I tweaked my shoulder at practice yesterday, and Cora noticed me wince when I was taking out the trash last night. She worries about every sinus cold and bruise I get. I can’t blame the kid. Her dad, my brother Matt, died serving in Iraq and her mom passed away from cancer a year later.
“Hey, let’s get your nails painted, Cora,” I say after glancing at my watch. “I’ve only got five minutes ‘til I have to hit the shower.” I turn to Emerson. “Can you go get the nail polish remover, peanut?”
“Okay.” She races from the room, brown curls flying behind her.
“Are you going on a date tonight?” Cora asks me once we’re alone.
My parents always insist I take some time for myself when they come help with the kids. Usually I’m wrapped up with work, because the hockey season is busy and there’s lots of travel, but one time I got a hotel room, watched R-rated movies and slept in. Tonight I’m going to make an effort to be more social, because I’ve really fallen behind on keeping up with friends since getting the kids.
“Nah, I’m just going out with Vic and Anton for dinner and drinks.”
Cora nods. “Just don’t drink and drive.”
“Never. I’ll catch an Uber home if I need to.”
She looks down at her nails as I smooth on the polish, her expression serious.
“You okay?” I ask her.
“There’s a pause before she says, “Yeah.”
“What’s up, buttercup? I can tell when something’s not right with you.”
She looks up at me. “I don’t want Gram to be sad.”
Fuck. I hate what these kids have been through. My parents came to help with the kids a lot when Danielle was sick. I moved her and the kids into my house so I could be there for them and provide nursing care for her. The loss of my brother was still fresh for my parents, and just seeing the kids would make my mom cry. I know she didn’t mean to upset them, but she did.
“Gram won’t be sad this time,” I tell Cora. “She’s really looking forward to doing fun stuff with you guys.”
“I’m not going up to the top of that building.”
“They won’t make you. Just tell them you’re scared and they’ll find something besides the Sears Tower to do, okay?”
“I’m not scared,” Cora says defensively. “I just think it’s dumb.”
“Okay. Just…tell Gram and Gramps. It’ll be fine.”
She gives me a serious look, her brown eyes wide. “I’m glad we’re with you instead of them. You never cry.”
Her words practically make my heart stop. I cried more after Matt and Danielle died than I’ve cried in my entire twenty-eight-year-life. For the big brother I loved more than anything, for his wife who survived it and stayed strong only to be snuffed out by cancer with three young kids who needed her, and for the devastated children they left behind. Cora doesn’t know the truth, though, because I shed all my tears alone, in the privacy of my bedroom.
“You guys have lots of people who love you,” I tell Cora.
“If you die, will we go live with Gram and Gramps?”
“I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry about that.”
My folks, already grief-stricken over Matt’s death, were stunned to find out after Danielle was told she only had a few months left to live that their grandchildren would be left in my care instead of theirs after her death. Hell, I was stunned, too. My parents know what the hell they’re doing, and they’re retired. Me, I’m an NHL player and a bachelor. I’ve got no business raising three kids. I tried to tell Danielle that, but she insisted that her and Matt were one hundred percent sure I was the right one.
“It’s all gone,” Emerson says, walking into the bathroom with an empty nail polish remover bottle.
“Gone?” I arch my brows with concern.
“Want me to go look for the other one?” Cora asks as I finish painting her last nail.
“Yeah, thanks. I can’t go to practice like this.”
I stand up and catch a look at myself in my bathroom mirror. My face is covered with white yogurt and smears of strawberries. Shaking my head, I lean down to rinse it off in the sink, then pull my t-shirt up and off over my head.
The girls leave the room and I close the door and turn the shower handle to start the water. By the time I take off my shorts and boxer briefs, steam is swirling out of the top of the tile and glass shower enclosure.
Showering and sleeping are about the only times I experience silence anymore. The kids are always talking, running, laughing and yelling. That’s good, though. Watching them silently mourn their mother’s death was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced. And since I’ve got a good-sized house on the outskirts of the city, they can be as noisy as they want.