Chapter 11
Tank
I’ve had Sophie home for a week and to say things have changed is an understatement. She’s nothing but a shell of the woman she used to be. She doesn’t eat, she doesn’t sleep and she hasn’t said a word. Just lays in our bed looking at the wall as Gretchen, the home care nurse fusses around her.
I’ve walked in a few times to catch her crying as she cradles her stomach, the stomach which no longer houses our son. The sight tears me apart each time and there isn’t a lot I can do about it. The anger boiling inside me has kept me away from her, I don’t trust myself not to lose my shit and I know that’s the last thing she needs to see.
She probably thinks I blame her which honestly, I won’t lie. I’m furious that she decided to take on this case during her pregnancy, especially after I asked her not to. She should have been home, preparing to be a mother instead of chasing down criminals. But asking her to stop is like asking her not to be herself, it was selfish for me to ask her to stop in the first place and I should have known she would say no. I just can’t stop thinking ‘what if’.
Being an investigative journalist is her passion, it’s one of the things I love about her and despite my better judgment, I hope she has it in her, once this is all finished to get back out there and fight for what’s right.
The real reason for my anger lies with Christian Baxter. That bastard caused my family absolute heartache and I’m sure he has caused the same for many others. It was his crimes that started this. It was by his word that my wife was beaten to within an inch of her life and it was his doing that caused my son to die before he had a chance to live.
Making Sophie hand over her investigation was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Watching her take Baxter down would have been the sweetest revenge, right along with me getting my hands on him but I knew deep down, I needed to do what was right for her. I know she doesn’t see it that way, that I was taking something away from her and maybe I was, maybe I’m being selfish but the thought of identifying her in the morgue just doesn’t sit well with me.
That man will never take another thing from me again. Not if I have anything to do with it.
My hope for Detective Andrews to nail the bastard has started dwindling… a lot. He called me the day after the hospital visit to say that all the evidence Sophie had collected was taken from our home, the paperwork she had printed, her computer, her phone, any electronic device that may have held the information. Gone. He then went on to say they visited her office which had also been ransacked. Not one ounce of information on Christian Baxter was there, not even her phony article.
So Detective Andrews has been unable to do a damn thing. He can’t get a search warrant for Baxter’s office as he doesn’t have any evidence to back it up. He then interviewed his P.A, Aimee, who confirmed he had an alibi for everything, including the time frame where he was at my home, taking my son’s life.
We were able to recover the footage of Baxter barging his way into my home which confirms Aimee lied about Baxter’s alibi, but doesn’t help them to nail the charges on him as there is no footage from within the house which means it’s Sophie’s word against his, it also shows Sophie had opened the gate for them once the buzzer sounded and also shows her voluntarily opening the door.
And as Baxter’s dodgy-as-fuck lawyers stated, there is no evidence to show that other occupants were in the house which is a cause for reasonable doubt, so naturally, the fucker got away with it.
Though, after a few words from me, Detective Andrews promised he won’t give up, after all, he knows Sophie’s success rate and he knows she is always right about this shit so he doesn’t want to lose out on the glory of nailing the guy.
I’m just getting myself ready for the first official training session of the season, though, to tell the truth, I’m not exactly that pumped about it. I know I should be as this is my first training session, officially being the Captain but I just can’t bring myself to the level of excitement that’s required.
I know things haven’t been great between me and Sophie with me being angry and Sophie grieving for our son but with her injuries and the fact that the cops are digging into Baxter, I’m petrified that something could happen to her, that he will come back and finish the job, blaming her for passing the information on and I’ll be fucked if they come back here again and I’m not there to kick that mother fuckers ass.
I head into our bedroom and gently sit on the edge of the bed being careful not to jostle her as I know she is still in a great deal of pain, though, she wouldn’t admit to it. It’s almost like she feels she deserves it which is just ridiculous. As she feels me beside her, she slowly opens her eyes. I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, though all that does is make her look away.
I let out a sigh. “I have to go to training,” I tell her.
She gives the slightest nod of her head. “Ok,” she murmurs giving me nothing else.
Damn. I was hoping that might have pulled at least a smile from her, but as usual, nothing.
“Alright, well, I’ll see you later.”
She gives another nod as her eyes focus past me and on the wall behind, right where they always stay whenever I’m around.
I get up and make my way to the bedroom door, turning back when I’m nearly at the threshold. “I love you, Sophie,” I remind her.
At that, she finally looks up and I see tears pooling in her eyes. Those beautiful eyes of hers land heavily on me. “You shouldn’t.”
I turn to look at her face on. “Don’t say that,” I beg her as I walk forward towards her again. I drop to my knees beside the bed and take her hand in mine. “I love you,” I repeat. “I don’t blame you for what happened, you must know that.”
She doesn’t answer, just lays there with tears in her eyes. Once again, I lean forward, though this time, I press my lips to hers and wait. She makes me wait a few agonising seconds before her lips press back against mine. I bring my hand up and run my fingers down the side of her face. “I have to go,” I murmur. “If you need me, I’ll come straight home, ok?”
She nods her head and I wipe those tears from her eyes. “I won’t be long,” I say before getting up and heading out of the room.
I make my way around the house, collecting all my hockey gear before coming to the front door. My heart shatters as I close it behind me. I want nothing more than to be home with Sophie, grieving with her and making things better but unfortunately, that’s just part of being a professional athlete. I have no choice unless I want to lose my contract.
I get in my truck and sit in silence before starting her up. I pretty much drive the speed limit, trying my hardest to prolong the inevitable. Shortly after, I pull up at the ice rink and am not surprised to see the ocean of fans waiting outside the doors, trying to get a good look at their favourite player on the first day of training.
I lug my training gear out of my truck and walk up the sidewalk, listening to the throng of people calling out my name and requesting autographs. Usually, I would stop, but today, it just doesn’t feel right.
I notice a few people calling over the crowd, asking about Sophie but I try my best to ignore it. I can’t have the replay of Sophie’s injuries and our loss floating around in my mind while I’m training. All that’s going to do is piss me off and that is not going to help anyone.
As I make my way through the throng of people I notice Crazy Stalker Jill, reaching out to touch me but I just don’t have it in me to show her any kind of attention. I push past her but seriously, what does she expect? She takes it all a little too far. Sure, I’m pleased she is such a great fan and comes out to support us but the messages and phone calls? I can’t deal with it today.
I finally break through the crowd and into the silence of the closed ice rink. Well, mostly silence, the figure skaters are just finishing up their session so the place is filled with feminine gossip and chatter while the Zamboni puts around the ice, creating a smooth, slick surface for me and my boys.
I head past the girls who are just getting started on their off-ice workouts and am thankful that they seem to be getting shit done in a timely manner today. My boys don’t need the distraction of a bunch of chicks ogling them while they are trying to train.
I push my way through the heavy door of the locker room and instantly feel the eyes of my teammates on me and without needing to look, I know they are filled with pity. I go about my business, trying my best to ignore them when Cameron finally speaks up for the group.
“Hey man,” he starts. “How’s our girl doing?”
I turn to face him, not really wanting to talk about it but I know this is different. I notice I have every single eye in the room on me, including Miller’s but these guys truly just want to know how she is doing unlike the prying, curious minds of the fans from outside. These guys are my teammates, friends and more importantly, my family, ready and willing to support one another when it's needed, so I shouldn’t have expected anything different.
“Not so great,” I tell them truthfully. I get a few cringes from the guys as Sophie is just as much of the Storm family as I am, in fact, she is probably more liked than me. “Physically, she is healing just as expected, she still has a long way to go but the morphine is making it a lot more manageable for her. Emotionally…,” I say with a sigh. “She’s not healing at all.”
I hear and see the brokenness coming from the guys in the room as their thoughts lie with Sophie and 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.
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 is he doing? He knows I’m not handling it. He’s been there every day, slowly taking bits and pieces of the nursery apart and removing it before Sophie can manage walking and see it for herself.
He raises an eyebrow at me, daring me to answer and knowing just how much I hate talking about myself or my feelings but something inside me tells me he is doing this for my own well-being. After all, he lost his sister a few years ago and that was the hardest thing he has 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 lays in bed each day, holding her 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 while others offer me any kind of help and support that’s needed.
I realise 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 son.
Having the boys know that shit isn’t ok 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 to 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 also a blessing in its self.
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 problems, 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 easts you alive until it has completely consumed you yet somehow you need to find a way to push through.
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 goes to grab the pucks.
We run a few warm-up drills followed by some torturous sprints before Coach is taking the ice and pushing us to our limits.
We exit the ice 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?”
“Get yourself dressed and meet me in my office in ten.”
I give him a quick nod before he disappears. I rush through a shower and pull 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 a suffer in silence type now, something I intend to change. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, she hasn’t bothered to set up the new phone and devices I’d gotten her.
I say goodbye to the boys and make my way to Coach Larsden’s office. I rap on the door before pushing my way through and taking a seat. “Thanks for joining me,” Coach says, fondly.
“No problem, what can I do for you?” I ask getting straight into it as I’m anxious to get home to Sophie.
“Look, I won’t keep you long but I need to know how things are going at home?” he asks with a cringe, knowing I hate talking about myself.
I let out a sigh, hating that I’m repeating this conversation for the second time today. “Not great, Coach. It’s hard but we’re slowly getting there.”
“I understand,” he says. “You’re not going to like this but I legally have to remind you of your options to utilise our team counsellor and therapist. I know it’s not ‘your thing’ but they could do wonders while you’re dealing with grief.”
I give Coach a look and he instantly holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I had no choice in the matter,” he says.
“Thank you, but I’m going to have to respectfully decline,” I tell him, “and to be honest, being on the ice with the boys seemed to help a lot.”
“Good, I’m glad,” he says. “How’s that woman of yours doing?”
I let out a pained sigh. “She’s not coping with it and honestly, I’m running out of ideas on how to help her. She’s blaming herself for what those bastards did to her and I can’t pull her out of it, she won’t even talk to me,” I tell him. “Maybe I could use the counsellor for her?”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Coach says. “I hate that she isn’t the bright, beaming woman I’m so used to seeing.”
“You and me, both, Coach.”
“Look, you know my door is always open if you need anything,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say with a nod as I get up out of my chair.
“Tank,” he calls. I turn to face him and notice the cringe sitting squarely across his face. “I hate to say it but if your skating starts to plummet, you’ll have to do mandatory grief counselling.”
I nod my head in understanding. “It won’t come to that,” I say with confidence.
“Excellent,” he smiles, clearly happy to have this conversation over and done with. “Now get home to that woman.”
“Will do.”