Behind the Net: a grumpy sunshine hockey romance

PIPPA and I are driving home on the winding Sea to Sky Highway, listening to music, talking, and admiring the forested mountains and clear blue lakes.

I’ve never been so fucking happy. I’ve never felt like this, and when I think about how hard I tried to resist her, I laugh.

“What are you grinning at?” Pippa asks from the passenger seat.

I’m laughing at the fact that I thought I could ever walk away from her. I’m laughing because I somehow thought pining after her for the rest of my life was a better option than this. Better than being together. Better than telling each other how we feel.

“Just happy,” I say, and she smiles back at me.

“Me, too.”

“Good.”

My phone rings through the car’s Bluetooth. It’s my mom’s number.

“Hi,” I answer. “We’re on our way home. We should be there in an hour and a half.”

“Is this Jamie?” a woman’s voice asks, and Pippa and I frown at each other.

Alarm rises in me, flooding my veins. “Yes?”

“I’m calling from the emergency room at Lions Gate Hospital,” she continues.

The alarm blares, and my mouth goes dry. That’s the hospital in North Vancouver. We’re approaching a lookout point on the highway, so I pull off to park.

“Your mom had a panic attack. She’s okay, but we’d like someone to pick her up.”

My mind reels as I white-knuckle the steering wheel. She’s better. She has a therapist, and she was looking into medication. She hasn’t had a panic attack since that night that Pippa and I went over. We’re past this.

She’s better.

Pippa’s hand is on my shoulder, and her eyes are full of concern.

“Okay,” I say, because I don’t know what else to do.

“Her car has been towed to a local shop,” the woman continues, and something in my chest crumples.

“She was driving?” I stare at Pippa with shock. She’s worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

“It seems that she had a panic attack while driving, and then hit a police officer’s car.”

My stomach drops. I can’t believe this. This doesn’t feel real.

“Fuck,” I mutter, raking my hand through my hair. “What about her medication? Did she not take it today?”

There’s a long pause, and my stomach sinks further.

“I’m not aware of any medication,” the woman says. “She didn’t list any on the intake form.”

She lied to me. All the avoidant conversations where I thought she just needed space. She never got medication. A headache grows behind my eyes. This is so much worse than I could have imagined. She was driving and hit a cop car. She’s supposed to be taking care of Daisy—

My pulse explodes. “Was there a dog in the car?”

If something happened to Daisy, I couldn’t bear it. I’d never forgive myself.

“No,” the woman answers. “She said the dog is at home.”

Pippa and I look at each other in relief. That’s something, at least.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” I tell the woman.

We hang up, and I look over at Pippa. I feel lost and confused, and suddenly, I’m ten years old again, coming home from school to my mom sleeping at three in the afternoon, blinds drawn closed. There’s a sinking feeling of disappointment and dread in my gut.

“I thought she was better,” I tell Pippa. “I thought she had a handle on it.”

“I know.” She nods, still wearing that worried look. “I did, too. Getting better won’t be a linear process, though.”

I’m silent, because I don’t want to point out that maybe she was never getting better to begin with.

Over the next hour and a half, we drive in silence as I turn over everything I thought to be true.

I thought my mom was better and that she didn’t need me micromanaging her life.

I thought I could handle everything.

For once, I thought I could have something for myself.

“I’m sending you home,” I tell Pippa as we approach the hospital. I’m vibrating with stress, worry, and frustration. “I need to deal with this alone. I’ll order you an Uber.”

From the passenger seat, she stares at me in disbelief. “No.”

“Yes.” Tension knots in my gut. My instincts to take over and fix things are at an all-time high. Even I can see, though, that what I’ve been doing until now isn’t working.

I’m so fucking lost. I don’t know what to do.

“I’m not going home,” Pippa says, folding her arms. Her tone is stubborn, and I blow a long breath out.

If my mom can’t make progress, or even try, I don’t see how Pippa and I will work, and that’s breaking my fucking heart. Maybe it won’t hurt our relationship right now, but eventually, it will. I can’t do that to Pippa. I can’t continue to choose my mom over her. I can’t put every ounce of my energy toward worrying about my mom.

Pain twists in my chest. Everything we told each other yesterday was for nothing.

“Fine.” We’re pulling into the hospital parking lot. “Stay in the car, then.”

Hurt flashes in her eyes. “No.”

I don’t have the energy to argue with her. “Fine.”

Inside the ER, the front desk nurse gives us directions to my mom’s room, and we hurry down the hall.

We reach the door, and Pippa touches my arm. “I’m going to wait outside,” she says. “I’m here if you need anything.”

I steel myself for whatever shitstorm is waiting inside this room. “Thank you.”

In her room, my mom is chatting happily with the nurses, laughing and smiling. It’s a fucking party in here. She sees me and sighs, rolling her eyes.

“Oh my goodness.” She looks to the nurses. “Candace, I told you not to call him!” She winces at my black eye. “Ugh, look at that thing. How was your trip?”

I stare at her in disbelief, and something angry and frustrated drips into my blood.

“Can we have a moment alone?” I ask the nurses, and they filter out.

When we’re alone, my mom shifts under my gaze. “Honey, I’m fine—”

“Don’t say you’re fine.” I feel sick. “Don’t say you’re okay, that it was nothing, that you don’t need help.”

She laughs in surprise, but there’s no humor in it. “I don’t need help.”

“You hit a police car.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and we just stare at each other. There’s a shift inside me, and when I reach for that endless patience, it isn’t there. Instead, I find betrayal and frustration.

Something needs to change, and until now, it’s been me. With my mom, I’m always the one who bends. I’ve been encouraging Pippa to stick up for herself, put herself first, do what’s best for her career and her life, but I haven’t been following my own advice.

“I moved here for you,” I tell her, but I’m saying it to myself, too.

She waves a hand. “You moved here because you missed Vancouver.”

“No.” I fold my arms over my chest. I can feel how hard my heart is beating. “I moved here for you because you started having panic attacks and you clearly couldn’t handle it yourself.”

She blinks like I’ve slapped her, and although my heart pinches to see her hurt like this, she needs to hear the truth. She’s been running from it for so long.

“You had a panic attack and got into a car accident, so I moved my entire life back here to take care of you.”

Her jaw tenses as she stares at the floor, and it’s like looking in a mirror. A knot unties in my chest as I tell the truth. Her fingers go to her bracelet, turning the beads. She won’t meet my eye.

“The nurse on the phone said you weren’t on medication.”

“I don’t need that stuff,” my mom mutters. “I tried it.” She’s referring to years ago, when her depression was at its worst. “It made me all loopy.”

“That was fifteen years ago.” My voice is rough. “There are new meds now and new research. Doctors who specialize in anxiety.” I pause, about to ask a question I think I know the answer to. “Did you find a new therapist like you said?”

She stares at the beads as she spins them. “It didn’t work out.”

“So that’s a no.” I blow a breath out.

I see it so clearly, all laid out in front of me. She’s going to keep getting worse, and I’ll chip away at my life until there’s nothing left because I don’t want to hurt her feelings. And in the meantime, I’ll tell myself I can’t have the woman I love because I don’t have time for her.

My heart hurts. I love Pippa, and I don’t want to give her up. I love my mom, and I don’t want to see her get worse.

“Why were you driving alone?” I ask softly.

A muscle ticks in her jaw, and her eyes stay on her bracelet. “I needed something from the store. It was just a quick trip.”

She could have seriously hurt herself, or someone else. If Daisy was in the car—

I can’t even think about that. I love that dog so much.

“You know you get panic attacks while driving, and yet you got behind the wheel. How is this any different from what Dad did?”

Her head snaps up because I’ve hit a nerve. Good.

“Jamie.” Her tone is sharp.

I’ve never spoken to her like this. We never talk about him.

I take a step forward, folding my arms over my chest. “You’re ignoring the problem, and it’s getting worse. You lied to me about finding a therapist.”

Her mouth flattens. “I looked.” Her voice is small. “I looked and then I just—” She freezes up, shaking her head. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

She throws her hands up, discomfort radiating off her in waves, but I don’t care. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

My pulse races. “You never want to talk about it.”

“This is not your problem. Let me deal with it.”

My head is about to explode.

“I don’t want you to shoulder this alone, because I love you and I owe you everything, but you have to give me something.” I scrub a hand down my face, and my chest sinks further in defeat. “I don’t know what to do anymore. If you can’t take care of yourself, if I’m always worrying about you, I can’t have a normal life. You know what I told myself for years, Mom? I told myself that I can’t meet anyone or get married until I retire from hockey because I need to focus on my career and taking care of you.”

Pain flashes through her eyes.

“I’m in love with Pippa.” My voice softens as I think about the woman outside this room. “I love her, and I want to be with her, but I worry that it’s going to get in the way of taking care of you.” I rub the ache in my chest. “I don’t know what to do.”

My mom’s face falls, and she looks so heartbroken.

I swallow past a thick throat and take a seat beside her on the bed. “I love you so much. It kills me to watch this happen.”

She runs her fingers along the beads on her wrist and takes a slow, deep breath.

“I felt so much guilt for what happened with your father,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes closed with the pain. “If you had been in the car, I never would have forgiven myself.”

“I know.” She’s never said this out loud, but somehow, I know it.

“I have never been the mother you needed.” A tear leaks out of her eye, and she wipes it away fast before she shakes her head to herself. “I thought that stuff was behind me.” Her eyes are watery when she meets mine, and her throat works. I know she means the depression and anxiety. “I wanted it to be behind me so badly.”

“You always felt guilt because you never made Dad get the help he needed, right?” I ask.

She meets my eyes and nods.

“How is what you’re doing any different?” My voice is soft because this is going to be the hardest truth to stomach. “You know deep down you need help and you’re ignoring the problem.”

In her eyes, I see it all: guilt, worry, regret, self-hatred, and resignation.

“Yeah,” she says, deflating. “You’re right.”

“I don’t want to be right.”

A rueful smile ghosts over her face. “It’s hard admitting that there’s a problem.” She stops herself. “That I have a problem.”

“I know.”

Her gaze lifts to mine. “I want you to have everything.”

“I want you to get a therapist and tackle this like I know you can.” I think about Pippa and the stuff she’s been through with her ex, how he tried to decimate her confidence, but she rose up stronger and brighter. “Having these issues doesn’t make you weak. It makes you stronger, and I know you can do this.”

A moment passes where we just look at each other. Things have changed for the better. I can feel it.

“You love Pippa?” she asks softly, eyes roaming over me with warm admiration.

I huff. “That’s what you got from all of this?”

She laughs lightly and sighs. “I’m going to get a therapist, I’m going to talk to them about medication, and I’m going to give this a serious try. Because I don’t want to drown in this anymore, and I want you to be happy.” Through her sadness and shame, her eyes spark with teasing. “So, you love Pippa?”

I smile and my heart expands, filling every corner of the room. “Yep. I love Pippa.”

“And she loves you?”

“Yep,” Pippa calls from the hall.

We both burst out laughing.

Pippa pokes her head in the door with an embarrassed smile. She’s blushing. “Sorry.”

My mom waves her in. “Come in, come in.”

Pippa wanders into the room and leans against the table near the door.

“Did you two have fun at the gala?” my mom asks.

Pippa and I look at each other, smiling.

“Yes.” She smiles wider, and I wonder what part she’s remembering. “Jamie looked very handsome.”

“And Pippa looked very beautiful.” I lift my eyebrows at her. “She always does.”

“I want to see photos,” my mom says, glancing between us with a pleased smile. “And you love each other?”

I hold Pippa’s gaze while my heart does backflips. “Yep.”

My mom makes a happy humming noise. “I hoped that would happen.”

“Me too,” I admit.

My gaze falls to Pippa’s left hand, and I wonder if it’s too soon to think about buying her a ring.

Probably.

But maybe not.

We leave the hospital and drive my mom home, and when Daisy sees us, she races over and jumps into my arms, wiggling like crazy with excitement as Pippa and my mom laugh.

Pippa wouldn’t leave my side today, even when I stubbornly demanded to send her home in a flurry of panic and shame. She’s been there for me since day one, even before we were together, and I know that even if my mom’s recovery takes longer than expected, I’m not alone in it.

Pippa isn’t just the love of my life; she’s my family.