Bound (2 page)

I exhaled loudly as I approached my locker. It was
adorned with a large color poster of the ad I’d just done. I shot my middle finger in the air as guys snickered and laughed around the room. They were never letting me live this underwear ad down. The poster was me in a tight pair of boxer briefs, part of the black tattoo on my hip visible above the waistband. I had my hands low on my hips and was giving the “wicked grin” the photographer had gotten out of me.

“And you made the paper here,” said Tom LaRouche, another forward on the team. He jumped on a bench and waved it in the air, reading from it. “Hockey heart
throb Jason Ryker will be available after tonight’s game to sign photos from his new ad campaign. The tall, dark and sculpted Ryker has attracted a substantial female fan base.”

I drowned out the obnoxious comments
and gestures. Acknowledging them would only make it worse, and I was in no mood.

Right after I ripped down the poster,
I dug through my bag for my phone. 21 missed calls. What the hell? Was Maggie freaking out about something? I was about to scroll through the calls when a voice interrupted my train of thought.

“Ryke, coach wants to see you,” another teammate, Paul Brown said.
I only had a towel around my waist, but I knew Jack Renner didn’t like to be kept waiting, so I pulled on boxers and jeans without drying off. I shook the water out of my hair and headed for the locker room’s small office.

Jack was alone, hunched over a laptop, squinting at the screen. Why the fuck he didn’t get glasses was beyond me. We all knew he needed them.

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, holding the wood door open. His face dropped when he looked at me, and I got a bad vibe. There was no way I was being traded … was there? He wouldn’t tell me on a road trip. Besides, I was the second highest paid player on the team. But maybe they wanted to cut payroll. Maggie wouldn’t want to move, she loved Chicago.

“Ryke, come in and sit down. Close the door.
”

“Is something wrong
?” My stomach clenched as I sank into a folding chair. I’d been good with money, but I was only 25 and I planned on playing and banking a lot more for several years. I’d left college for this job; and while I wasn’t sorry, I had a lot riding on it.

The rolling leather chair behind the
empty visiting coaches’ desk squealed as Jack got up and walked to the other side of the room. The creases around his eyes grew deeper and he pressed his lips together. I knew that look; he was thinking. He pretended he was reading a poster on the wall as he ran a hand through his short salt and pepper hair.

Jack sighed and
sat down on the corner of the beat-up wood desk. “There’s no easy way to say this, son. I wish like hell it wasn’t true. But the team’s corporate office got several calls during the game and I saw when I got back to my phone that I did, too. I’m afraid it’s about your wife.”

“Maggie?” I could suddenly hear the sound of my heart beating in my ears, and it was loud.

“Yeah. Ryke . . .” He looked at his hands and sighed deeply before meeting my gaze. “There was an accident this evening in Chicago. She was hit by a drunk driver and killed instantly.”

I stared at him
, dumbfounded. “No, she’d already be home by now. She wouldn’t have been out at this hour.”

“It happened several hours ago. The hospital tried to reach you, but with the game …”

Tears burned my eyes and blurred the dilapidated desk. My lips dried as my mouth hung open limply. I wanted to speak, but nothing would come out.

“Listen, we’ve arranged a flight home for you tonight,” Jack said. “Calvin’s gonna go with you.”

Why would I need the assistant coach to go with me? I could fly home alone.

“That’s okay,” I said, rising from the chair. An image of Maggie’s smiling face filled my head, her glossy black hair blowing in the breeze as we walked on Michig
an Avenue. Maggie. My best friend. My biggest supporter. My wife. Dead. Her hair would never blow in the breeze again.

I tried to stand up, but a wave of nausea hit me like a fist to the gut
. I sank back into the chair and felt Jack’s hand squeezing my shoulder.

I was a 25-year-old widower. Suddenly I wished more than anyth
ing that Jack had called me in here to say I was being traded instead.

Chapter 2

May 2013 -- Kate

My fingers lingered over the strings of the
bright yellow tassel on my graduation cap in the old metal trunk in Mom’s basement. I’d been wearing it six hours earlier and had wasted no time packing it away for storage.

Today had been … exhausting. Hugging squealing girlfriends, smiling for pictures
and thanking the aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who’d come to my graduation party had taken all the energy I could muster.

This wasn’t how I pictured graduation day. But then again, only the first month of my senior year had been anything like I’d imagined. The past five months had been a lot like today – going through the motions. Studying lik
e hell, packing up my apartment, applying for jobs …

But all I wanted to do was sleep. The moment I pulled the covers up to my neck was the only honest moment in my day anymore.
It was when I could let go of the fake smile, stop pretending I was excited about graduation and just let the sadness exist without worrying about anyone seeing it.

When I closed the door on the old trunk, I felt a little lighter. I wouldn’t be reminiscing over college memorabilia anytime soon. Or maybe ever. This year had tested me in ways I
’d never imagined.

The narrow wood staircase took me up to Mom’s kitchen, where she was wrapping le
ftovers from the party.

“Need any help?” I asked.

“I’m just about done. Did you ever get a chance to eat? You were so busy visiting that I never saw you make a plate.”

“I nibbled. I’ll have some cake later.”

“Thanks for doing this,” Mom said, meeting my eyes.

“What? I sho
uld be the one thanking you. You did all the work. And you helped me with college, and you’re letting me move back in since I can’t find a job.”

“I’m glad you’re moving in, Kate. But I know this day wasn’t easy for you.”

The hair on my arms stood up. Was it that obvious I wasn’t feeling the graduation day ritual?

I opened the dishwasher and poured detergent into the dispenser. “Mom, it was good. It was a good day.”

A plate appeared on the counter above the dishwasher. “Please eat,” Mom said. I eyed the pulled pork sandwich and potato salad and though my stomach growled, I didn’t feel like eating it.

“It was just a long d
ay,” I said, sighing while I pushed the dishwasher closed and turned the knob to start it. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed early.”

“You don’t want to go out with Laurel and Emily?”

“No, I’m too tired.” The last thing I wanted was to hear about Laurel’s wedding plans and Emily’s great new job. I’d offered the appropriate amount of excitement already. I headed across the wood kitchen floor toward my old/new bedroom, eager to escape.

“Kate …” Mom paused, holding the refrigerator open. She s
ighed, looking at me. “I’d really like you to try the grief support group at the hospital.”

I
rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Mom, let’s not have this conversation
again
. I don’t want to sit around and cry with a bunch of sad people. It’s been five months, and I’m
fine
.”

“You’re not fine, not even close.” She pushed the
refrigerator door closed and approached me. “What happened was—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” There was warning in my tone, and I willed her to hear it.

“You need to get help with—”

“What would help me more than anything is if you’d stop talking about it!” I yelled
, whirling around to face her. “How can I move on when you keep bringing it up?”

“Moving on is different from forgetting,” Mom said softly. “You can’t move on until you deal with it. It wasn’t fair, the way you had to jump back into classes right after. I’m glad you haven’t found a job yet, because you need time to step back and process everything.”

I sighed, torn between arguing like I wanted to and agreeing just to placate her.

“Just think about it
, okay? Tuesday nights at seven in the old conference room. I don’t expect you to talk to me about it. Just give it a chance, Kate. I’ve been around a lot longer than you and I’ve never wanted anything but the best for you.”

“I know, Mom, but—
”

She put a hand up, interrupting me. Her shoulder length blonde hair was curling near her ears from sweating all day in the kitchen. “Sleeping as much as you’ve been, not eating, feeling alone – they’re all signs of depression.”

“Depression?” I balked. “Maybe I’m tired from killing myself studying for finals and moving! And who says I feel alone?”

“You don’t have to say it. And finals were two weeks ago. Argue all you want, Kate, but you need to deal with this. Maybe you aren’t ready yet, I don’t know. But consider the group. Or, if you’re more comfortable, we have some good psychiatrists at the hospital.”

“A shrink? Mom, I’m not crazy, I’m just tired.” I narrowed my eyes at her as I walked back to the counter and grabbed the plate, taking a huge bite of the sandwich. I considered changing my mind about going out, but … no. I wasn’t about to suffer an entire evening of bar hopping just to prove I wasn’t depressed.

She raised her brows and puffed out her huge sigh that practically screamed
I’m judging you right now.

“Don’t worry about me,” I said, reaching out to hug her
with one arm while I held my plate in the other. “Tomorrow I’ll mow the yard and finish unpacking my stuff. I’ll make something for dinner, too.”

“We can have leftovers from today,” she said. “I’ll be home by 6:30.”

“Your dinner will be waiting,” I said, smiling as I turned back toward the stairs. She offered a terse nod in return and I hurried the rest of the way to the open oak staircase in the living room. As soon as I was sure she couldn’t see me, I let the smile drop away. Maybe with school finally behind me, and a good night of sleep, I’d feel better tomorrow.

But I didn’t. If anything, I felt a little worse. Mowing Mom’s small yard only took about 30 minutes, and then I turned my attention to unpacking. Moving back home was defeating. Friends I’d graduated with were moving into nicer apartments or taking vacations to celebrate the start of the next chapter of their lives. And I was loading my clothes into the dresser I’d decorated with Barbie stickers when I was 12.

My heart thumped when I looked into the bottom of the c
anvas bag I was unloading and saw it. The box. Mom had packed this bag with items from the closet in my apartment. A memory box, the nurse had called it when she passed it to me before wheeling me out of the room that still haunted my dreams.

I was numb, way beyond feeling after the emotionally draining experience of delivering the baby. I’d cried the entire time, my head throbbing with a headache as I either kept my eyes squeezed closed or stared at the ceiling while Mom held my hand. I didn’t want to see any of it; I just couldn’t handle it.

Dr. Harn had told me it was okay that I didn’t want to see the baby or know anything about it. She said every woman dealt with the loss of a baby in her own way, and there was no right or wrong.

That’s why I was so shocked when I was handed a pale pink box as I sat silently in a wheelchair, waiting to be wheeled out when it was over. My heart thumped as I stared at it.

“
What’s this?” I asked the nurse who gave it to me.

“It’s a memory box. There’s a photo in there, and some information about the baby.”

I was too empty to get furious, but I felt a rise of disbelief that this woman had just violated my wishes and was acting like she’d done me a favor. I didn’t want to know I’d lost a daughter. It was too much. More pain, on top of the crushing loss I already felt.

“Okay, discharge instructions . . .” the nurse said, her eyes scanning a paper as Mom walked into the room. I pulled the blanket in my lap over the box, not wanting Mom to see. “You’ll have very heavy bleeding for several days. You may need several pads at a time, and you may pass clots. If you pass anything that looks like tissue—”

“What’s that mean?” I looked at Mom blankly. She reached out to the nurse’s hand and ripped the paper from it.

“Give me the goddamn thing, I’m a nurse. I’m taking my daughter home.” She nearly shoved the nurse away from the handles of my wheelchair and pushed it down the hallway herself. I could hear the rise and fall of her chest and I wondered if she was sad or angry. Probably both, like me.

I didn’t want memories of the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I pushed the box onto the highest shelf of my closet, out of my view. Not seeing it meant not thinking about it, and not thinking about it meant getting past it.