CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE SOUND OF THIN blades cutting through ice met my ears the second I stepped into the rink. I hadn’t been around the ice since my brother was injured. It felt oddly comforting to be back here.
I headed past the stands, a few students watching the team practice. I had a feeling they just wanted to catch a glimpse of Drew. I often forgot he was still a bit of a celebrity. He’d always just been my brother…the same person who put bubble gum in my hair, who ran over my Barbies with his Hot Wheels, who put worms down my shirt.
My eyes fell on the ice, a slow smile building on my lips. The fact he was covered in padding and a helmet didn’t matter. I could spot Drew by the way he skated across the ice so flawlessly. This was where he belonged, not hanging out in some café and bar, wishing things were still the way they used to be.
I climbed up the aisle in the center of the rink. A whistle blew, stopping the players. Drew summoned them toward him. I probably should have waited until practice was over, but I didn’t know how long that would be. Standing on a row of bleachers so he’d see me, I shouted, “Drew!” My voice echoed against the rafters.
Drew shot his eyes up, scanning the rink. When he noticed me, his shoulders relaxed. “Okay, everyone. Take five. We’re going to do this again, so whatever you need to do to pull your heads out of your asses in the next few minutes, do it.”
Removing his helmet, he skated toward the edge of the rink, opening a small door and stepping off the ice. I hurried toward him. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a few of the players looking me over. Drew must have noticed, too.
He faced them. “This is my sister, assholes. If any one of you so much as looks at her in a way I don’t like, you’ll need a permanent ice pack on your nuts.”
“Drew,” I hissed, jabbing him. “You’re the coach. Are you allowed to say shit like that?”
He smirked. “My coaches said a lot worse.”
I shook my head. “Men are Neanderthals.”
“But you can’t live without us.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I remarked, hugging my body to try and warm myself. A sundress wasn’t exactly the proper attire for an ice rink.
“Good to see you, Mols,” he said, studying me. “You look…better.”
“I just got back from seeing Mom,” I blurted out.
He briefly closed his eyes. “So you went through with it.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. The second I got in my car, I knew it was a stupid idea, but some sort of morbid curiosity kept me going.” I looked down, biting my lower lip. “I should have turned around.”
Drew pulled me against his padded chest, kissing the top of my head. I allowed the warmth of my brother’s arms to comfort me, just as they had throughout my life.
“I understand more than I think you realize, Mols.” I felt his chest rise and fall. “I’ve been there, too.”
I craned my head, meeting his dark eyes. He raised his brows, as if trying to tell me something. “You…”
“When Dad got his diagnosis.” He looked away, his voice softening. “I figured she’d want to know. Since she gave birth to his children, I thought she at least deserved to hear about it in person and not over the phone.” He returned his gaze to me. “Boy, was I wrong.”
I stepped away from him, unsure how to feel about this new information. Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he take me with him?
“What did she say?”
“You can probably guess.” He shook his head. “She pretty much said it was none of her concern. She just wanted to forget about that part of her life and everything it entailed…” He trailed off. “Including us. That’s why I didn’t want you to go there, Molly. I didn’t want you to have to experience that woman’s cold heart firsthand.”
“How could she have so much disdain?”
Drew hesitated, then turned from me. “Scully!” he shouted. One of the guys skating on the ice looked in his direction. He appeared older, so I assumed he was also on the coaching staff. “Run practice for a few minutes, will ya?”
“You got it, Coach.”
Drew grabbed my hand and led me into the stands. I had no idea how he walked with skates on, but it didn’t even faze him. Once we were settled, he glanced at me. “Did anyone ever tell you about Mom’s family?”
I pinched my lips together. “Not really. Just that they were pretty religious, which was why Dad married her when she got pregnant.”
“That’s certainly true, but it’s only part of the story.” He paused, staring into the distance, then turned back to me. “Her father was an officer in the Marines. Served in Vietnam. He ran his family the way he ran his unit…with order, discipline, and from what I’ve been able to find out, sometimes an iron fist. The things he’d witnessed in Vietnam changed him. When he came home, he wasn’t the same man he was when he left. He was beaten down. And he ended up beating his family down, too.” He gave me a telling look.
My eyes widened at the hidden inference.
“His wife, who was once full of life and love, became a woman too scared to open her mouth.”
“How did you find this out?”
“On a whim, I Googled her one day. I found some old articles from around the time I was born. There was a big story here in Boston…a woman shot and killed her husband, a Vietnam vet. Her name was Molly Micelli.”
I stared blankly ahead. “She named me after her mother.”
“According to various reports, after she shot him, she called 911 to report it, then went about cleaning the house.”
I wrinkled my forehead, not understanding.
“The officers reported that when they asked why, she responded she knew company was coming and her husband would be upset with her if anyone saw the house in the supposed disastrous state it was in. It didn’t matter that her husband was lying in a pool of blood in the bathtub. The police reported the house was almost immaculate, museum-like, but she didn’t see it that way.
“After investigating further, they found so much evidence of psychological abuse, she was never charged with his murder. No jury would have convicted her based on everything she and her kids had endured. Imagine how you’d feel if you grew up in a house where it was more important your bed was made each morning to a precise standard than it was that you get into a good college. This family lived this way for years. No wonder mom never really cared about any of us. She’d never known how it felt to be loved.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
“I guess I wanted to protect you from finding out the truth.”
“Like with the slippers?” I shot him a sideways glance.
“You figured it out?”
I nodded slowly. “When I asked Mom why she wasn’t at Dad’s funeral, she gave me the same speech she apparently gave you. That she’d rather forget about that chapter of her life. So I asked why she’d send me slippers every year when all she wanted to do was forget about Dad, you…” I swallowed hard, “and me.” I met Drew’s eyes. “That’s when she told me she didn’t send the slippers and it was probably you.”
“It was both me and Dad. Apparently, when you were a baby, your feet were always cold,” he reminisced, a twinkle in his eye. “But you hated socks. According to the story Dad told me, when your first birthday rolled around, he asked what I wanted to give you, so I said a pair of slippers. As the years went on, you thought they were from Mom for some reason. When Dad and I saw how happy you were at the thought that Mom still cared about you, we didn’t have it in our hearts to tell you otherwise. We thought we’d be able to stop as you got older. When you turned sixteen, Dad did stop.” He paused, shaking his head. “That night, I heard you crying in your room. The next day, I went out, got a pair of slippers, and sent them to our house, making it appear like Mom sent them. I’ve been doing it ever since.”
I wiped away the tear falling down my cheek. “I don’t deserve a brother like you, Drew.”
“Yes, you do.” He draped his arm over my shoulders, and I rested my head against his chest.
“No, I don’t. I’m a horrible person. Mom said I turned out just like she did. I can’t help but think there’s some truth to that. I walked away from what was probably the best thing to ever happen to me. And why?” I shook my head, unable to recall how everything in my life had come unglued so quickly.
“We all do things we’re not proud of when we’re upset, when we’re grieving. Believe me, you are nothing like that woman who gave birth to us. You’re kind. You’re caring. I see how you are with Alyssa and Charlotte. You’re beautiful on the inside and out. Don’t let anything Mom may have said to you make you think otherwise. She doesn’t know you, not like I do…like Noah does.”
Pulling away from his chest, I stared at the ice, releasing a heavy sigh. Being here with Drew brought back so many memories from our childhood when I would spend hours at the rink during his practice, reading book after book. Afterwards, Dad would take us to a neighborhood diner where we ordered the biggest plate of cheese fries they had. I wished I had appreciated those moments more.
“So what are you going to do?” he asked, breaking the silence.
I shrugged. “Beg for forgiveness?”
“Sounds like a good plan.” He offered me a small smile, then stood up. He held his hand toward me and I grabbed it, allowing him to help me to my feet. As we approached the ice, he placed a soft kiss on my forehead, then put his helmet back on. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Be honest. No more games. No more lies.”
“I can do that.”
“Good. I’ll be around later if you need to talk. The girls want to show you their new bedrooms one of these days, too.”
“Sounds good, Drew. Thank you.”
“Anytime, Molly Mae.” He began to skate away.
“Hey, Drew!” I called out. He stopped, glancing back at me. “This suits you. You belong on the ice.”
He grinned. “Thanks, Mols.”