Kaleb

My game is off tonight. I've given up the puck several times, taken two rookie penalties, and missed the net on a breakaway. My teammates are wondering what the hell is wrong with me. The only one who looks concerned is Shea. I can see it in his eyes whenever we're sitting on the bench and I catch him looking at me. The odds that he corners me post-game and demands answers are high.

Tearing my gaze away from Shea's, I stare at the ice ahead of me. We're down 3-2 with fifteen minutes left to play in the third period. Each period and intermission feels like it's dragging on, despite only being partially present. While half of me is committed to playing hockey, the other half can't stop thinking about Mel. Leaving her at home was difficult. The magnetic pull between us feels stronger than usual, but also strained. Strained by an inevitable demise.

Six months.

Mel is dying.

Those are words I can't speak aloud. Words I shouldn't think about. She's gone through with treatment because she wants to meet the baby (should things go well for Brenna and Shea). Brenna hit the three-month mark three days ago, so things are looking good. Brenna and Shea don't even fucking know about Mel yet. But that's not stopping Mel from using helping Brenna prep for the baby as an excuse. She won't think about how her body has betrayed her. 

As I hop over the boards, with Shea and Mikael right behind me, I let that thought fuel me. It pisses me off. Mel fought so hard to win the first battle. Her body can't even appreciate her fucking efforts to save it. 

Fuck. 

At the face-off dot in the defensive zone, the ref drops the puck. Shea wins the draw and passes it back to our defence. He slides the puck across to me. I'm already skating when the puck hits the blade of my hockey stick. The burst of speed creates a two-on-one opportunity for us.

But there's one problem, and it becomes more conflicting as we cross the blue line into offensive territory.

Mikael is with me on the two-on-one. He's wide open, with a prime opportunity to tie the game. He slaps the blade of his stick against the ice. Yells my name. My eyes dart between him and the goalie. There's no doubt Mikael wouldn't score. A pass, though the goalie probably expects it, would give Mikael a chance to flex his wicked wrist shot. We could tie the game and push it to overtime, gaining at least a point in the standings.

But my dignity won't allow it.

Instead of passing the puck, I take a shot. It ricochets off of the crossbar, the ding of the iron echoing through the arena. The crowd loosens a collective groan as it flies up into the netting.

"What the fuck, Jones?" Mikael shouts. He skates over to me and gives me a small shove. My back hits the boards. "I was wide open! We could've tied the game!"

I shove him back. "Get the fuck away from me, Mikael. Or else I'll pummel you right here. In front of our fans."

He snorts. "Don't throw empty threats at me. I'd fucking demolish you."

The tone at the end of his sentence triggers me. He's left that sentence suspended in the air, as if there's more to elaborate on. And I think it's supposed to be a hint at what he did to Brenna. I'd fucking demolish you like I did Brenna Smith.

Every inch of my body is on edge. My heart is thumping in my chest and the edges of my vision are tainted red. Dropping my stick and gloves, I fist the collar of Mikael's jersey. He may have the upper hand in body strength, but my height is notable. It catches him off-guard.

"Want to finish that sentence?" I growl.

His grin is cocky and lopsided, and it infuriates me. "That bitch was asking for it. You don't walk into an arena full of men not expecting to draw attention. Especially when you also give a prime opportunity to fuck with the golden-boy captain."

I grind my teeth. With Melody being diagnosed with cancer, running into Connor, and knowing that Mikael sexually assaulted Brenna, my patience is waning.

No, it already has.

My fist connects with Mikael's nose. The visor of his helmet clips my knuckles, tearing the skin. Sharp pains reverberate through my knuckles, but I'm oblivious to it. There's too much satisfaction in watching Mikael bend over and clutch his face, cursing like a sailor.

I should stop. Teammates aren't supposed to fight. But I can't prevent myself from charging at Mikael. I grab his jersey again. He grabs mine. Then we're gliding across the ice, throwing punches while trying to keep our balance. Punches are traded several times, hitting various spots.

The crowd doesn't know how to react. Nor do the refs. A moment passes where life feels frozen, like Mikael and I are the only ones in the arena. Our fight is ruthless. Neither of us is holding back. I can feel the pain of each of his punches, but the adrenaline is riveting. He's getting what he deserves. Well, some of what he deserves. 

Finally, the refs break us apart. Their expressions are quizzical. Everyone's expression is quizzical.

But that doesn't stop me from trying to lunge at Mikael again. The ref and linesman hold me back. "Fuck you! If you touch Brenna or Melody or Ella—or any woman against their will again, I'll fucking kill you."

Blood runs down Mikael's face, staining his jersey and spattering the ice. His nose is broken and there's a gash above his eyebrow. I can taste blood in my mouth. When I lick my lips, I wince. My lip has been split. I'm assuming there's other damage, too.

"Jones, Keravinen," the ref yells. "You're done for the evening. Get off of the ice. Now. There will also be a delay of game penalty."

Mikael groans, slamming his hockey stick on the ice.

That pisses me off. I lunge for him again. That bastard is more concerned about the game than what he did to Brenna, and was probably planning on doing to Ella.

"Jones!" Coach Brinsen barks. He grabs my arm. "What the fuck are you doing?"

I shake him off, my emotions getting the best of me. Coach sways a little on the ice, and I secretly hope he'll fall on his ass. My temper is so volatile I'm shaking. I could start swinging punches at him.

"Nothing!" I snap. Everything is overwhelming. I'm a fuse that's about to putter out into nothing but smoke. "Just lay off, okay? Lay the fuck off."

My voice cracks at the end of the sentence, and the frown on Coach's face subsides. He knows the history about Mel, and I'll bet my salary that it's written all over my face.

"You're done tonight," he says softly. "Go home, Jones. We'll discuss this at the meeting tonight." He gives me a push. "Get off of the ice. Mikael can sit on the bench. We don't want you committing a felony, too."

It's difficult to not gape at Coach. He thinks I want to discuss Mel's condition with Shea there as support. Truth is, we're telling him what a scumbag Mikael is and why he deserved the ass-whooping tonight.

"Jones."

I take his warning note seriously. "Fine. Whatever. I'm going. Fuck this game and fuck Mikael. Fuck everything."

Skating back to the bench, I step off of the ice and start heading for the tunnel. Just as I'm about to disappear down it, I feel a stick tap against my calf.

When I look over my shoulder, Shea is staring at me. His weight is allocated to one skate, which is pointed in my direction. His lips are parted. He's ready to drop everything and follow me down the hallway to make sure I'm okay. I can tell by the way his eyebrows are drawn together. By the way he rubs his jaw. How his glove balancing on the bench, forgotten.

I shake my head.

Later, I mouth.

He presses his lips into a firm line and nods.

And then I head down the tunnel, heading for the dressing room while the tears fall.

* * *

Shea and I are standing in the hallway, waiting for Coach to call us in. Ever since he arrived, Shea has said nothing. Either he's too scared to bring it up or doesn't know how to ignite the conversation.

He clears his throat. "What's going on, KJ?"

I rub the back of my neck. Mel said I could tell Shea, but I don't want to. Telling him will make this real. It'll break me again. Just like it has been all day. Over and over again until I'm sick with pain.

"I lost my temper," I mutter.

That's an understatement. I was on the verge of losing my mind. It feels like the world is against Mel and I. Mainly Mel, but I have every right to feel this way. How am I supposed to live without her? Mel is the oxygen I breathe. The place I call home. Without her... my career, our house, our bed—everything is worthless without her. She's my everything. The gravity that keeps me grounded.

"No shit. I had no fucking clue." His voice is as deadpanned as his expression. "Come on, KJ. You fought our teammate. Even if he deserves a fate worse than death, that fight violates the franchise. You could get fined or face charges. I'll vouch for you, but I need to know the details to fabricate a viable story. Mikael did something to piss you off. Unless you're pushed over the edge, you don't resort to throwing fists. So something is telling me Mikael was the match, but something bigger was the bomb."

I wrinkle my nose. "That is a cheesy analogy. Don't do that ever again."

He chuckles. "Damn it, KJ. You're deflecting everything tonight. What the hell is going on with you? Did Mel cock-block you before the game?"

The mention of Mel's name makes my posture slouch.

Shea notices my sudden change. He straightens his posture, and that look of concern is back on his face. "Shit. Is Mel okay?"

There is a distinct urge to roll my eyes—am I really that easy to read?—but my emotions get the best of me. I can't keep this from Shea, even if it solidifies a truth I don't want to believe. He's my best friend. I'll need to vent to him. To talk about how this news and the treatments are affecting me. If I don't, I'll worsen the situation for myself. Keeping your emotions locked up is never a good thing.

I clear my throat.

"We took Mel to the hospital early this morning..." I run a hand through my hair. Already, tears are threatening to spill down my cheeks. "She, uh... Fuck, Shea. She's dying. Mel has cancer again. In her brain, lungs, and possibly her liver. The doctor says she has six months until... until..."

Watching Shea's face contort should be funny, but it's not. His frown morphs into confusion, then surprise, and then melancholy. It's like the sky has gone from blue to grey in a matter of seconds.

"Fuck, KJ..."

The tone of his voice breaks me, and a feral sob wracks my chest. Pain and anger collide, and I lash out, hitting the wall with my fist. The wall doesn't take any damage, but my hand sure as hell does. I step back, clutching my hand and cursing.

"Fuck! Everything is falling apart, Shea! I'm going to lose her!"

Shea joins my side, resting a hand on my shoulder. He guides me to the seating outside of Coach's office. I sit in one chair, he sits in the other, and then he's inspecting my bruised hand. My knuckles are a gory mess of torn skin, dried blood, and bruises. But there's no significant damage. 

"Serves you right," he says, "but your hand will heal." Being his usual calm self, Shea looks at me, his eyes searching my face. "I'm sorry, KJ. Man... this is... no words can do this justice. All I can say is that I'm sorry and that we're here for you. Anything you and Mel need, just call us."

"How about a cure for cancer?"

He flashes me a weak smile. "If I had the cure for cancer, I'd have given it to Mel a long time ago."

Using the heel of my hand, I wipe away my tears and snot. "Same."

We lapse into silence for a few minutes. During that time, my head continues to spin. Even with Shea and Brenna's solid support behind me, I can't control my mind. It's been AWOL ever since we left the hospital. I'll never be able to have kids with Mel. Have a marriage that lasts until we're... Jesus Christ. I can't even use that word. Why?

Because Mel is dying.

"She's determined to meet your kid," I say, wiping my nose again. "That's why she's going through with treatment. Even if it prolongs the inevitable. She wants to be there for you guys."

Shea loosens a chuckle. "So no pressure, right?" He expels a deep sigh. "Marry her, KJ. Do it during the Christmas holidays. We'll have five days off. Give her the wedding she deserves. Do whatever you can with her. If Brenna..." He clears his throat. "If Brenna were in Melody's position, that's what I'd do. Create a bucket list and make sure she lived out her last months to their full potential."

His proposal seems too steep. I don't want Mel thinking I'm marrying her just because I pity her situation. "I don't know, man. A surprise wedding? Doesn't that seem a little desperate? She might take it the wrong way."

He shrugs. "Run it by her, then. It doesn't need to be a surprise. But KJ, I'm serious. Make the last of her time memorable. If you let this get to your head, her days will end with nothing but sadness. You want to look back and think, Fuck cancer. We made the most of it. She died knowing everyone loves her and will never forget her."

His words cause my throat to clog with emotion again. It's rare I'll admit Shea Smith is right, but he's hit the nail on the head. Aside from appointments and treatment sessions, this shouldn't change anything. Mel deserves to leave this world knowing we did what we could. There can be happiness in sadness—even if it's painful to consider. 

I glance at Shea. Again, he flashes me with a weak smile. "There's no avoiding this, KJ. That's the truth. But this doesn't change your relationship dynamics. Make the most of it." He rubs his jaw. "I've never experienced your pain, and nor am I trying to minimize it. I just... making the most of a situation is part of fighting. There are things you'll never be able to have with her, and for that, I wish I could trade places with you. Not that I wish it on Brenna." He closes his eyes and knocks his head against the wall. "God, I sound like a broken record. All I'm saying is I wish you didn't have to go through this. I wish it was me instead. Single-handedly me. Not you or Melody or Brenna. I would take on all the fucking pain in the world if it meant you and Melody got your happy ending."

My eyes well with tears as I pull Shea in for a hug. I swallow thickly. "Thanks, man."

He claps me on the back, tightening the embrace. "Anything you need, man. I'm here."