Page 115 of Meant for Mayhem

Dickwad

Dad says you owe him a call. He’s hurt you didn’t even tell him about the wedding.

Yesterday.

Dickwad

Oh, I see. You like your new family better than us.

Then today’s.

Asshat

After all we’ve done for you… Shame on you.

And like that, the walls around my heart repaired itself, sealing me in once more. My hands shook as I stared at the screen long enough for it to dim, all the warmth from the messages before draining out of me. I didn’t answer, tossing my phone onto the passenger seat and backing out of the parking space before I could evaluate why I continued to take their emotional abuse, year after year.

The drive to work left me feeling a mixture of bitter and hurt and seen and loved which had me all sorts of confused. So when I walked into the office to a platter of donuts on the front desk, I didn’t have it in me to smile.

“I’m so glad you’re on rotation today.” Rebecca handed me a plate with a pink sprinkle donut on it. “We love a good celebration.”

I took the plate from her, but donuts weren’t my speed. I was a savory breakfast girl, and Mikko knew it. “Thank you. This is nice.”

Rebecca waved me off. “Any exciting plans tonight?”

“Hanging out at home, probably.”

She raised her brows. “You make that husband of yours take you out tonight.”

I tried and failed to smile but didn’t continue the conversation. Instead, I grabbed my stack of folders and headed across the street to the assisted living facility.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of therapy sessions, charting, and one patient who negotiated every exercise like he was buying a used car. When I knocked on Walt’s door, he already had his glasses perched on the edge of his nose, the morning newspaper open to the sports section.

“You’re late.”

“I’m not late.”

“Early is on time, on time is late, and late is⁠—”

“Unacceptable. Good thing your appointment starts right now then, hm?”

He huffed, even more annoyed than usual, but I let him sit in his bad mood. I took my usual seat in his breakfast nook, noticing he’d left the crossword on the table for me, so maybe all hope wasn’t lost.

“When were you going to tell me you’re married to Mikko Laaksonen?”

I looked up, one dark brow raised. “I’m surprised you’re only now finding out.”

He rolled his eyes so hard, teenage me was proud. “I don’t read those gossip rags. Real journalism is a dying art.”

That was the exact response I expected from the grumpy old man. “Is that why you’re in a bad mood? Because I didn’t tell you about myself?”

“When you’re married to my favorite player, yes, I’m mad. That feels like important information. Why doesn’t your badge say Laaksonen? Are you one of those feminists who refuses to change her name?”

I bit back a smile. “I think women can do whatever they want, yes. But also, changing your name takes time, and I haven’t gotten there yet. It is hockey season—I’m a little busy.”

He huffed again. “Are you going to sit there all day then?”

“Heck of a way to treat a lady on her birthday, Walt.”