Kaleb

"I'm assuming my wife already punched you?"

I cringe, thinking about Brenna's slap. She's got a wicked arm—and even better aim. It's been five days, and the bruise is still visible.

Shea and I are standing on opposite ends of the locker room. We're the only ones here. His back is to me as he rifles through his hockey bag, searching for his hot-pink tape. We're not allowed to use coloured tape for our hockey sticks during regulation games. Practices are a different story. He always uses the hot-pink tape as a reference to Brenna—and his love for the colour pink.

Silence stretches between us like fragile plastic wrap. At any moment, the support could give and release hell between us. Ever since our public fight, social media has been having a good time trying to stir shit up. Fans think I slept with Brenna. They think Shea and I had a falling out because we're in love with each other and our secret relationship is on the brink of being exposed. There are rumours about Shea asking for a trade.

None of it's true, but social media loves to fuel conspiracy theories and false information.

Walking over, I set my hockey bag and sticks down, fully prepared for a physical fight to break out. Despite his calmness, I know he's fuming underneath. More so because I hurt Brenna. Shea and I have gotten into physical fights before, and I can count them on one hand. Each one has been justified. Should a fist-fight breakout, it will also be justified.

I deserve to have my ass handed to me.

"She did," I reply. The accuracy of minor details isn't important. "And I know I deserved it."

"You deserve a helluva lot more than that," Shea mutters.

I kick at an invisible rock. "I know."

Pink tape in hand, Shea turns around and crosses his arms. His eyes are home to a fiery glare that nearly makes me piss myself. Everyone has the potential to become scary when they're mad. Shea Smith is another realm of scary. While his mannerisms and voice will remain calm, his eyes become combustible. He looks like he's ready to pummel me to a pulp. His glare terrifies me. It always has.

"Get your head out of your ass, Jones. Say what you want to say."

I rub the back of my neck. "I'm sorry, Shea. For everything I did. For the pain I caused. My actions were based on jealousy. I'm here to make amends under whatever terms you want." Emotions lodge themselves in my throat. "Even if that means wanting time away from me or putting our friendship on hold. I stepped out of line, and I deserve more than a slap to the face. An apology doesn't justify how shitty I feel for what I did to you and Brenna."

Shea's expression softens. He tosses the tape to the ground. It rolls beneath the benches, but he doesn't care. He jogs over to me. I meet him halfway, welcoming his embrace. I breathe a sigh of relief. I was positive he'd kick my ass and tell me he hates me.

He claps me on the back. "Just don't do it again, man. Don't shut us out—me, Brenna, and Ella. We're here for you and Melody until the end. No matter what. We're family."

My nose burns. "I know, man, I know."

Shea steps back, keeping his hands on my shoulders. "How's she doing?"

I take a deep breath. "Better. She's been out of the hospital for a few days now..." I trail off, trying not to picture how fragile Melody is. If she can't rebound from this, I don't think she'll be able to meet the baby. "She's so skinny. Whenever I hug her, I feel like I'm going to break her in half."

Empathy flashes in Shea's eyes, and he squeezes my shoulder. "Melody is a fighter, KJ. And so are you. There can be a balance between hope and reality. If things take a turn for the worst... we're all here."

Sugar-coating dire situations creates an unhealthy illusion of happiness. It's something I crave. But I'm thankful for Shea's logic. Mentally, I need to prepare myself for what's coming, which is what I'm trying to do. I'm thankful for Shea, Brenna, and the rest of my friends. No matter how hard Mel's death hits me, they'll help me pick up the pieces.

"I know," I reply. "I know."

Shaking off the emotions, I expel and deep breath and say, "So how was the trip?"

Ella and I sat on the couch one night and watched the All Stars events. Shea did well. He came in second for hardest shot and won for the fastest skater. It's a shame Brenna wasn't able to accept her invitation. Watching Brenna and Shea battle for the fastest skater would've been fun. Brenna would've kicked his ass, but it still would've been fun to watch. They're a competitive couple, so something would've been planned for after the race. Shea always claims he hates PDA, but that bastard would've kissed her on national television. Mark my words.

Shea shrugs and sits down. He returns to taping his hockey stick. "It was okay. Seeing the guys was great, but it felt wrong to be away from Brenna and the rest of you. Don't get me wrong. I had lots of fun. I'm also thrilled with how much money we have raised for different charities." He runs a hand through his hair. "But... I don't know. I felt off."

"Don't sell yourself short," I say, sitting next to him. "You were great. Ella and I watched the events. We were rooting for you."

He chuckles, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Thanks."

"Dude," I say, nudging him with my elbow. "Is it my turn to ask the hard questions? What's going on?"

He shrugs me off. "Nothing. You have enough problems to deal with, KJ. Besides, mine are mundane compared to yours."

I pin him with a stare. "Hey. Don't do that. Don't think your problems are lesser than mine. Tell me what's going on."

Shea sighs again and sets his tape and stick down. Then he drops his face into his hands. His deep breath is shaky. "What if I'm a horrible father? What if I'm like my father?"

His words shock me. It's natural for children to compare themselves to their parents. Parents act as idols for kids. When we're growing up, they're our role models, which makes it difficult to dictate between being a good person and a bad person. I understand his concern, but hearing him compare himself to his father is atrocious. Shea is nothing like his father—and he knows it. Where this self-doubt is coming from, I'm not sure.

"Man, you are nothing like your father. Like you said to me, get your head out of your ass. Where's this coming from?"

His expression is desperate. "KJ, I don't know a thing about being a father. Plus, I didn't have the best role models in my life."

"Neither did Brenna," I point out.

He waves off my comment. "That's not the point. Brenna knows how to be a wonderful mom. Hers is amazing. And if she has any doubt, she'll research and research and research until she's sure of herself. No matter what I do, I can't shake this bad feeling. What if I fuck things up?" Frowning, he shakes his head. "Forget it. Your wife is dying and I'm worried about being a terrible father. I sound pathetic."

He tries to stand, but I grab his arm and pull him down. "Shut the fuck up, Shea. Stop comparing our problems. Everyone has distinct problems. Some can be worse than others, yes. As long as you're acknowledging that, then it's okay to fuss over your own problems. Raising a kid is a big deal."

Shea presses his back to the padded wall and crosses his arms. "What if I'm just like him?"

I rub my jaw. "I think you asking is your answer."

He gives me a quizzical look.

"You're asking yourself these questions. It means you're aware. Your father was never aware of the issues he was causing." My voice softens. "You not wanting to be like him speaks miles."

Again, he sighs. "I'm scared, KJ. This baby... She will change everything."

It takes my mind a moment to adapt. "You're having a girl?"

A smile breaks through. "Yeah. There'll be a mini-Brenna running around the house soon enough."

I punch his bicep. "A girl that'll skate circles around you and Brenna."

"Yeah," he laughs. "She's going to terrorize the house. What the hell did I sign up for?"

My smile is soft. "Being a good father. That's what you signed up for, Shea."

He snorts, but I can see the confidence returning. It's visible in the way he stares ahead and tries to fight off a smile.

I turn back to my hockey bag, feeling relieved. Repairing these bridges I tried to burn is terrifying. I'm thankful that Brenna and Shea are so forgiving because life without them would be indescribable.