Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“She’s not doing so well,” I tell them truthfully. I get a few cringes from the guys. Sophie’s just as much a part of the Storm family as I am. In fact, these bastards probably like her more than they like me. “Physically, she’s healing just as expected. She still has a long way to go, but the morphine is making it easier for her. Emotionally . . .” I say with a sigh, “she’s not coping at all.”
I hear and see the brokenness coming from the guys as their thoughts lie with Sophie. To be honest, I thought talking about it would have been the hardest thing I’d have to do today, but now that they know, it makes it just that bit easier to breathe.
I hear a familiar voice cut through the silence of the room. “What about you?” My eyes cut to Miller and narrow on him. What’s he doing? He knows I’m not handling it. He’s been there every fucking day, slowly taking bits and pieces of the nursery apart and removing it before Sophie can manage to walk and see it for herself.
He raises a brow, daring me to answer, knowing just how much I hate talking about myself or my feelings. But something inside me tells me he’s doing this for my own well-being. After all, he lost his sister a few years ago, and that was the hardest thing he’s ever been through. Yet somehow, he made it out the other end.
Maybe it’s possible the fucker knows what’s best for me right now. With a sigh, I let the boys have it. “To be honest, I’m not coping at all. Sophie and I have barely spoken over the past week. I have so much anger. I’m scared I’m going to say something I might regret while Sophie lies in bed each day, holding her empty stomach and crying for our son.”
Miller gives me a nod before getting back to tying his skates, while the boys somewhat do the same. Some offer me their condolences, others offer me any kind of help and support that’s needed.
I realize Miller was right to make me admit it. Being strong in front of the boys has always been a motto of mine. I never show weakness, not if I don’t have to, but this is different. This is life and death. This is my child.
Having the boys know that shit isn’t okay right now is somehow a blessing. I don’t know how, but as a team, it makes us stronger. Knowing how each and every member of this team is doing physically as well as emotionally makes us perform better as a group. And if it takes me admitting that I’m struggling with the loss of my son to help me move forward, then I’m damn glad I’ve taken that step.
But also knowing these boys will be here when shit gets hard is a blessing in itself.
The second the boys notice the testosterone in the room is running dangerously low, we get our shit together. I pull my gear on and take my seat beside Miller. “I fucking hate you for making me do that, but I think I needed it,” I murmur.
“No problem, man,” he replies. “Dealing with loss isn’t easy.”
He couldn’t be more right. Before my son, I had never lost a single soul, and now that I have, the grief I suffer from is something I never thought possible. It eats you alive until it has completely consumed you, yet somehow you need to find a way to push through. It’s like being under water, looking up at the surface, desperate for oxygen, but no matter how fast you swim, how fast you kick your legs, you can never reach the top.
I try my hardest to push the thoughts of Sophie and my son away from my mind. I came here to train, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.
I lead the boys out of the locker room and they instantly fall in line. We step onto the ice while two guys head off to grab the nets and the newbie breaks away to grab the pucks.
We run a few warm-up drills followed by some torturous sprints before Coach takes the ice and pushes us to our limits.
We exit the rink a few hours later, dripping with sweat.
I’m in the middle of getting out of my hockey gear when Coach enters the locker room. “Tank,” he calls.
I turn immediately and give him my full attention. “Yes, Coach?”
He meets my stare and I see the familiar tightening in his eyes, something I’ve become accustomed to over the past week. “Get yourself dressed and meet me in my office in ten.”
I give him a quick nod before he disappears, and I rush through a shower before pulling my clothes on. I quickly check my phone to make sure Sophie hasn’t been looking for me, but it’s not like she would actually call. She’s more of a suffer-in-silence type now—something I intend to change. Besides, as far as I know, she hasn’t even bothered to set up the new phone and other devices I got her.