interloper, somewhere I'm not supposed to be. Yet I don't want to leave Gavin, either.

A lot of medical terms are thrown around, but at the end of it all, the general consensus is that because he lost consciousness, he needs to be on concussion protocol with another assessment in about twenty-four hours, then another in forty-eight. He'll miss tomorrow's game. The tension in his jaw tells me he's pissed about that, but he doesn't make a fuss.

Everyone leaves. As soon as the door shuts behind them, Gavin's shoulders slump.

"It's for the best, Gavin."

"I know," he says. "Doesn't mean I don't fucking hate it. You go home, too; I'll clean up and head over when I'm done."

"Britton is there tonight."

"I don't fucking much care."

"Okay." He grabs my hand as I start to walk past, stopping me. Neither of us says anything else, it's more a silent communication. I imagine he's trying to explain why Caroline was here, while I'm trying to convey I'm ignoring it because I'm just thankful he's okay.

I'm trying to ignore how much it hurt because I don't want to cause him more stress.

I did that same thing once before.

"I'll see you soon," he finally says, and I leave with a simple nod.

I have to call an Uber to get home, but it gives me the opportunity to call Fallon, who rants about Josephine and her dramatics. She has an event the day after tomorrow and refuses to wear anything he's offered.

By the time I get home, I'm vacillating between flying to Los Angeles first thing in the morning to handle her, or just firing her. Neither option is very appealing.

My step falters at my front door. A new bouquet was delivered. Large, beautiful, full of bright tiny yellow flowers. The same my mother used to plant. So similar to the wedding arrangements etched in my memory.

I take a long, deep inhale. So slowly, so calmly, I push the bouquet off the table inch by inch, watching the edge of the vase as it begins its unbalanced dance onto the marble floor below. The sound of glass breaking is somehow cathartic.

Or I've completely lost my fucking mind. Who can say?

"," Britton calls from the top of the stairs.

"Don't come down in bare feet," I say. "I broke the vase."

"Is Gavin okay?" she asks, peering over the banister at the mess I made.

"I think so. They're keeping a watch on him for a few days to be sure."

I view the pieces of glass, the dim reflection of the hanging entryway light twinkling on a few of them. Is that what my heart looked like from the inside when Gavin broke up with me? Of course not, heartbreak is a metaphor. It's not real.

The pain is. The lasting effect. Obviously.

"Are you okay?"

"No, darling." A laugh bursts out of me, and I feel like I'm verging on hysteria. "Caroline was with him. When we finally got to see him, she was already there."

"Bitch. Why?"

"I don't know. We didn't really have a chance to talk about that."

"But you will, yeah?"

"He's coming here when he's done at the arena," I say. "I may have to fly to L.A. tomorrow, should only be gone a night."

"Okay," she says, eyeing me like she doesn't trust my mental state, either. "Why?"

"Josephine wants to wear that brand ."

"The brand we don't speak of? Gross," Britton says, dramatically acting like she's going to gag.

I have rules when you contract with me. The first one is that I choose the brands I style a client in. If a brand or designer doesn't align with my morals, I won't use them.

There is a major label that was run by a man with many children. Several sons, one daughter, all of whom worked in the company. When the man died, he left control to his sons, completely cutting out his daughter because he didn't want a woman to run his brand.

I refuse to dress women in clothing that doesn't support women.

One up-and-coming starlet hated that about me and wouldn't sign on with me because of it. That was fine by me, but she made a big stink about it. Page Six picked up the story. It's a well-known fact about me now, one Josephine is aware of.

"I may have to drop her; she's causing Fallon to pull his hair out."

"His hair is far too pretty for that."

"Right?"

"And, Gavin?"

"I don't know, Britt. It felt so…"

"Familiar?"

"Yes."

"Give him a chance to explain. If it doesn't sound legit, call me down. I'll stab him in the heart for you."

"Love you, Britton."

"Love you to prison and back, ," she says, making her way back upstairs.

Bypassing the glass, I walk into my living room. Pulling the throw blanket off my sofa, I wrap it around myself and lie to watch the moonlight on the water. It's calming and I need that right now.

I need rationality, understanding, patience. I need a motherfucking explanation.

What I get is Caroline's words lulling me to sleep. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Gavin got in late. I remember waking up when he carried me to bed last night, but I was back asleep before I hit the pillow. I woke up this morning to his body curled around mine, my face buried in the bare skin of his chest. For a few minutes, I lie still, listening to his soft snore, barely audible. Just loud enough to know he's alive.

The hit from last night flashes in my memory, sending a fearful shiver down my back. I'm so thankful he's okay.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Fuck.

My mind is my worst enemy. My biggest nemesis.

Or, hell, maybe it's Caroline.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, nudging my nose under his chin to wake him up.

"Normal," he says, looking up at me. "I don't think I'm concussed."

"Thank fuck," I say, relieved to hear it. "I need to shower."

Snaking out from under his arm, I head straight to the bathroom. I've got three hours until my flight and I still don't know what I'm going to do with Josephine. But I've only got today to deal with it, I won't miss more work than I must. Which means, I'll probably have to fire her, because I can't trust that she won't pull shit like this again.

By the time I've rinsed the conditioner out of my hair and am stepping out of the shower, I've convinced myself it's the best option.

Gavin sits on the edge of the bed when I walk back into the room.

"You're sure you're okay?" I ask again, pulling my carry-on suitcase out of the closet.

"Yeah," he says. "What are you doing?"

"Fallon has an emergency. I need to go to L.A. for the night." I step back into the closet to get dressed. Gavin comes to stand in the doorway, watching me warily.

"Just one night?"

"Yes. I need to fire a client and I'd rather do that in person."

"," he says, staying my hand after I fasten my bra on. "Are you running?"

"I'm running late, if that's what you mean." I pull a dress off a hanger and pull it over my head.

"That's not what I'm fucking asking."

"Then what are you fucking asking, Gavin?"

"Is this impromptu trip because of Caroline?"

"Not everything in my life is about you and your ex-wife," I say, my back turned to him so he can't see how affected I am. "I have a career. A life of my own."

"I didn't ask her to be there, Ode. I didn't even know she was at the game."

"Why was she with you?" I collect the few items I'll need for an overnight and brush past him to place them in my suitcase.

"She was worried."

"So was I. So was your daughter."

"Can you stop for half a minute and look at me please," he pleads, not continuing until I look at him. "I did not ask her to be there. She just showed up. I told her to leave, to go find Tori. Thank you, by the way, for taking care of her. I'm sure she was terrified."

"She was," I say, trying to find a lie on his face, but I don't.

"I'm glad you were there for her."

"She loves you," I say. "Caroline. She said she loves you."

"We've had love for each other since we were kids," he says after a sigh. Maybe he'd hoped I hadn't heard what she said. "It's not like how I love you."

My heart sinks and soars, not knowing which of his words it should cling to. This isn't how I want him to tell me he loves me. On the back of professing love for another woman, in the middle of an argument, as a balm for my pain.

None of this is right.

"I don't know where I fit, Gavin. Last night, I felt like a placeholder, only there until she arrives. I'm either in the starring role, or I'm nothing at all," I say.

"You are that, . I don't know what to do to make you see that. I want you to think about whether I've done anything to show you differently. Have my actions since trying to win you back given you any reason to believe that I'm not absolutely, irrevocably committed to just you?"

"I…I don't—" I start but can't finish. I do know. I know it's my insecurity rather than his actions.

"Take your trip, handle your business. I'll be here when you get home, waiting. Missing you ."