46. Keep It Together

46

KEEP IT TOGETHER

Asher

“I’d say I’m sorry for your loss, man, but I’m really not,” Miles says, grinning at his brother in the corridor after the game.

Tyler scratches his thick beard with his middle finger. “I’m not sorry for telling the press you slept with a stuffed bunny till you were twelve,” he shoots back as we head toward the media room.

Miles’s face turns pale. “I did not.”

I chuckle, enjoying this. “Wait—dude, you slept with a stuffed bunny?”

Tyler nods, smug. “Sure did. He was scared of thunderstorms.”

“No shame, man,” I say to Miles, trying to keep a straight face. “I’m scared of stuff too. Like anacondas. And climate change. But thunder? That’s loud, so I get it.”

Miles huffs, clearly not amused. He turns to his brother with a scowl. “I mean it, Ty. ”

Tyler gives him a playful pat on the cheek. “Maybe don’t gloat, then.”

“You’d do the same,” Miles grumbles.

Tyler shrugs. “Yeah, you’re right. Gloating’s fun. Go ahead, but just know I’ll gloat ten times harder when we beat you for The Cup.”

With that, we stride toward the press room. Normally, Everly only corrals the Sea Dogs players for post-game comments, but tonight, with the brother-versus-brother angle, she’s wrangled Tyler for a statement too. The press can’t resist the photo ops of the two Falcons in the NHL.

Me? I’m on my way out. “Catch you guys later,” I say, stepping aside when they reach the media room.

“You’re not staying to rub it in?” Tyler asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Nope,” I say, nodding down the hall. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Miles smirks. “His wife and his dads are here. Pretty sure it’s his wife he’s rushing to see.”

With that word— wife— Tyler’s smile fades as something dark flickers in his eyes. It’s subtle but unmistakable—a shadow of someone who’s been through the wringer when it comes to love. His jaw tightens for just a moment before he nods. “See you later.”

If it were another night, another time, I’d ask how he’s doing. But we both have places to be, so I give a crisp nod to my rival, then look to my teammate. “Thanks for the tips on how to score on your brother, Miles,” I call out over my shoulder.

“Don’t forget—I know your secrets, Callahan,” Miles fires back with a grin.

Shit. He does. I backtrack. “No shame, Falcon. I slept with a stuffed rabbit myself. ”

“Good man,” Miles says, and with that, he and Tyler disappear into the media room.

In my post-game suit, I walk down the hallway, the noise of the arena fading behind me, my thoughts drifting ahead to Maeve. For a moment, I let the scene play out in my mind. Days like today. Nights like this one. A life with her.

It hits me hard, nearly stopping me in my tracks. This deep, heady desire—this overwhelming need for her to be here, to be with me. To be part of my life in every way that counts.

I drag a hand through my hair, trying to catch my breath. The intensity of it all—the desire to make it happen—surges through me.

I want this. I need this.

Before I reach Maeve and my dads, I check my phone. There’s a response to the calls I made earlier—some texts letting me know that yes, what I want is possible.

Good. That’s really good. Because one thing I learned after googling “how to make your wife fall in love with you” is to be the man she needs, to give her what she wants, to be there for her.

I can do that. I will do that.

When I finally reach Mrs. Callahan at the end of the corridor, I tug playfully on her jersey then plant a kiss on her cheek. She startles with a soft “oh,” then touches the spot where my lips just were. “Hey, you.”

“Hey,” I reply, as the scent of her sweet plum body spray works its magic. I’m unable to resist her. I drop another kiss to her lips, quick but lingering, savoring the feel of her. Maeve at my game, sitting with my dads—it’s perfect. Absolutely perfect .

I turn to my dads. “Glad you guys could make it. Especially since I was pretty fucking good tonight.”

“Language,” John chides.

“J-dad, where do you think I learned it?”

Carlos gasps in mock surprise. “Babe,” he says to John.

He just shrugs but smiles as he says, “Can we take you two out for a bite to eat?”

It’s said like that’s all the two of them could want—time with Maeve and me. I glance at Maeve, and her eyes are already shining with a yes.

“Sounds great,” I say.

As the four of us slide into a booth at Sticks and Stones a little later and order a late dinner, I can’t shake the feeling that this is the happiest I’ve ever seen her, laughing and teasing, talking and eating. I’d do just about anything to bottle this moment, to recreate it for her—to give her the moon.

The door clicks shut behind us as we step into the quiet of the house, heading up from the garage, leaving the cool night air behind. After we toe off our shoes, we head to the kitchen, like we both feel an inevitable pull to keep the evening going—or really, the talking. I toss my suit jacket on the back of a stool. She sheds her jacket, the jersey still on. Flicking on the light, she leans against the cool, marble countertop, the soft hum of the fridge filling the silence for a moment. There’s a warmth in the air that wasn’t there outside, and her small, thoughtful smile tells me she’s still replaying the evening in her mind.

“Did you have a nice time?” I ask, moving closer, my fingers brushing the hem of her shirt .

“I did,” she says with a nod. “Your dads are…really wonderful. They made me feel so welcome.” She hesitates, her expression shifting, more pensive now. “It kind of made me miss my parents.”

There’s a twinge in my chest, one I’ve felt before when we’ve talked about them. I can’t imagine what she went through. It’s my worst fear—losing the people I love. I’ve asked her this before—of course I have—but I ask again anyway. “Do you miss them a lot?”

“I do,” she admits quietly. “Especially in moments like this, when everything feels so…cozy, you know? I’m really glad I had tonight, but yeah—sometimes I just wish they were here to do these normal things too. See a game. Have dinner.” There’s a pause, then she swallows roughly, almost choking out the next words. “See my mirrors. Check out the mural.” She draws a steadying breath. “Isn’t that selfish?”

I reach for her shoulders, cupping them, rubbing them. “Are you kidding me? No. I love when my dads see me play. Of course you wish your parents could see your work. You put so much into your art, and they’d be so proud of you.” I never met them, but I know this deep in my bones. They’d be so amazed by the woman she became.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” I say with utter confidence. “Your mom wanted you to follow your dreams. You did follow them. You still do. You keep doing it. Every single day.”

“She wanted that for me, you know?” she says softly, then her brow knits again. “That book of hers?”

“ If Found, Please Return ?” I ask, thinking of the one on the nightstand.

“Sometimes I read passages again, looking for a message from her.” She sighs, closing her eyes, maybe ashamed. “That is why sometimes I think I hold on too tight.” She opens her eyes, and those hazel irises are etched with such vulnerability that my heart slams harder against my chest. “Isn’t that silly?”

I ache for her. “No. I think it’s normal to want to find that connection. Even now. Even when they’re gone. You want to feel like they’re still talking to you.”

“I really do,” she says. She pauses, biting her lip, as if weighing her next words. Then, with a nervous laugh, she asks, “Was that too much to tell you? About missing them? About the book?”

Scoffing, I shake my head immediately. “No. Not at all. I want to know. I want to know everything you want to share.” My voice is firmer now, certain. “And I’d feel the same way.”

“You would?”

“I would. I’d look for signs too, Maeve,” I say then take a moment to collect my thoughts. I want to say the right thing. “I’d want…I don’t know, a sense that they aren’t forgotten. I kind of do that now, maybe preemptively. Maybe that’s why I hunt out luck—good luck charms, stepping right foot first onto a plane. Maybe I do that because I want signs somehow that I’ll keep this luck. I’ve done that ever since Nora died.”

“Do you feel lucky? Like it could have been you? That you weren’t riding with her?”

I’ve never been a bike rider, so no, I didn’t join her for that training ride. But I’m acutely aware that things can change in a split second. Someone can be here today and gone the next second. “No. But losing a friend—someone I wanted to stay friends with—made me want to hold onto…what I have.” But perhaps, it’s deeper than that. Maybe it goes further back. This sense of holding onto what I have. Because I don’t actively miss Nora. But I do feel that too-familiar heaviness of loss at times. I venture on, stepping into territory I rarely visit. “When I was fourteen, I thought John was going to die.” The words come out quietly, almost cautiously, and I realize I’ve never told her this before.

“Asher,” she says softly, reaching for me, her hands on my arms. “What happened?”

“He had this health scare. Well, he’d been having a lot of them. But this time was worse. One day after hockey practice, he wasn’t just dizzy or faint. He was having heart palpitations. Like, this really uneven and way-too-fast heartbeat. His breath was short; he complained of chest pain. It happened while he was driving so he swerved, but managed to pull over and I could have called 911. But I didn’t even think there was time to wait. I had to drive him to the hospital. It was just the two of us…”

I was never afraid of getting hurt playing hockey. But I was devastated when I thought I was the difference between my father’s life and death. That drive is indelibly etched in my mind. The way my heart seized up too, but I had to ignore my fear and somehow get him to the emergency room. There was no time to waste.

“You didn’t even have a license,” she says softly.

“I knew how to drive, though,” I admit.

“You did?”

“I had to. There were times beforehand when he was dizzy. Sick. Faint. Before he was diagnosed. For maybe a year on and off. So I learned early. I had no choice.”

She reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “I didn’t know that,” she whispers. “I knew he was sick back then, but I didn’t know…you almost lost him. Or that you had to…step up like that as a kid. I didn’t know what you went through. You must have been so scared.”

“I don’t like telling the story. I don’t like talking about it,” I admit, my voice thick with something I can’t quite shake off. “Because every time I do, I feel that fear. No, it was more than fear. It was absolute terror.”

My throat tightens as the memory presses in, vivid and raw. My hands on the wheel. The press of traffic. The curves in the road. The panic that threatened to rise in me. The words I repeated in my head— keep it together, keep it together, keep it together .

And I somehow did. Maybe it was luck. Maybe I took the right turns, hit the green lights, remembered how to drive through sheer luck. “I was so scared,” I say quietly, taking measured breaths with each word, sharing something I don’t like to share, something I don’t like to feel, something I’ve kept inside me. But now, with her here, I want her to know. To understand.

Maeve squeezes my hand tighter, her thumb brushing gently across my knuckles.

“You saved his life. That’s a gift, but it’s a lot to carry with you too,” she says, somehow understanding me completely.

I lean into her, feeling something new. Something rare. I feel the depths of her understanding in my soul. Like she knows so much more of me, and I hope— I fucking hope —I don’t scare her away.

We stand in the dim light of the kitchen, the hum of the fridge the only sound around us. She steps even closer, her arms slipping around my waist. I pull her in, resting my chin on the top of her head, the feel of her body, the scent of her skin, the beat of her heart grounding me. “Was that too much?” I ask, more vulnerable than I ever want to be.

“No. Not at all,” she says, then holds me tighter. And I hold her. And we hold each other.