Breathe With Me By Becka Mack - 29

T HERE ARE FEW THINGS I’ VE always been certain of in this life. The first is Cara, and second is that sometimes families are forged. The third?

Hockey.

Hockey has always, always been my escape. My safe place. My freedom.

When I was younger, it was the one thing my dad and I connected on. He let me stay up late so I could catch the third period of the game, we spent endless Saturday mornings skating at the local rink until I was old enough for hockey to be taking up my whole weekend, and eventually, most of my weekdays too. I lived for the post-game car ride, where he’d shower me with praise the entire drive home, and if I’d scored, he’d take me through the Wendy’s drive-through for fries and a Frosty to dip them in.

At some point before my tenth birthday, I realized that our shared love of hockey no longer trumped the screaming, the intimidation, the shame. That living with those things day in and day out didn’t make the praise worth it, or the fries taste any better.

At some point before my tenth birthday, those car rides became lectures about what I was doing wrong, everything I could be doing better. How to make him happy, rather than how to make myself happy.

And then every practice, every game, every minute spent on the ice or training for the ice was time away from him. An escape from his constant irritation with whatever I was doing, from words he hurled without care, from a shitty day at work that turned into a shitty mood that lasted for weeks on end, that my brothers and I were forced to bear the brunt of.

I remember the day I decided I was going to do whatever it took to make it to the NHL, just so I could get the fuck out of that house and away from a man I couldn’t stand to look at. So I wouldn’t turn out exactly like him one day. Because as I stood at the foot of my bed at thirteen, two hours after my team lost the championship game, my dad yelling in my face, asking me what the fuck was wrong with me, why I couldn’t do anything right, that was the only thought in my mind: I don’t want to be anything like him .

So I poured everything I had into hockey, until I walked out that door at eighteen after Vancouver drafted me and never, ever looked back.

As I look at Abel, the way he thinks the sun shines out of my ass just because of a game, I know I want a connection that goes so much deeper than a stick and a puck ever could.

“Emmett?” He lays one hand over his chest, his mini blue Vipers jersey with my name and number on his back, the dinosaur stuffy tucked under his arm wearing a matching jersey, crocheted by Jaxon’s gran. “My Cara, um, my Cara said that we is gonna go to your hockey tonight. Did you know? I—I… I gonna be there, so if you get scared while you is skating, you can come to give me a hug, and then you will feel better, right?”

I smile down at the plate as I cut the edges off his grilled cheese and turkey sandwich, arrange the strawberry slices like spikes along the top of the sandwich, and slice the banana in half lengthwise, arranging it around his sandwich so one looks like a long neck and the other a tail. I finish his dino off with a single chocolate-chip eye on the banana, and slide his brunch over to him. He’s going through a growth spurt, I think, because for the last two weeks he’s required a second full meal between breakfast and lunch. “I always feel better when you’re around. You make me feel extra brave.”

He gasps, hoisting himself up on a stool. “A dinosaur ? Emmett, you made me a dinosaur for brunch?”

“I tried my best.”

He hops right back off the stool, disappearing behind the island. He reappears a moment later, wrapped around my legs as he hugs me tight. With his chin on my thigh and a devastating grin just for me, he tells me, “I’m so lucky you’re my Emmett,” and I hope to God that if there’s only one thing in this world I can do right other than loving Cara, it’s loving Abel.

I scoop him into my arms, hugging him tight. “I’m so lucky you’re my Abel.”

“Can we go for a walk after brunch?”

“Ah, buddy, I’m not sure.” I glance out the kitchen window at the gray sky, the rain that’s been falling since yesterday. It’s not doing a whole lot for my motivation, which isn’t great ahead of tonight’s game in the first round of the playoffs. “It’s raining today.”

“Yeah, but I got my splash suit Ma-bear got me, m’member? And plus”—he lifts his palms in a shrug—“don’t you know what comes out in the rain?”

“What comes out in the rain?”

He shows me his wiggling fingers. “Squirmy wormies! My Catharine told me—she told me squirmy wormies come out in the rain, and-and-and sometimes, we would go hunt for ’em!” He looks up at me, giving me what I’ve dubbed as the eyes . Cara taught him how to make them extra wide when he wants something extra special. He uses them every night when we’re on the way out of his bedroom, right before the door closes, to ask for just one more good-night kiss.

I wrap my hand around the back of his head, dropping a kiss to his forehead. “Let’s go worm hunting.”

We recruit Carter and Ireland, and Adam, Lily, and Connor along the way, splashing our way through the neighborhood and up the trail behind it, disappearing into lush green pines and the freshest air you’ve ever breathed, until we’re covered in mud, and each of the kids has a plastic bug catcher full of findings, from worms and grasshoppers to twigs and pinecones.

“Look at this one!” I shout, and Adam and Carter rush over, our heads bending together to examine my newest find. “It’s still green, and it’s soft.”

“Oh yeah,” Carter mutters, feeling my acorn.

“Must be a fresh one,” Adam says. “Look what I found.” He opens his palm, showing us his rock. “It’s so smooth. I can’t believe how smooth it is. I don’t think I’ve ever felt a rock this smooth. Here, feel it.”

“Look what I got. I found so many cool ones, I couldn’t decide which ones to put back, so I just kept them all.” Carter reaches into the pockets of his coat, handfuls of rocks and acorns spilling to his feet. “No! My collection!” He falls to the wet forest floor, scrambling to scoop up his findings while Adam and I watch. “Ireland, can I put my rocks in your—”

“No tanks.”

“But, Ireland, baby, Dada’s pockets are full, and—”

“ No! No wock! No wock, Dada! ” She yanks her bug catcher out of reach, brows pulled all the way down as she glares at him. Those green eyes flick to the rocks in his hands, and she reaches out, nabbing what she can fit in her tiny fists before snatching them back against her chest. “ My wock! ”

Carter gasps, then narrows his gaze. Ireland sticks out her tongue at him. He sticks his out right back. She turns to Abel, grabbing his hand.

“Come, A-bow. No wock fo’ Dada.”

“She’s got her mother’s attitude, that one,” Carter mutters as we head back down the trail.

Adam snorts, lifting Connor onto his shoulders.

“Yeah, her mother’s,” I murmur. “For sure.”

Lily falls into step beside me, slipping her hand in mine. “Uncle Emmett? Can I ask you something?”

“ ’Course, Lil. You can ask me anything.”

“Did Auntie Cara’s Band-Aid come off?”

“Her Band-Aid?”

“Yeah, for her booboo. She got hurt, and it made her really sad. But lately, she smiles so much. And she laughs a lot. I thought maybe she took her Band-Aid off.”

My gaze coasts up ahead to Abel, being bossed around by a girl half his size, and the feeling in my chest, the way my heart swells and thumps a steady, firm beat, it’s instantaneous. And I think of Cara. The renewed energy, the light that dances in her gaze, the easy smile that follows Abel wherever he goes, the laughter that bounces off the walls.

“I’m not sure her booboo will ever heal all the way,” I tell Lily. “That’s just the way some people work. Some heal quick and disappear, and others form a scar. Sometimes it hurts a little less, but the scar never goes away.”

Lily nods thoughtfully. “Like Mama’s scar on her belly from where Iris and Connor came from. Mama says sometimes she looks at it and it reminds her of how much she went through.”

“Exactly like that. I think Cara will always have a scar, but… I think she’s slowly peeling off her Band-Aid.”

“One day at a time?”

“One day at a time.”

I ’VE WAITED A LONG TIME for this moment.

Cool air on my cheeks as I zip around the ice, an arena full of blue and green chanting my name, a third Stanley Cup within reach as we get ready to sweep Dallas in four games and propel ourselves to the second round of the playoffs. It’s all nice, incredible even, but it’s those two sets of eyes, one the brightest blue, the other the softest sage, the way they follow every stride, scream for me louder than anyone, show up just for me… that’s the moment I’ve waited for my whole life.

The sign Abel has pressed against the glass is a close runner-up, though I suspect he didn’t make it.

HEY #88! YOUR WIFE SAYS ONE GOAL = ONE SPECIAL PRESENT.

“If only we knew your wife promising you a blow job for every goal you scored was such good incentive, we’d have had her make it at the beginning of the season.”

I huff a laugh, elbowing Jaxon in the side as we gather by the boards, waiting for Dallas to finish their line change. “She’s not promising me a blow job.” She’s definitely promising me a blow job. At least three of the two hundred times I’ve looked at her throughout the fifty-nine minutes and twenty-two seconds of gametime tonight has resulted in her thrusting her tongue against the inside of her cheek while tossing a pointed look at the sign.

Like right now, as our eyes connect while I line up for the faceoff. Except this time, she takes a drink, letting a little dribble out, and then drags that fucking tongue, so damn slowly, across her lower lip, all without taking her eyes off me.

I’m gonna ruin that fucking pussy tonight. Why do you think I’m one goal shy of a hat trick? I’m cashing in.

“ Emmett! Emmett!” Abel jumps up and down, smacking the glass as Lennon snaps a picture of him, my favorite fan, my name on his back, and my hat on his head. “That’s my Emmett! I love you, Emmett! ”

And that’s about all the encouragement I need. Carter steals the puck the second it’s dropped, flinging it back to Jaxon, who passes it across the ice to Garrett. He flings the puck off the boards, dodging Dallas’s left-winger, and when he scoops it up on the other side, he sends it back to Carter.

I rush past a defenseman, hovering at the side of the net, a step behind it as Carter’s eyes ping around the offensive zone, logging each player’s location.

He winds up, stick all the way back before he rips it forward, and the goalie dives to his left in anticipation, his defenseman moving too. But Carter doesn’t follow through. He stops his stick right before it can make contact with the puck and changes direction, lobbing it over to where I’m waiting by the side of the net and all that empty space where the goalie was, just a moment ago.

“ Fuck! ” the goalie shouts, diving back over.

But the puck’s already on the blade of my stick, and a split second later, it’s in the net, my arms in the air, moments before my body hits the ice, my teammates piling on top of me as the arena explodes with screams.

Abel’s too busy jumping in a group hug with Lily, Ireland, and Connor to see when I skate by, so Cara gets my undivided attention when I hold up three fingers and mouth, You owe me.

“ EVERYONE’S GOT BABYSITTERS SORTED?” C ARTER asks forty minutes later as we’re hurrying back into our suits.

I pull my boxer briefs up and step into my pants, my hair still wet from the shower as I do up my belt. “Emily’s already at our place, waiting for us to get home. Abel’s excited to show her the stars from his window.”

“Archie and Marco are watching the kids. It’s Rosie’s first time away from Iris, so she’s a bit nervous.”

“Ollie too.” Carter shoves his phone in his back pocket and straightens his tie. “My mom and Axel are staying the night. Ollie said she’s either gonna cry or get drunk. I said, knowing her, it’ll be both.” He frowns. “She didn’t like that very much.” He grins, a far-off look in his eye. “It ended with me fucking her in the shower.”

“Nobody’s watching Mitts,” Jaxon says as we head for the hallway. “In case anyone was wondering. Poor guy’s just fending for himself all evening and night, wondering where Mommy and Daddy are, and if anyone loves him at all.”

“Your cat has nearly a hundred thousand followers on Instagram,” I remind him. “He’s not wondering if anyone loves him.”

“Oh my fuck, yes , Lennon,” Garrett squeals. “I’ve been waiting for this one! Do me, do me!”

Lennon snickers from where she’s waiting outside the dressing room, her phone recording from a tripod while she snaps pictures with her camera. She asks a question before and after every game, using the usually ridiculous video footage for social media content. It’s incredible how many times we’ve gone viral—Garrett for fumbling his way through almost every video, Jaxon for his cat daddy content, and Carter, well, for him it’s a fifty-fifty split. Sometimes it’s the ridiculously high levels of sexual innuendo he sprinkles into the answers for Olivia to see, and other times it’s his dedication to being a dad. Adam and I just keep going viral because Lennon loves making montages of us smiling at the camera.

Anyway, she always has her question written on a little whiteboard she props up next to her phone, that way we can prepare an answer before we get there. Today, though, there’s no real way to prepare for this question. It just is what it is.

“Mr. Andersen, Vancouver’s favorite awkward boy, what’s on your lock screen?”

Garrett’s already snickering, phone ready in his hand. “Carter. Carter, are you watching?” He flashes his phone screen: a photo of Jennie’s reflection in the mirror of her dance studio.

“Wow, a photo of my beautiful sister,” Carter mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s my-my”—he squeezes his eyes shut, and very real tears drip out of them as he shakes with laughter—“ my pregame meal !”

“You motherfucker!” Carter hollers, taking off down the hall after a squealing Garrett.

“Sisterfucker,” Lennon corrects under her breath, high-fiving Jaxon. “Riley, what’s on your lockscreen?”

Jaxon grins, showing off a photo of Lennon and Mittens. “My gorgeous wife and our shining star.”

“Correct answer. You’re getting laid tonight. Lockwood, I think we already know the answer, but give it to us anyway.”

Adam proudly shows off a photo of Lily, Connor, and Iris, as well as their dogs, Bear and Piglet, and their cat, Dinosaur. “My kids.”

“Stunning. And Mr. Brodie, what have you got for us?”

“You’re lucky you didn’t ask this a week ago,” I murmur as I pull my phone out.

Lennon squints at me. “Why…? Actually, you know what? Don’t answer that. I know you. I know your wife. I know it’s not PG.”

I grin, looking at the photo of Cara, Abel, and me on a boat, seals lounging on an oversized rock in the water behind us. It’s from last Saturday, after we’d asked Abel what he wanted to do that weekend. He said he wanted to “see some fishies.” Naturally, we got up a bit early, hit up our favorite café for breakfast and cookies, and took him whale watching. He loved the whales, but it was the seals he really fell head over heels for. He said it was the best day of his life, but it felt like it was the best of mine and Cara’s too. I think that’s why I made it my lockscreen as soon as we tucked him into bed that night, because smiles as brilliant as these ones deserve to be seen.

“My family” is the answer I finally give, right as they step into view with the rest of them, Abel’s hand tucked into Cara’s, baby Hunter strapped to her chest.

Abel’s face shines like the sun when he spots me, dashing down the hall, hat spun backward, stuffed dinosaur tucked under his arm. “Emmett!”

I open my arms, letting us collide with an oomph before I scoop him up, toss him into the air, and catch him against my chest, my favorite giggle buried in my neck. “Did you have fun at your first hockey game?”

He lays one hand on my cheek, resting his forehead against mine, a tender smile that won’t quit as he whispers, “I’m so lucky you’re my Emmett.”

My eyes fall shut at the feeling that sweeps through me, a slow-moving river quietly demanding more, carving a new path through unfamiliar terrain, a gentle voice that promises in no uncertain terms that I’ll never be the same again, not after knowing a love like this. “And I’m so lucky you’re my Abel.”