The Ledger Bonus Chapters

Bonus chapter 1

December - Phone call with the Shaws

Leith

Snooker takes your mind off everything else. It stills you. Calms you. Focuses you. Challenges you to think multiple steps ahead. That’s part of the reason I love it so much.

Besides, of course, the lux feeling of having my entire basement dedicated to the stunning black showpiece. Snooker is always here, ready to play whenever I am.

When I’m stuck at home. Alone.

It’s a rare night when all the guys are busy. It might be temporary, but that loneliness always rears hard when it’s just me.

Being alone fucking sucks and I’ve resorted to calling my mom and stepdad. Even they are busy on a date night.

I’m going to have to start dating soon. Not just hookups.

Then again, the guys are free tomorrow, and next week we fly out for an eight-day stretch. Maybe I should follow Dobs’ lead and wait until I can dedicate my time to someone.

I pot the final snooker ball into the center pocket. When I play against Toby, that black ball sinking in is almost as satisfying as him whining that I ‘can’t be that good, that fast’. It’s music to my ears. But when I’m alone, it’s just empty cracking sounds as the ball sinks in.

Hollow.

Everything in this room is decorated to the nines and with no one to impress or cheer up, I take a moment to relax and enjoy the space. Dark green walls with dark chocolate floors and a red and cream ornate rug overtop. Large, detailed baseboards and wainscotting flow up to the accenting crown moulding. The basement has been remodeled after an old-school Victorian billiard room.

Exactly what I wanted.

Dark, moody and my perfect retreat.

The only thing missing is a vintage European chandelier.

Although, ‘Chrome Green’ is a weird colour-name given that it’s not the least bit shiny or silver, but who am I to argue with Toby’s interior designer.

They did me a solid by renovating while I was out of town.

My phone rings and relief floods over me. Thank fuck there’s someone to talk to. Please don’t be a telemarketer.

Frantically fishing it out of my black sweats that I basically buy in bulk, I rush to answer it. “Hey! Kaitlin, my sweet saving grace.”

Thank fuck it’s her.

“Leith Geraldine Shaw. Are you fucking kidding me?”

I hold the phone six inches away from my ear. Who needs to use speaker phone when you have an angry little sister?

“Not my middle name, and what the hell did I do?” Usually, I know exactly what I’ve done. The mark of a good shit disturber is knowing what you’re responsible for. But this time? I genuinely have no clue.

She huffs and a door clicks. It’s the middle of the day and based on her track record with any given day of the week, she’s probably at work. Presumably on break or finding a quiet place in the hospital to yell at me. Great.

“Eight co-workers have asked me why I’m the world’s worst sister.”

“That’s insane. You’re literally the best sist—”

“Eight, Leith. Eight! Now everyone seems to know I’m your little sister and it’s following me into every conversation. I’m on rotation through emerg today, Leith. Do you know how many people I talk to at work?” She huffs and pauses to take a breath, which means she’s pinching the bridge of her nose too.

“What happened, Kait? You said people at work already knew we were related.”

We have different fathers, but Mom kept her maiden name even after she married Kait’s dad so that we would all have the same last name. Being a family was always important to her. Us being hers was always essential. It didn’t help that my bio-dad was shit. Glorified sperm donor. But Kait’s dad? He’s been the closest thing to a father figure that I’ve ever had.

“Some knew. Now everyone knows because you told some reporters that I bailed on being your date for the gala. You asshole. I helped you for hours getting Collins ready!”

“Hey. Whoah, we both know you loved every second of it.” I rack the custom snooker cue away and plop my ass on the vintage brown leather loungers. “You love Collins, and it doesn’t hurt to get out of the house, or away from work every once in a while.”

She groans and I can practically see her popping a hip out, walls softening. “Alright, fine. It was fun. I do love her.”

She’s not the only one. Perry’s got it bad.

“So, what’s really the problem?”

“Mom called me and said I need to spend more time with the family and Stephen said the same thing. He’s saying that even you notice I’m too busy.”

My fists tighten. “If he’s gaslighting—”

“What? No! Leith, we’re going to start looking for a place.”

Alright, not what I expected…

“Well, if you’re happy then do what works for you. If you need help moving, we can help or hire a moving company.”

“I don’t have that much stuff Leith. Stephen has a truck, and he’ll help me move. But I can’t take any more time off work. I’m just starting out, you know? I need to work as much as I can.”

I shake my head, grasping the decanter and pour myself a knuckle of scotch wishing it was Guinness. I need to get that on tap down here. “Are you sure it’s not because you’re a bleeding heart and now that everyone knows it, you’ve become the go-to person when someone needs a shift covered?”

The pause is long, and I doubt it has anything to do with her eating on her break.

“Shut up.” She grumbles but it’s the same as Dobs’, halfhearted and only confirms that I’m right. “Look I gotta go. I only have nineteen minutes left and I need to eat lunch.” Without talking goes unsaid.

“No problem. Are you coming over for dinner tonight?”

With Kait, if I pretend there’s some preconceived plans, she’s more likely to show up.

“Sorry I can’t. Stephen and I are looking at houses tonight and I don’t get off work until six anyway. Love you, gotta go!”

“Bye Kait. Hey, thanks again for helping me with the whole Gala thing. Really appreciate it and I know Perry did too.”

“Any time. Bye!” She says while taking a bite of her food and I relent, ending the call that’s been the most interesting thing that’s happened today.

I’m so fucking bored.

Staring at my phone, I tap on the apps that I haven’t used in ages. Haven’t needed to. Some need updates, some need new passwords and some just need to be reinstalled. But I’m done being bored and lonely. I spend the rest of the evening going through dating apps and praying that someone catches my eye.

Kaitlin

I hang up the phone as quickly as possible because Leith can talk to a wall for hours and I simply don’t have the time.

Love my brother, but I’m swamped.

I’ve got four listings to look through from Stephen, two texts from my mother to reply to and that’s not counting the sixty-three others I’ve left on read from everyone else. Not to mention the comments on my bookstagram and booktok accounts that I can hardly keep up with.

I’ll have to do that after work because I’ve got fifteen minutes to finish my leftovers—breakfast for lunch—then I’ve got to haul my ass back to emerg to help Ainsley and Cole with intake and transferring to L&D. Everything feels like a ticking clock. A perfectly constructed time bomb just waiting to go off.

That impending time crunch feeling doesn’t fade for a second of my break, or into the last hours of my shift.

It only morphs into a different pressure in my gut when Stephen and I look at townhouses later in the evening.

I’ve just recently started working, it’s not like I’ve been a nurse at the Grey Nuns for ten years. I only graduated a year ago and even though my parents and Leith wanted to pay for my schooling, I had to do it myself.

I’ll never regret that choice because it gave me the freedom to choose my degree. But damn, do I hate the student loan bills.

Maybe that’s why looking for a townhouse with Stephen is more pressure than I’m comfortable with. Or maybe it’s the idea of his fishing-bro-douche-buddies always coming over.

I try not to look into the parts of our relationship that aren’t very solid because moving in together will solve our issues. The random laps of time where we don’t talk because we’re too busy. Or the way he walks away when we argue and doesn’t talk to me for days. Or the way he holds his hugs back from me when he thinks I don’t deserve them.

He mentioned that two months ago and it shouldn’t still be screwing with my mind—because he did apologize—but it is.

But that can all be fixed if we are together more.

By the end of the night, I’m completely wiped and exhausted.

The two things cheer me up after a long day. Diving into the next chapter of the romantasy I’ve been reading with twins where one created the other with life and death magic. And a chocolate orange. Or two.

Chocolate helps everything. I can never get tired of Terry’s Chocolate oranges. If I ever have kids, I’m naming one of them Terry. Even if Stephen doesn’t agree.

He’ll just have to get over it.

My phone pings, casting a bright light across the ceiling. Given the time of the evening, I’m sure it’s my favourite Frenchie. 

I race to answer it. “Hey, Tyson. What’s wrong?”

“I’m a fucking idiot.” He sniffs.

The pain in his voice breaks my heart. Is he crying?

“How did dinner with your mom go?” I wince.

“I should have known. Dammit.” He says with heat but then his voice drops to a whisper, the Quebec-French accent coming out more. “She did not come.”

My heart sinks because his strained relationship with his mother has always hit him hard. It’s most of what we talk about. I’d make millions if I charged him for our impromptu therapy sessions. I know he needs a woman to be his friend, his listening ear and his safe space. Collins is starting to be that for him too, which makes me happy to see him letting someone else in.

He’s growing.

But any new hiccup with his mother only sets him back.

“I’m so sorry, Ty. Maybe she was—”

“She wasn’t busy and we both know it.” He snaps. “I didn’t transfer her the money and she didn’t show up because of it.”

We’re silent for a moment because the truth is, if he had sent her all that money, she would have taken it and ran too.

“Tyson.” I intend it to be soothing, but it comes out sounding like a consolation.

“She was never coming, was she?” He whispers, defeated as the realization hits.

“No, bud. I’m sorry.” I doubt she’s even still in Alberta.

“Are you free? Can I come over?” He huffs.

We usually meet up for tea or a breakfast sandwich before my shift if he needs me.

I shift in the blankets, looking at the bright orange clock numbers that reads: 11:14 PM. “Sorry, Ty it’s too late. Leith is free and I know he’s lonely.”

“Yeah, well I know the feeling.”

“So, give him a call. Hell, have a sleepover with him.” I fail to stifle my yawn.

He scoffs. There’s the normal Tyson. “Adults don’t have sleepovers, Kaitlin.”

“Fine. Fine. But call him and hang out anyway. He’s probably bored and you can use a friend too.”

“You are my friend.”

“And I’ve got work early in the morning. Leith doesn’t. You guys have the busiest, lazy-boy schedule ever.” The guys get to sleep in until whatever time, so long as they show up to practice at ten or eleven A.M. Somedays that’s halfway through my shift. But of course, they make an ungodly amount of money compared to what I do.

Ridiculous.

I’d like to see Leith stop an arterial bleed.

“Wow. Is that judgement I hear?” His fake outrage makes me laugh. That’s my favourite Tyson—easy and funny.

“Call Leith. Goodnight Tyson.” I lecture.

“Night Littlest Shaw.”

“And Tyson?” I pause, debating if I should push him or not.

“Yeah?” Defeat radiates from him.

Tonight isn’t the night to push.

“Sorry about your mom not showing. You deserve better.”

“No, it’s exactly what I deserve.” The phone call ends before I can argue with him.

I shoot off one final text message telling him that he’s wrong and that he’s worth it to myself and all the guys.

But after a few minutes of silence, I fall asleep.

TOBIAS

Bonus Chapter 2 – On ice conversation.

“It’s okay m

an. That was my bad. Tipped off my fucking skate.” I tap the top of my helmet to Aaron’s as I pat his soaked shoulder pads.

It’s easy to reach him when he’s hunched over, sulking.

“Fuck!” He shouts the second his helmet comes off. “I fucking suck. Such fucking bullshit.”

The play is getting reset at center ice, so I’ve got a moment with him before I have to get to the bench. It’s shitty because Chipper could use more of a pep talk than I can give him in twenty seconds.

We really need to get him and Tyson into therapy.

“No, you don’t. We all hate the loss, but we all share in it too. That goal was all on me. My skate. My fuck up. You were in the right position.” I can look at the playback from the tablet on the bench, but with Chipper, I can guarantee he was in the right spot. “Shitty fucking tip-in. No one can stop them. You know that.”

He huffs “Yes.” He usually lightens his Ukrainian accent when we’re off the ice, but it’s always heavier when he’s upset.

“Be confident, Chipper.” I dare not say ‘be chipper’.

Leith did once and we still don’t talk about the locker room incident that followed.

Chippers’ stoic face tries to give off a tough guy impression, but I see right through it. He’s not confident. No, he’s taking the loss to heart. It’s one thing I love and respect about him.

As detrimental as it is.

Like the rest of the guys on the team, he always plays better when he’s playing for someone. As much as I hate Tina, she’s proved to be a good motivator for him.

“Where’s your mom and sister? Thought they were coming today?” We’re running out of time.

He shakes his head before looking at me. “Mama called before the game. Couldn’t make it. Car accident.”

The heavy shouting of the crowd fades. “Shit. Are they—”

“Fine. Waiting in hospital but fine. I’ll go after the game. Let’s just get this shit fucking done with.” He rolls his shoulders and for a second, I see the intimidating goalie every other team sees.

“Look,” I point at my mom, Perry’s girl, Leith’s mom and sister. “they are there too. Just borrow my mom for the rest of the game. But give her back.” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

It does nothing against his solidified walls, not even garnering a smirk from him. Dammit. He’s famous for never smiling on the ice unless he’s hoisting the cup.

“Play for them. For my mom, for Nancy, for Collins, and for Kaitlin. They are your family too. You’re not alone here man. You’ve got us and them. Play for them because you’re the best fucking goalie. Dial your shit in and get that confident motherfucker back because I fucking need him. Got it.”

Not one to waste words on the ice, Aaron nods, an intensity coming back into his face. Focused determination settles into his eyes as he puts his helmet back on.

“Atta boy. That’s my serious goalie.” I pat his helmet, and shout. “Let’s fucking do this!”

I leave his crease hyped and ready to do the same on the bench for the rest of the team, even though I’m not dialed in. I’ve gotten good at pretending that hockey is my sole focus, and usually on the ice, especially for home games, it is.

When we play on home ice, I know she’s watching.

She always compliments my game or rants about some illegal move or a shitty lack of calls by the refs. My girl loves hockey.

The problem is, she’s not my girl.

She’s his wife.

And not only is she sick and not working in Event Command tonight, but I can’t talk to her either. That’s not what just friends do. I can’t see her. Or bring her food. Or any fucking excuse to check up on her because of her goddamn husband. She’s made it abundantly clear that we are work friends only, and that I need to keep it completely professional.

As much as I feel like saying fuck it and faking an injury just to get the hell out of here to check on her, I can’t.

My team is counting on me to lead them.

My mom is counting on me to be the man that she raised.

And whether she’s here or not, watching or not, she’s counting on me to play my best too.

Shame burns through me every second I’m not on the ice. The second my ass hits the bench my mind flips from hockey to her. I’m a fraud, telling Aaron to get his head in the game when I can’t get mine off her.

When the final buzzer goes, we’ve lost and the score is painful.

Chalk it up to breaking my home game routine by not having her homemade cookies, or not having my head in the game, or the thousand other mistakes we made as a team, but this lost particularly blows.

I can’t sit and focus on it or I’ll be nursing a few sinful vices this weekend and that’s not the man I want to be anymore.

Which is the reason I pressure Aaron into telling me which hospital his mother and sister are at.

I should have carpooled with him but, fuck, I hate leaving my car at the underground arena parking. Pain in the ass to get the next morning. The traffic-packed drive to the Northeast Community Hospital feels twice as long when all that goes through my mind is my injury last season.

The broken wrist and two subsequent surgeries hurt like hell. Showing up to each game and spending it in the press box near Event Command was my tailor-made reward. Bugging her all evening or afternoon during the matinée games became the highlight of my whole season. My injury’s silver lining.

Her teasing smile had the power to simultaneously heal me while bringing me to my knees. Those homemade toffee, caramel and chocolate chunk cookies were the most addictive medicine.

Like a weak man, I fucking cave, because that’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to do where she’s concerned.

Ringing echoes through my SUV as I head up Gretzky Drive.

“Hello.” Her normal sweet, confident voice sounds like she swallowed the plague.

“Hey, I’m looking for Ever? Is she there or has she been replaced by an old man?” I taunt, begging her to play with me. Praying this isn’t crossing ‘the line’ she’s always so worried about staying on the right side of. Praying, she doesn’t hang up on me.

She coughs, deep and phlegmy. “I hate you. Are you salty because you kicked the puck into the net?”

“I didn’t kick it. It was an accidental tip in. A fluke rebound.” I realize I’m screaming and way too defensive for a phone call.

“Tobs, I thought the channel switched to soccer. I forgot you were playing hockey for a minute.” She laughs, wholeheartedly.

As annoyed as I am about the goal, if it makes her laugh then I’m okay that it happened.

“Wow. Right to my ego. I hate you.”

“Not on your life, Cap. You love me.”

More than you’ll ever know.

Pride swells in my chest the way it always does when she calls me any form of Captain.

Nicknames have always been our thing.

I clear my throat, attempting to steer clear from the topic of conversation that can so easily cross the line. “How are you doing? Do I need to drop off a chicken soup care package? Or are you taken care of?”

It’s my shitty attempt at asking if her husband is doing enough for her. The fucked up, toxic side of me wishes he’s not and that she’ll jump ship and tell me she’s wanted me for as long as I’ve wanted her. But the realistic side of me, who knows some fucking boundaries, hopes that he’s taking care of her because that’s what she deserves. To be cared for.

“No. I’m okay. I don’t need a care package. I’ve got blankets, stacks of snacks and a ton of tea. Besides, you’re not coming over. I’m not wearing makeup, and I look like a gremlin in bed under the blankets. And most of all, I absolutely refuse to get up and answer the door.”

“What about Andrew?” His name feels like acid on my tongue.

“He left Monday morning. He’s out of town for another twenty-four-day stretch. I can handle being sick on my own.” Her voice sounds somber, as if she’s putting on a brave face the way she always does.

“Jesus, Ever. That’s worse than our schedule! Twenty-four days away. Fuck.” I get twitchy if I don’t see her for a week.

Summer breaks crush my soul.

“I’m used to it.” She chuckles but it’s weak. “I knew what I signed up for when I married a man who works shutdowns up north.” She covers a cough that continues long enough I think she might have coughed up a lung. “Toby, are you going to tell me what the nickname Ever means?”

“Nope. Not ever.”

“I hate you and your lame puns.” She doesn’t. She lives for them.

“I hope not. I don’t think I could survive it if you did.” It comes out joking but there’s nothing except truth to my words.

The phone muffles and I imagine she’s cozying into her bed.

“Good. That means you won’t piss me off then.” She ends with a yawn, and I know my time is almost up. Even though I’ve already pulled into the parking lot of the community hospital—not much larger than a medicentre building.

I put the car in park but don’t dare leave, not when I have my best friend on the phone. “I wouldn’t dream of pissing you off, Ever.” Of all the dreams she’s stared in, angering her has never been something I’ve done.

I flinch as three sharp taps rap against the window of my SUV and Aaron’s hulking frame blocks the parking lots’ amber light.

“What was that?” She asks.

Gritting my teeth, I huff, knowing my time is coming to an end. “Just Aaron. He wants me to go inside with him.” Cockblocker.

“Oh, you’re going out with the guys. Right. I should have guessed. Club after the game. Whooh!”

My heart drops into my stomach. “What? No, Ever, I swear I don’t do that anymore.”

“It’s okay, Toby. You should! You’re the hot team captain. Women probably line up for you. My coworker mentioned seeing you at The Ledger lots this season. You should be out partying.”

She says the words but anytime we’ve talked in person about it, her face twists into disgust and something else I can’t quite figure out. I hate that the party-guy-playboy-image is who she sees me as just because that’s who I was when we first met, ten years ago.

I was a hotshot rookie who landed an insane contract for an organization that was building and branding their entire team around me.

Cockiness and flirting were my defaults. Marriage was hers.

She’s always been the opposite. Hating my image and partying ways—let alone the drinking and girls.

Aaron taps on the window again and I realize we’ve pushed into a weird silent lull. I wonder just how tired she really is.

“I’ve got to go. Aaron’s checking on his mother in the hospital and I told him I’d come with him.” Begged to be included would be more accurate, but six of one, half a dozen of the other.

“Okay.” She mumbles and my heart aches, wishing we could fall asleep together talking. Wishing things were different. Wishing I was on my way home to her.

“Hey. I’ll stop by tomorrow and drop off some soup and some goodies.” Giving the best presents is my love language and my second-best skill besides stick handling.

“I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Trust me, I don’t care. I only care that you’re okay. Let me come by and check on you.” Please say yes. Please say yes.

“Only if you’re sure.” She relents in favour of coughing, which means she must be really sick. “Goodnight, Captain.” Her sleep drunk voice is going to live in my mind for the rest of my life.

“Night, Ever.” I quickly hang up so that I can’t fuck up and tell her that I love her. There would be no coming back from it and she’s been abundantly clear that she’s happy in her marriage.

It’s one of the things I love about her. Her morals and refusal to put herself in a position to cheat. I’ve always respected that, as much as I’ve hated not having any chance with her.

My mood turns even more sour when a freshly pregnant Tina walks through the parking lot and notices Aaron.

Standing with her arms crossed, waiting for Aaron to haul ass over to her, she looks like a stuck-up bimbo and he becomes a whipped puppy. I’m not sure if it’s her resting bitch face or the platinum blonde hair that’s been dyed and fried so many times it looks like straw, but something about her makes me love the way my girl looks even more.

She’s natural and warm.

Black hair with caramel highlights—so I’ve been told.